Vol. 6, No. 1463 - The American Reporter - November 15, 2000

Not To Fear, Red Won't Ever Grow Up

by Jim Trageser American Reporter Correspondent Escondido, Calif.

Red Peters. Ol' Blue Balls is Back. Verona, N.J.: Ball Bag Records. 2000. 54 mins. $13.99. ASIN: B00003OTCW (Can be purchased from Amazon.com).

ESCONDIDO, Calif. -- Red Peters was undoubtedly one of those kids in class who shot spitwads at the teacher, ate his boogers to gross out the girls, and generally had all the markings of a future member of Congress.

But Peters (which we can only hope and pray is a stage name) decided to do something more in life, and instead became a comedian ... sort of.

Peters' act is unlike anything else you've ever heard: He sings, you see -- quite well, actually. He has quite the pleasant voice and can handle just about any style, from lounge to big band to jazz to r&b to country-western to disco to polka.

And if you didn't speak English and just listened to the music, you'd probably enjoy it (if finding him stylistically confused). But when you start listening to his lyrics -- well, it's time to send the kids out of the room. With song titles like "Blow Me (You Hardly Even Know Me)" and "Rocket In My Pants," his 1995 debut album, "I Laughed ... I Cried ... I Fudged My Undies" was one of the most utterly twisted and depraved recordings since Cheech & Chong went mainstream.

Five years later, he's out with his second album, and the song titles haven't gotten any cleaner: "Take It Out at the Ballgame," "Use Your Hand," "Long and Hard," "I Don't Just Love You Down There." And those are the clean ones. There's a reason Peters is a frequent guest on Howard Stern.

His humor is (if you've not guessed it yet) of the gutter variety ... sick and perverted and juvenile and, well, pretty darn funny, actually. The contradiction of the foulest, filthiest sexual innuendo right off a junior high playground being sung to smart, sophisticated musical arrangements is just too weird not to have fun with.

The new album isn't as consistently funny as the first, but the funniest parts are still so outrageous and politically incorrect that they can leave you gasping for breath. His deadpan vocal on "Doggy Style" is as hilarious a sendup of Jimmy Buffett as you'll ever hear (although the Rev. Billy C. Wirtz did a pretty fair imitation of his own a few years back ...). And he inserts a pretty funny imitation of Walter Brennan on his Christmas song (the title of which can't really be printed here).

While the first album was strictly music (with narration by the stuffy British voice of Alan Pinchloaf), on the newest Peters includes some parodies of radio commercials. "Babe's Auto Villa" is the best of the bunch, making good fun of the used-car dealers polluting classic rock stations across the country.

This is definitely guy humor -- or what your mother used to call "potty talk" while menacingly waving a bar of soap. Those who like being shocked and outraged will love him. You might not want to get this for Mom, though.

Jim Trageser is a writer and editor living in Escondido, Calif.; reach him at jim@trageser.com.

The Editors of the CD-Review welcome your comments. Write to them at trag@cts.com or dbalding@hotmail.com.

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