Homeward Sound

In the past decade, the Pornhuskers have employed more than a dozen dancers, played more than a hundred shows and offended more than a thousand people. However, until its self-titled album on Anodyne, unveiled on November 19 at a baroque release party, the band had never issued a full-length CD. Pornhuskers, adorned with a striking erect-ear-of-corn cover, proves that listeners can judge an album by its artwork. In frank, filthy terms, the group describes dominatrix duties, devours drugs with glee, and masturbates.

The shock value of such songs pales in comparison with the Pornhuskers’ live show, at which its members and dancers simulate all of these activities with disarming accuracy. The Pornhuskers also use background projections that play like slide shows from the site of a porn-studio massacre. Outraged by the sight of these stage-blood-smeared scantily clad models, one Columbia concertgoer approached a promoter and demanded that she pull the plug. That gig ranks among the band’s most successful shows; as the Pornhuskers’ theme song goes, I hope you hate our guts.

Thanks to such debauchery, the local-music fixtures involved in the Pornhuskers project prefer not to use their real names. Actual identities aside, King Punk Rock Salami, Mac Daddy Fingers, Father Pat O’Phile, Goldie Showers and Biggie Johnson play some of the most searing surf-garage trash-thrash ever to emerge from the area. Unlike most acts that thrive on spectacle, the Pornhuskers write songs that can engage listeners without assistance; even instrumental-only versions of these tunes could spark a fire on wet wood. The Pornhuskers might never be recognized for their sharp guitar tones, bruising bass lines, deft drum work and commanding yowls, at least as long as they’re paying poetic tribute to “Bald Baby Beaver,” but these guys aren’t exactly gunning for universal acclaim.