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Wanker

If Ian Dury fronted a Sex Pistols cover band with a fake American accent, a group like Wanker might sound oddly familiar. Instead, its members sound like aged, insolent, faux-Anglican punkers from a parallel universe -- say, a London-based New York Dolls tribute act that calls itself the Jerk Offs but can still get a gig. Not that Wanker merely teases the primal appetites; it tickles the funny bone, too. Quaalude-approved frontman 714 rises from glam's trashy ashes to conduct a Cool Whip clinic, snarling about "Frigid White Girls" or the ongoing circus in his pants. "You won't touch me/So I touch myself," he proclaims, priming the pump for a marathon of exaggerated raunch. Featuring guitarist Nicky Stiff, bassist Jimi Stench and one of four different drummers (even Bob Rupp, aka Bobbi Gleep), Wanker lampoons an era of excess older than Gilda Radner's Candy Slice. Even so, the chicken-milking outfit surpasses its own novelty and nostalgia by remaining stubbornly frozen in time, singing "I Was a Teenage Ringpiece" or chanting "Sod that!" until even the ghost of Andy Warhol might muster a chuckle.
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John La Briola

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