The Snivelling Shits: Rock Journos as Musical Satirists

The Snivelling Shits: Rock Journos as Musical Satirists

It’d be difficult to count the number of writers and commentators who have eventually turned to music in order to realize some obtuse fantasy. Of course, making a career of writing about people who stand on-stage in front of a crowd for some sort of weird self aggrandizing greed is usually the impetus for that writerly impulse. We all want some one to pay attention. And really, the written word isn’t the best way to get that. Instead, turning an ability most exercised on paper into a performance of one kind or another becomes a tremendous driving force.

Richard Meltzer did it. Lester Bangs did it. Cameron Crowe made a few million dollars off of it. The Snivelling Shits (sic) and its front-man Giovanni Dadomo are basically the same as those aforementioned folks, minus any sort of renown, in any arena.

But the one time Sounds music writer cobbled together a punk act in ’77, which included another scribe named Dave Fudger on guitar, that trucked in snide retellings of old songs as well as working up a few originals. Before delving into specifics, it’s easiest to just say that the time and place (London) should pretty easily provide ample explanation of what this sounds like. If not, though, it’s somewhere between the Sex Pistols and Mark P’s more sing/speak moments with Alternative Television.

During the group’s proper lifespan, it only released a total of four tracks over two singles. “Crossroads” is just another Velvet Underground appropriation, replacing the New Yawk cool with an auld world depression. “Only Thirteen,” its b-side, is what it looks like.

The “Terminal Stupid” b/w “I Can’t Come” disc, though, comes off as a more clever statement on life, if not original in its construction or how the message is conveyed. That second track has nothing to do with showing up at a party. It’s about sex. The best part, though, is the list of folks who Dadomo figures can’t cum – including Sigmund Freud. Sounding no different than whatever other singles were out a the time didn’t do much to make the Snivelling Shits stars. It’s name most likely disallowed that.

Being left with the leftovers on I Can’t Come, in addition to the band’s singles output, doesn’t reveal all that much. These guys were just another clutch of players, eking out a living typing during the day and wanted attention at night. Hopefully, they got enough.