Panther Burns had their own teenage go-go dancers, the Burnettes

 

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The Cramps have been in the studio for five days and have produced more tension than music. Things haven’t been going right and their producer Alex Chilton seems content to eat [fried chicken], smoke and watch the band anguish over their lack of progress. In order to help the whole group catch the primal spirit, Lux and his mic have been put on the floor with the rest of the band—just like on stage. He had done three takes of ‘I Was a Teenage Werewolf’—on each take he steps outside the studio door, bellowing and snorting himself into a rage. He then crashes through the door, knocking over all in his path, tossing chairs and mic stands against the wall. Howling diabolically, he finally makes his way to the mic and cries out the first verse: “I was a teenage werewolf / with braces on my fangs.” Three friends of Alex showed up, sitting on the studio floor—and from the control room out comes Lux in his zone: The door smashes open and they behold a frenzied, perspiring, red-faced Lux Werewolf. Lux picks up a chair, lets out an unearthly cry, flings the chair over their heads and staggers to the mic. I’ve seen eyes open and mouths drop, but these kids had their eyes threaten to leave their sockets and their jaws come unhinged. Finally, one of them, a muscular redneck, reacts. He jumps up and runs over to Lux and stops him before he can sing a note. . . . I’m not sure if he thought he was calming a crazy man, helping an epileptic or just saving the studio from further destruction, but he broke Lux’s concentration. And Lux goes berserk, starts growing real fangs, sprouts hair from his ears, shoots flames out of his nostrils and screams

LIKE A HOG A-ROOTIN’ UP UNDER A FENCE

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Directors of the Parent-Teachers Association would have fainted at the sight. It’s a little past one in the morning inside a huge, barn-like nightclub on the Slaton Highway, just outside the usually quiet, sleepy town of Lubbock, Texas … Elvis ‘The Pelvis’ Presley has just finished an undulating show that still has a lot of kids wriggling … ‘Oh, Elvis,’ he hears, ‘wait for me!’ Turning, he watches as a pretty young girl rushes towards him. ‘Would you please autograph me?’ she shrieks. And with that she pulls a sheer blouse off her shoulders, revealing a low-cut bra. Older and wiser entertainers might have hesitated at having a three-quarters-bare bosom thrust at them for a signature. But not Elvis. With a flourish, he hauled out his doll-pointed pen and signed just above the dotted swiss line. Elvis on the righty. Presley on the lefty.

"Wow, you're Dan from the Gories? Wow! really?!"

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Mick Collins: We’re sitting on Tav's porch just hanging out, and this car pulls up. And this girl gets out, and she’s walking to the door and said, “Hey, excuse me for just a moment.” And she busts the window and then reaches around and opens the door. We’re like, “What the fuck?” Then she’s in there and we’re sitting there, like, “We’re from Detroit, you know. It’s not like we haven’t seen this before.”

Dan Kroha: So we drive up to Tav’s, and the first thing we see is Tav’s recently ex-girlfriend, Lorette Velvette, climbing out of the window of the house. She had broken into the house to get back some of her stuff. We said, “Hey, how’s it going?” She’s like, “Hi!” We were like, “What’s going on?” She’s said, “Oh, I’m Lorette.” She had a bag of potato chips. She goes, “You guys want some chips?” I said, “What are you doing?” She’s like, “Well, you know, Tav and I just broke up, and I was just getting some of my stuff out of the house.”

the hottest go-go dancer in Memphis with a rocket-fueled money-maker

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the fast talking MC appeared before a trendy looking band in short jacketed, thin lapelled sharkskin suits moving in choreographed steps to rhythms undulating from their instruments. The MC stalked the stage and boisterously hawked the name of Jackie Wilson a hundred times and more. "Are you READY? For JACKIE, Jackie WILSON!" A hundred times. The band vamped. The stage lights were lurid; the audience became more and more edgy ... then, Jackie Wilson entered stage right wielding a hand held microphone. The smooth, milk chocolate skinned star was also dressed in a svelte, short jacketed sharkskin suit razor lapels and sporting chisel pointed shoes. He belted out "There's no pity on the Naked City" in the high pitched tones that drove the audience completely crazy. Suddenly everyone was standing in their seats clapping and swaying in a heightened emotional frenzy that held them totally wired until the last note was struck. Jackie Wilson got down on one knee. He threw off his jacket, and ripped open the front of his shirt. Every woman in the house was crying, tears streaming down their faces. Time stood still.

Wanda Jackson sounded like she could fry eggs on her mons veneris

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It was the voodoo of radio and jukeboxes that brought the new music to the ears and feet of post war beboppers. No one knew what to call it, whether it were fish or fowl, but Dewey Phillips understood it instinctively. He talked that down home hipster jive and jumped to radio right out of a record shop on Beale Street. He never learned how to operate a control board, but his show Red Hot and Blue was a smash hit with the public. WHBQ put George Klein in the control room to make sure that Dewey didn't wreck the studio on his night time slot. Every declaration, expletive, hoot and holler Dewey spewed on the air was infused with rollicking tribal power. He played the rocking guitar picking, gospel shouting Sister Rosetta Tharpe right along side of the corn whiskey and amphetamine fuelled pumping piano of Jerry Lee Lewis. The records got into the hands of DJs with the compliments of Sam's brother, Jud Phillips. Due to the promotional efforts of Jud Phillips, the Sun label broke across the Mid South hotter than a fresh fucked fox in a forest fire. - Tav Falco

Jam Up and Jelly Tight with Tav Falco's Panther Burns

pdf scan (2 pages/2MB) from Zig Zag 1982

Bankers,Students,Workers

Officials,Servants

You are the fellators of the useful

The masturbators of necessity

I shall never work

My hands are pure

Madmen hide your palms from me