The surviving members of the Texan psychedelic art rock noise band recall the drugs, fires, fights, scabies, dumpster-diving, naked dancing and primal screaming of their early days
Nudity, raging fires, belching smoke, blinding strobes, nightmare-inducing surgical videos, fights and firearms: these are some of the things you may have encountered at a Butthole Surfers show while being pummelled by a squealing cacophony of acid-fried psychedelic noise-rock, as a man tripping wildly in his underpants screams at you through a megaphone.
“People would be running out of our shows throwing up,” says Paul Leary, the band’s guitarist. “We were punishing these poor souls.”
