The Boyd Rice Experience — Hatesville

Originally released in 1995, Hatesville subverts the beatnik poetry album Beatsville (released by Rod McKuen, an associate of Kerouac and Ginsberg, in 1959) into a series of predictably hate-filled spoken word pieces from Boyd Rice and fellow provocateurs Adam Parfrey (writer and boss of the brave, wayward Feral House publishing company), The Partridge in the Pear Tree (née Shaun Partridge, founder of quasi-religion The Partridge Family Temple) and Jim Goad (writer made famous by his infamous Answer Me! magazine of the early nineties). Soleilmoon‘s cheesily named sub-label, Caciocavallo, have lovingly remastered this series of spiteful sermons for both CD and vinyl, this time with three new tracks (two from Partridge, one from Rice).

Confusingly, it also omits three tracks from the original release – ‘Daydream’, a film noir style rant from Rice, ‘Piss Ant’, Partridge’s unaccompanied narration about beating up a woman, and Parfrey’s ‘The Wandering Parasite’, a woozy bit of psych that was one of the most musical moments on the original. There is certainly nothing about these tracks to suggest that the content was problematic for re-release. After all, both the original and this reissue feature Jim Goad reading one of his pieces from the final edition of Answer Me! (known as ‘The Rape Issue’) called ‘Let’s Hear It For Violence Towards Women’. Over an industrial-by-numbers martial beat peppered with gasps, screams, police sirens and smashing glass, he starts by arguing that women’s “whining provokes violence” and how this should be physically dealt with “the first time she gives you lip”, and ends with a gory description of rape and murder.

But it’s not all misogyny, the hate is shared out in a fair and inclusive manner ensuring that no corner of society is neglected, as epitomised by Rice’s ‘Mr. Intolerance’ where he confesses his total misanthropy. Elsewhere, Parfrey playfully describes a cycle of interracial violence at a barbecue (‘Race Riot’), while Partridge gleefully imagines a series of interchanges with hungry homeless people who give him the opportunity to deny their pleas for help through describing his own gluttony.

Musically, there’s not much to pick over with transgressive readings so central to Hatesville’s mix – unevolved lounge jazz, light psychedelic rock and straight elevator muzak are variously deployed as backing tracks to the calm, measured tones of Rice or Parfrey, placing the hip, cool vibes of yesterday somewhat at odds with the bitter mischief of the content. But, as a listening experience this is ultimately disappointing given the marvellous sounds of Rice’s psychedelic pop collaborations with Rose McDowall and more recently Giddle Partridge, and especially compared to his expertly dark instrumental solo work that was neatly rounded up on Mute’s 2004 compilation, Terra Incognita.

But it’s not just for this reason that the album doesn’t lend itself to repeated listening, the poems themselves are, at best, merely titillating (and at worst plainly puerile). The shock value of the perspectives held on this disk may have dramatically cut through the heightened political-correctness of the early eighties, giving a valuable counterpoint to some of the assumed wisdoms of the era and stimulating discussions surrounding free speech, but nowadays it’s just predictable and dull. Last month a second volume of Hatesville was announced, let’s hope their hate can be redirected away from the hackneyed baiting of a PC crowd and towards more contemporary insights that have the power to stimulate as opposed to stagnate, or why not really shock us by calling it ‘Lovesville’ and describing all the things to love in life with genuine tenderness and affection.