TED NUGENT: BAMBI FOR DINNER, THUMPER FOR DESSERT
In this ever-changing America etc. etc. Ted Nugent is one person you can rely upon to stay pretty much the same. Give a few switch-arounds of notes, his songs sound like the raw-meat howl of a tornado hitting a safari park. Like the mutilated moan of chainsaw fighters in a frontloading washing machine.
TED NUGENT: BAMBI FOR DINNER, THUMPER FOR DESSERT
Sylvie Simmons
In this ever-changing America etc. etc. Ted Nugent is one person you can rely upon to stay pretty much the same. Give a few switch-arounds of notes, his songs sound like the raw-meat howl of a tornado hitting a safari park. Like the mutilated moan of chainsaw fighters in a frontloading washing machine. The tortures of the damned put through three quarters of a million dollar’s worth of sound system. Ah, I’m felling better already. While most American heavy metallurgists have “matured,” started concerning themselves with such bizarre notions as “meaning”— you know the sort—Ted remains as deranged, excessive and as dangerous to the ears as ever. He’s already lost the use of one of his own.