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Dusted Reviews
Artist: Kathy McGinty Album: Kathy McGinty Label: Hamburger Review date: Aug. 9, 2005 |
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The girl on the other end of the phone tells you “I’m all fucked up from huffing Scotch Guard,” “I might be having a miscarriage” and “Satan controls my robotic vagina.” Not exactly music to the ears of a horny as hell john looking to indulge in a spot of phone sex. But generally they carry on regardless, beating their meat to the beat, the hapless victims of this voyeuristic crank-call collection.
Originally released in 2001 as a CD-R and later bootlegged by an unscrupulous L.A. record label, Kathy McGinty (the brainchild of pranksters Derek Erdman and Julia Rickert) has finally been pressed as a CD, complete with new liner notes and six bonus tracks.
It documents calls made to a fake sex line, promising live interaction with Kathy McGinty, a nubile young nympho, but all that greets the would be sex seekers is a recorded voice triggered by a Yahama SU-10 sampler. The sheer ridiculousness and comic value of Kathy’s responses are equally matched by (a) the sheer incredulity of the callers and (b) their inability to admit the obvious, namely that they’ve been had. When Kathy seemingly orgasms into ecstatic oblivion at the slightest provocation (“Hello, is that Kathy?”) or starts conversing in tongues, a whoring hostage to the devil, the game should be up. But these guys are so desperate to get their rocks off that even the knowledge that their liaison is with a minor (“I’m 12 years old”) doesn’t prevent them from pumping the pork sword (“I’m not a child molester, but I’ll fuck you”).
The majority of callers are sexually aggressive creatures, declaring how they are going to fuck McGinty hard in the arse, etc. It is easy to imagine exactly the type of men they are and it’s difficult to have much sympathy for them, but there are a few exceptions. One caller takes a more romantic approach – when asked what he would like to do to Kathy he responds “I would kiss you on the forehead, put my hands through your hair and kiss the sides of your face.” Cue multiple McGinty orgasm frenzy. His poor little soul crushed.
By Spencer Grady
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View all articles by Spencer Grady