Welcome to TNUC’s very first SAVAGE NOMAD ALBUM REVIEW. Our intention is simple. Seek out crusty records with ridiculous cover artwork, listen, reflect. We’re looking for bodacious looking albums that capture the true power and spirit of heavy metal but sadly only 37 people in the world have ever heard. With millions of bands and billions of albums floating across the earth, all we have is one requirement. The album artwork must be nasty, primitive and savage. Artwork that easily could’ve been drawn by that delinquent Randy from shop class, your best friend’s scary older brother or the mustached stranger working at the carnival’s airbrush booth. Artwork that explodes off the shelf, excites your inner-dream child and demands that you bring it home. That same knee-jerk “cool cover…I need this” reaction you had as a kid while browsing aisles at the record shop or video store.
You know the ones. Bulging muscles, nude ladies, demons, witches, executioners, barbarians, reapers, sledgehammers, axes, swords, blood, rock boulders, neon animals, raging beasts, loin cloths, prostitutes, molten steel, lightning, villagers, snakes, rats, power glow, Italian sports cars and foggy darkness……perfectly portrayed in all their airbrushed and colored pencil glory.
We hope to uncover some gems, but realistically some of them will be turds and that’s OK. The goal is to showcase these obscure albums for what they are.
So join TNUC in scraping the $1 bargain bins, garage sales, abandoned high school lockers and Uncle Rick’s smokey basement in search for cheaply drawn, savage metal power.
SAVAGE NOMAD ALBUM REVIEW #1:
FORTRESS – SELF-TITLED (1985)
Properly describing something so pure and mighty is no easy feat. This artwork has two possible scenarios. One, the screaming long-haired barbarian holding a white-hot guitar lets out one final war cry before he’s burned alive at the stake from a naughty pack of savage bubble-butt babes with daggers. How beautiful. All this happens while a reaper hovers above waiting for death. I love how our buff shredder is in perfect power stance position while he’s going down in flames. “Leg up on the amp” and everything. Those broken hearted, medieval minxes below are celebrating his demise because of a bad sexual episode or two.
The second scenario is that he’s rising up out of the flames like a golden god of heavy metal and savior of all these ladies’ steamy desires and lonely hearts. You have to remember, the barbaric age was cold, sad and bleak. Our hero probably just landed in a village of widowed barbarian queens, longing for a beefy warrior to come stumbling into their compound and satisfy them with his 6-string axe. The desperate women awake in the morning to a squealing guitar coming from the sacrificial fire pit. They rush down with daggers and swords in hand, ready for battle. What they see amidst the flames is rock’s chosen warrior, thrusting, pumping…and probably drenched in Miller High Life.
I know what you’re thinking. PLEASE be as good as the artwork.
Well good news, it is! This is a ripper of a record. Imagine a darker, less polished, more beefy and pissed off version of Ratt. Make no mistake, these are still party tunes. It’s like Stephen Pearcy putting down the hairspray for a minute and picking up the iron. The songs are exactly how the album artwork suggests. Low budget, smoking guitars and paint-by-numbers bass. Shrieking vocals that mean business and give a total of zero fucks. No surprises, just tits and fire. Wanna ride?
There’s something refreshing and exciting about the unpolished sound of these types of records. It’s exactly how they should sound. If you want squeaky clean, go listen to Def Leppard. If you’d rather be reminded of high school days cruising around in your friend’s mom’s Ford Pinto, throwing beer bottles out the windows, listen to FORTRESS. Immediate highlights include “Metal Meltdown”, “Wastin’ My Time”, “She Gives it All” and “Takin’ it Back”. I can almost smell the bottle of stale Schnapps being passed around a wood-paneled basement filled with smoke. A lone piece of pizza crust spins around the top of a turntable.
FORTRESS made their mark on the mean streets of Kansas City, Missouri in 1980. Locals say they ruled the Kansas City heavy metal scene for years. The band suffered a major blow when drummer Gary Vogel died before the release of their 1985 self-titled debut album. Gary was one of three brothers in the band, plus a guitarist and vocalist. No offense to Kansas City, but these savage nomads would’ve had a real chance if they had relocated to LA. I can think of so many wet noodle bands with far less passion who’s careers made it way further than FORTRESS. What a shame.
Thanks for reading and listening to our first Savage Nomad Album Review! Go pick up the FORTRESS album at the nearest crustiest record store that still exists. Otherwise, hit up Discogs or make a bootleg copy for your next basement party.
Because we’re this late into February and only now declaring a Slob-Of-The-Month, let’s turn this into a double-slob celebration.
Say hello to Frank and Jack from 1995’s Billy Madison, two legendary, brainless slobs!
Lying around drunk all day and eating Cheetos might not sound like a life destiny, but you can’t knock these bums for taking full advantage of the jackpot they struck when meeting a slacker rich kid like Billy Madison. It’s a bummer they deprived us of a backstory on Frank or Jack, although I think it’s safe to say they had nothing going on before living poolside at Madison Estates.
Life really peaked once these freeloaders met Billy boy. Nudie magazine day, sunburns, daiquiris, Frito binges, window pickle races at the local diner, pizza hoarding and oh…lighting bags of dog poo on fire and leaving them on people’s doorsteps.
Don’t feel bad about admitting to feeling a bit jealous of these notorious party slobs. Experts call this ‘slob envy’. This happens when you don’t necessarily want to be a lump of crap, but the slob lifestyle still seems awfully appealing compared to your structured life of responsibility. Uncle T has suffered from slob envy his entire life.
Slob party aftermath…Dog, Jack, Frank and a random passed out guy that nobody knows.
I’ve been in similar situations as Billy Madison with having friends sleep over when they’re not invited. They raid the snack closets, drink all my Ox 45, trash the TNUC cabana, pee in the ice cube trays and leave empty Dunkaroo containers behind. It’s infuriating but I usually let a couple of my closest slob friends off the hook. If they’re signature slobs like Frank and Jack, I usually take it easy on them.
Now let us depart with an ultimate party anthem for cranking poolside with a stack of pizzas and a hundred beers!
*Honorable mention Slob-Of-The-Month goes to Principal Anderson aka “The Revolting Blob” who was featured in a special Valentine’s Day post last year that we recommend you revisit*
[Slob-Of-The-Month is a monthly tribute and sloppy spotlight on a chosen few classic slobs that have graced the screen and stage. We’re not just here for the big-bellied behemoths. Slobs come in ALL shapes and sizes. Fat, skinny, sleazy, nasty, smelly and everything in between. They don’t care about personal appearance. They lack basic hygiene. While some people might remember great slob performances, stamina isn’t their strong suit. They don’t stick around very long. Some collapse from heart attacks. Some never reach the 9th grade. Some drink or eat themselves into oblivion. Now ALL will be resurrected and spotlighted in this monthly feature. Let’s all remember this crucial quote from Animal House: “fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son”. Hooray for slobs. Go here to see them all.]
Uncle T spent all last weekend rummaging through his wood-paneled basement, parting ways with old nonsense to make room for new nonsense. After carefully separating the Coors Light Beer Wolf merchandise, American Gladiators collectors items and those framed cocaine mirrors they give away at carnivals, he’s plucked out a box of treasures to sell in the TNUC Gift Shop.
Vintage board games, old band shirts, Spuds Mackenzie shirts, exclusive one-off TNUC merch, rare movie swag, hats and more! Check out the sneak preview below and see all items at uncletnuc.bigcartel.com!
Your purchase will be supporting this site, which in full disclosure is a 100% 1-Manimal operation if you didn’t realize already. It’s been a wild bunch of years and it’s time to push TNUC to the limit. What’s that mean? For starters, this website needs a revamping. Better graphics, easier navigation, more features, merchandise, etc. The money generated from this basement cleaning will help make those things happen. So thank you!
Calling all 40-year-old adolescents, felons, power drinkers and trustees of modern chemistry. It’s time to get wild n’ willing with TNUC’s Double Deuce Mix!
53 minutes of knee slapping, cig-ripping, beer smashing, throat ripping, sandy-mullets-waving-in-the-wind Double Deuce worship! It was only a matter of time before we curated an entire power hour dedicated to the greatest film of all time, Road House. I stayed awake so many nights with anxiety worrying about how I’ll live up to my own expectations of this mixtape. In the end, it came together so organically from loving this movie so much and knowing it better than some of my own family members.
Hopefully these songs take you back to simpler, looser, manlier days. Men were men. Cars were cool. Females were less petrified of the male species. Instead of DJs there were house bands with bearded men. Rock n’ roll dominated mainstream radio. Reality shows didn’t exist. Mud wrestling at bars did exist. Beer bottles were cooler. Drive up diners had waitresses on roller skates. Happy Hour was only an hour, but you could polish off twelve beers for twelve bucks. Cigarettes were cool. Mentioning the word “vape” would earn you a punch right in the nose.
The Double Deuce Mix is obviously a massive testament to our love for Road House, but there’s a deep underlining message throughout this mix that shouldn’t be lost in the shadows. It’s the homage to a certain type of man who’s a dying breed these days. The guy who still wears black faded jeans, drinks domestic beer, strictly backs into parking spots, goes to bars still dirty from work without showering first, throws horseshoes and has been working outside for so long that his skin is basically leather. Wade Garrett is the textbook, quintessential leader of this pack.
So reach for a Miller Genuine Draft, grab that platinum blonde wearing the Pizza Hut tablecloth skirt and get ready to boogie.
COTY WILD MUSK IS TNUC.
TNUC IS COTY WILD MUSK.
Nothing is more comforting than a good ol’ fashioned pairing of horny neanderthals and cheap cologne. This is so perfect. From the loin cloths to the seductive glares to the narration, this commercial really hits home for TNUC.
The neanderbabe is Jill Schoelen, who should be recognizable from starring roles in D.C. Cab, Babes in Toyland, Popcorn and The Stepfather. The cro-magnon creeper is Peter Tramm, a dancer who was the fill-in for Kevin Bacon during the big dance sequence scenes in Footloose.
“Coty Wild Musk…use it before you stalk”