The impact of Dead Kennedys’ debut album stretches so far and wide it’s barely calculable. It contains testimonial quotes from cross- generational musicians, writers, actors, artists, filmmakers, comedians and at least one celebrity hair groomer. Some of these names are as expected as outright lies at a Trump rally, such as Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day fame. Whether you like either record or not, it doesn’t take Noam Chomsky to draw a direct line between Fresh Fruit For Rotting Vegetables’ grimy provocations and Green Day’s grandiose American Idiot of 2004. Ogg also lists plaudits from thrash metallers, alt-rockers, the uncategorisable Ween, even house and techno acts, plus Massive Attack. The latter’s style may sound galactically distant from Californian hardcore, but the Bristolian trip-hoppers loved the way Dead Kennedys shunted punk in intriguing directions, both in terms of songwriting and production. The two acts’ politics chimed quite closely as well.
First released in 1980, Fresh Fruit... contains plenty of contemporary references. Governor Jerry Brown’s presidential ambitions are lampooned on California Uber Alles. Elsewhere, the radical sincerity of Jane Fonda is questioned.
The album’s major themes have retained relevancy since its day of release, however, and not just because Hollywood stars continue to fly back and forth across the oceans in private jets while scolding the rest of humanity for its moral failings. While it helps explain Fresh Fruit...’s enduring resonance, it’s pretty shocking how pertinent those darkly humorous lyrics remain.
To advertise the sarcastic single, Kill The Poor, the band’s UK label (Cherry Red) took a photograph from the Conservative Party conference and airbrushed the song title onto the party banner. If the Tories were truly honest, they’d have adopted it as their official anthem ever since.
The sardonic words, warbled with gusto by Jello Biafra in his role as Uncle Sam’s answer to Johnny Rotten, have their perfect foil in the music, which shouldn’t be overlooked, either. Later albums showed even greater sophistication. Here, already, we find surf licks, tempo shifts, sinister psychedelia, atmospheric Morricone-isms and far more than the standard three chords inserted into the punk-rock template with such playfulness and daring, it’s no wonder how many eyebrows were raised. Chemical Warfare’s mid-song lurch into Juventino Rosas’ 19th-century waltz Sobre Las Olas is one of the less subtle examples, while III The Head basically invents math-rock.
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