March 3, 1985
Something of a Billy Idol that MTV could never dare to try and obtain, a true exhibitionist, Foetus took care not to toss water on any cameras.
Reactions are regional. Last summer, in Hoboken, N.J., at college club crowd Maxwell's, they were so confused and intimidated by Clint Ruin (aka Foetus) that they froze, only afterwards to transform in a furious mob, stomping for an encore to perform bodily harm. However, in San Francisco, at the poshly filthy Oasis, the audience was unbudgeable, rather snickering, reverent, or judgemental of the quality of Foetus' art. They were there to be amused by outlandish behavior.
In Hoboken, 75% of the crowd had wanted to dance with their dates to rock 'n' roll ("Clint Ruin" is definitely a r'n'r kind of name). They would up staring at a profane, hyper-active junky-looking young man who sang lyrics drowned out by painfully loud tapes, trashed the club's decor, and tossed their dates' gin & tonics into their faces. Foetus couldn't get the gumption to go drink-tossing at the Oasis. He fit in too well with the crowd for that to be entertainment, and damned if he would be taken for a chimpanzee. Rather, he kept his dramatics unmischevious and onstage, symbolically backed by a blank movie screen.
The sound at the Oasis was far superior to novice Maxwell's trasy system, doing justice to Foetus Art Terrorism dancefloor hits "Catatstrophe Crush" and "Calamity Crunch." His performance was largely based on Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel, an album full of colorful sin and damnation, sounding cabaret like, say, the Rocky Horror Picture Show. He's the only performer who looks much shorter on stage; probably because he falls down and writhes so much.
A charismatic "new poet," not dissimilar to Nick Cave, a talented singer, crackerjack musician and producer, Foetus definitely likes to entertain, squiggling like Iggy, sneering and gyrating like Billy I., decadently attractive and giving as much attention to the audience as most performers would like to receive.
Source: Puncture magazine #9, Spring 1985.
Thanks to the person who beat my ebay bid on this magazine, for photocopying it and sending it along (sent anonymously).