FRESH FLESH With The Flesh Eaters
There’s a scene in Roger Corman’s Bucket Of Blood where the poet Maxwell, beard-and-shaded, commands the attention of hipsters tightly assembled at the local hang-out. “DEATH TO JIM, JOHN, JOE, JERK” he bellows. “LIFE IS BUT A SEA IN THE MULTITUDE OF FISHES.
FRESH FLESH With The Flesh Eaters
Gregg Turner
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There’s a scene in Roger Corman’s Bucket Of Blood where the poet Maxwell, beard-and-shaded, commands the attention of hipsters tightly assembled at the local hang-out. “DEATH TO JIM, JOHN, JOE, JERK” he bellows. “LIFE IS BUT A SEA IN THE MULTITUDE OF FISHES. ART IS; EVERYTHING ELSE—/S NOT.”
Go ask Chris Desjardins, Flesh Eater frontman and resident existential guru (of sorts), whose riveting focus on life-on-Earth most definitely IS. Chris D’s vision by way of the rockin’ F. Eater metaphor transforms the wildest of visceral psychic PAIN (his) into anguished rhapsodies of horror, blood, death, guilt, love and fear (ghouls and “Class I” zombies too).