The word whore is a fine word, an awe-inspiringly OUTSTANDING word. Few words in English have as much linguistic linguini. When me and my pals first heard it, tho, in grade school back in the ’50s, we had no idea it was pronounced hoar . . . it was hooer. Could be it was regional, who knows, but we never could find it in a dictionary. Closest we got was huer . . . no go . . . shoulda tried looking for who-er. Ha ha.
We had a two-week newspaper strike oncethis was New Yorkduring which you got to hear all these unlikely things on the radio like 10-minute listings of plays and theater reviews read aloud, and I’ll never forget some guy reading a blurb for Sean O’Casey’s ‘Tis a Pity She’s a Whore . . . wow . . . how fan-fucking-tastic to hear THAT get readto hear it saidon the air.
Yeah, well, so um . . . anyway . . . uhh . . . what was I thinking?
Oh yes: that any band with a whore-name is, sight unseen, sound unheard, a band WORTHY OF ADMIRATION AND RESPECT. A band named Whore Motel, if one existed, would be worthy of respect, as would Whore of Babylon or Schnozzle Whore or A Whore for Donuts. Or Puswhore. Or Whore’s Bath. Or Two Whores’ Ovaries.
An actual scuzz-metal band from Louisiana or Florida or somewhere, Goatwhore are the bee’s kneesand I don’t even have to hear ’em. . . . I just know they’re outasight.
No, I haven’t heard them (and chances are I never will). But I respect and admire them immensely. And you should, too!
Goatwhore play Graceland at 5 p.m. Fri., June 6 with Immolation, Grave, and December. $15
