Supersuckers – La Mano Cornuda: #800 of best 1,000 albums ever!

Why is Supersuckers’ La Mano Cornuda on my best 1,000 albums ever list?

It rocks out while having run rocking out while letting YOU know that they’re… oh, just keep on reading for more.

What does Supersuckers’ La Mano Cornuda mean to me? What does it make me feel? Why is it exciting or compelling?

I was first introduced to the Supersuckers by way of “I Say F—,” 46 seconds of wildly fun and manic energy, from the Hype! Documentary soundtrack.

I mean, for my money, song lyrics don’t really get better than, “I say f— and you say yeah!” I mean, they can get better, but do they really need to, dig?

The best thing about the Supersuckers is that they:

• a) rock out
• b) have fun rocking out
• c) let you know that they know they’re having fun while see: a) rock out

Songs like “Creepy Jackalope Eye” and “How to Maximize Your Kill Count” do this with an alt rock meets garage punk groove that rocks hard and rocks fun both.

Songs like “Glad, Damn Glad” are everything I want from a high energy rock song: a minute and change of raucousness, high energy, a good hook, a chorus you can easily chant along with while you’re working out, some dirty, chunky guitar riffs. It’s all there #chefskiss.

Personal stuff that’s somehow related to Supersuckers’ La Mano Cornuda

I’ve made the connection many times between music, memory, and specific times and places in our lives. Sometimes the music itself becomes central to whatever was happening at the time – the emotions of falling in love or a breakup, having an amazing time on a road trip, staring out the window in a state of ennui on a rainy day, and so forth.

And sometimes… the attachment of music to time and place sticks together without a specific reason behind. Such is the case with Supersuckers’ La Mano Cornuda. I connect the album to a very specific time in my life: my final days of living in New York City before my good friend Adam and I were to embark on a road trip across the country to live in the San Francisco Bay Area (with only vaguest of notions of what we’d do with ourselves once we got out there).

It was early October in New York City, and the weather was that perfect combination of sunny and comfortable, with a slight crispness in the air that let you know real autumn was well on the way. I was in the final days of a strange job at a tiny marketing agency in Manhattan’s East Village, and after work during this very specific time period, I’d take a subway to the Upper West Side.

I had the specific mission of using the gym located inside of a fancy apartment building where one of Adam’s friends lived. We had access to the code to get in the front door of the building, and that was all that was needed to access the gym. For some reason, this was quite the exciting notion: free gym access! I felt like an outlaw.

And this here outlaw would sally up to that gym and hit the stationary bike for 45 minutes or so before hopping on another subway and heading back to my apartment in Astoria, Queens.

And the soundtrack to these final lawless, cast about days living in New York City included songs like “Creepy Jackalope Eye” and “How to Maximize Your Kill Count.”