Thank Fuck, UNBELIEVABLY Bad is Back


Instinctively, those of you in the know, will understand this as being the reverse of the Viking longhorn sound you silently hear as the heralding of the end of our times each time you accidentally turn on a television during the finale of some abject Mongoljoidation of the last dangling intestines of the rotted corpse of our intellectual peak as an unchecked God school experiment. A time where if you Google enough large images long enough on the right kind of night, you can see where the last high wave finally broke against the bow of a passing oil filled supertanker from an African superslave state. I know I sound like “Rick S Britain” when I type these long-winded school-book teacher sentences into your brain. And I know your IQ drops after seven words without a rest for mental breath. But Bear Grylls with me on this, and I’ll be back after this short break…

There you go. OK, UNBELIEVABLY Bad is back on the shelves of vacant, going broke, I won’t download an album if I know they have it on the shelf, stores across the entire Australian incontinent sex-stained carpet, strictly come black T-shirted, off-brand side road, upstairs, waiting to be offered a money laundering gig, shitbox alt crowd record library, Alice Cooper signed 78rpm, non-profit business record shop. We Are F**KIN’ Back Baby!!! Like D’jando part Zero. The D is NOT silent • • • Dem Bitches is bullet holes, not full stops :O :O  = “The Horror, The Horror” emoticon.

Back once again for the Renegade Master! The staggering lager-filled larger-than-life, (Read that twice if you failed school exams), cult zombie greatness that is UNBELIEVABLY Bad – yes I say… Back in print!

UB is kicking out the jams all the way to the kerb, girl-fiends. If you’d like to sign up for this revolution simply buy two copies of the first edition. Leave one in an unbelievably inappropriate place – nunneries, train carriages, local doctor’s office, or propped up in the background of a home porno uploaded to (all mere suggestions). Keep the other copy, frame it in gold and leave it to a great grandchild in your will. They will thank you for it, as they grow up to know these artists existed as they look back from a time when the only music everyone else is listening to is the Greatest Hits of the Telly Tubbies.

I know you counts don’t depreciate nuffink, but hats off to the musical terrorist that UB supports every last deathly claw away at the invincible turd bombers that comprise mainstream musical media. Let’s face it. If this is all there is, the bands we love are, as Bad Boy Bubby would say, “fucked”. Most of the music we listen to, the people playing are already dead. So, however cynically, now we’re just on the look out for new bands where artists have recently died. We haven’t got time to listen to today’s rock upstarts who the mainstream are worried about because they’ve gained a Scientology tattoo or three. These days we are so desensitised we only lower our kingly click fingers onto links for overdose confirmations with zero “likes”.

YES, this makes us snobs. Irrelevant and part of the problem not the solution. But personally, King Parrot aside, I’m an impenetrable fortress that is only willing to investigate a band if I hear about them from a source I can trust. Onwards and downwards.

Guaranteed, one day, many, many years after not reading it, you will pick this magazine out of a box and you will know what I’m bullshitting on about. Some of you are going to be picking it up and remembering a time when you were scared, confident, or just too fucking cocky. But you will be reading it one day again. Some of you might even be in it and be rereading it, like Micky Rourke’s protagonist in The Wrestler… playing with an Atari, Commodore or Spectrum. Anyway, whatever drug, console, whiskey, beer, newspaper, politician, TV show, religion or music you give a shit about right now, get out on a bridge somewhere dressed as Santa Clause with a dead salmon wrapped in your beard. Then, as loud as you can, and in the voice of an old English town-crier, wave a loud brass bell in the air at 4am and bellow, “Hear Yea, Hear Yea. UNBELIEVABLY Bad is Back In Print. All other bullshit is now hereby commanded to cease to exist.”

You know what to do.



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