‘White Cowbell Oklahoma is harder to ignore than a rabies-addled Ralph Klein hopped up on Benzedrine and gin’ — if nothing else Cowbell guitarist Clem knows how to give a press quote
White Cowbell Oklahoma want your worship
Caveat Calgary — there’s a 10-headed monster headed your way. It’s come this way many times but it has never been as powerful hungry and imposing as it is now.
Currently touring in support of Casa Diablo Toronto-based full-tilt boogie rockers and showmen extraordinaire White Cowbell Oklahoma — Clem (guitar) Sgt. Rock (vocals) Hollis (double-neck guitar) Chainsaw Charlie (various tomfoolery) The Cousin Who Hath No Name (guitar) Bubba Lee Phett (bass) Sheriff R.F. Horton (more tomfoolery) Jesse (organ) Jessup H. Christ (guitar) and drummer Dingo Von Devereaux— are particularly intent on ravaging their favourite home away from home.
“White Cowbell Oklahoma is harder to ignore than a rabies-addled Ralph Klein hopped up on Benzedrine and gin” asserts Clem. “We are coming forth from the tar sand wastes of Mordor in a fleet of massive Caterpillar 797 dump trucks. We shall dig your earth steal your riches and leave only a blackened hole where Calgary once was. You will wake up naked in Medicine Hat still drunk next to a sasquatch. And yet you will rejoice with rock ’n’ roll jubilation glad that WCO has again dragged you onto our snowballing juggernaut of shame.”
He’s not kidding. Living but a few doors down from these goons I cannot count how many times my sorry ass has been roused from a blissful late-night or early morning slumber by pounding at my door and pleas to come out and “par-tay.”
Naturally this means a slew of Cowbells surrounded by various pick-up miscreants too many bottles of beautiful distilled corn mash and more boobies than the last issue of Hustler . Following this string of debauchery (which usually leaves a thin trail of white powder in its wake) is like relenting to an evening in the deepest pit of iniquity.
The next day or two is generally a writeoff as the Hammer of the Gods pounds away at your temples and Mount Vesuvius relocates to your stomach erupting into your bathroom’s porcelain Pompeii once an hour like clockwork. Yet for some reason you always have to answer the band’s call. When it rings this time Calgary expect an even more refined derby of debauchery and disgust. Because they are veritable road dogs a life of revelry has quickly become the norm for Clem and crew.
“[Touring] for White Cowbell is an esoteric mix of brown magic altitude adjustments chemical experiments and political intrigue” Clem claims. “Our tour Zeppelin has traversed North America coast-to-coast several times in the last year. Both oceans are the same if you taste them. We have blanketed the populace in a film of unparalleled rock ’n’ roll excellence. Calgary will quake in awe at this latest return and we have so much uncanny new material that we will have to unleash some upon you all.”
In case you haven’t noticed White Cowbell is a modest bunch. Discussing this new material — Casa Diablo — Clem humbly admits that this tertiary effort is the band’s finest to date hoping that it will appeal to the masses.
“It was a new masterstroke for White Cowbell Oklahoma” he says. “It took us from the flatlands into the stratosphere and has been acclaimed by 99.94 per cent of all the music press in the world. Only one douche-bag — in Toronto — didn’t like it. His band licks though and he knows it. Calgarians — seek it out purchase it and worship it!”
