Everything about this legendary album screams bad taste. The title, Randy’s drugged out mug on the cover, a fan-boy love song to Idi Amin, not to mention the pair of covers that close the album: “(Say it Loud) I’m Black and I’m Proud” and “(Theme from) Shaft,” which are belted out by Black Randy, who is in fact white – of course he is. Randy and the Metrosquad were obviously out to offend and be funny. Surprisingly though, they weaved their snide antagonistic themes around killer performances. That style became a legacy that other talented assholes — from Ween to Matt Stone and Trey Parker; even Odd Future — have carried on like the unholy Torch of Dickishness.
The music on Pass the Dust takes the general tropes of what punk sounded like at the time and warps them. The album is stuffed with organ solos, jazzy piano, and a groovy-as-hell drum and bass team of Joe Ramirez, Jack Nanini, and Keith Barrett. The fractured sound of the Metrosquad evokes the proto-punk insanity of The Magic Band, but never falls into just sounding like a throwback to Beefheart.
Black Randy’s voice will forever be why this album is remembered. At the end of the day you can take all those funky grooves (even the one at the very beginning of “Laundromat” that sounds a bit like “North American Scum”) and still nothing could ever upstage Randy when he promises “not to cum in your mouth.” Meanwhile, Idi Amin’s lyrics sound like they could have been used for the Shangri-Las in some nightmarish alternate reality when the man croons, “He’s my panda from Uganda, he’s my teddy bear/ They say bad things about him but I don’t care.” Later, Randy fantasizes of Amin visiting New York to go to CBGBs with him, all in his slurred voice that acts as a nice stepping-stone from Captain Beefheart to David Yow.
Pass the Dust being their only album, I originally couldn’t help wondering why it didn’t fall through the cracks. It still remains obscure, but is fondly remembered by those who’ve taken the time to seek it out (See: Yo la Tengo’s stunning “Pass the Hatchet, I Think I’m Goodkind”). After investing some time in the album, its cult obsessions becomes understandable, even when removed from the romanticism of obscurity and Randy’s death in 1988. Pass the Dust is heavily intoxicating, and despite all the nastiness abound, a pretty damn good time.