In 1988, Seth Putnam formed the band Anal Cunt in Boston, Massachusets. Almost twenty years later he is still touring, recording albums, and abusing drugs. Seth is a six-foot-tall, 39-year-old zombie with long hair who hobbles around on a cane. Just before midnight this past Saturday, May 5, we met in the parking lot before the band was to take the stage at Churchill’s Pub (5501 NE 2nd Ave, Miami).
“Follow me,” Seth said. We walked to a secluded area off Churchill’s back patio, where the drummer and guitarist of Anal Cunt had also been waiting.
“This is gonna be the best interview you ever get,” said drummer Nate, “especially when Seth starts snorting that coke, bro.”
With songs titles like “Eazy E. Got AIDS from Freddy Mercury,” and “You Rollerblading Faggot,” Anal Cunt has been accused of being racist, sexist, and homophobic.
“Most people are racist and sexist,” Seth said. He sat at a table, dividing a small mountain of coke into three big lines with a credit card.
“For some reason, they just keep buying our records,” Nate said.
Seth looked up from the table, “Hey dude, can you roll up a dollar bill? I’ll give it right back to you, Jew.”
Minutes later, Seth licked the white crumbs from the ten-dollar bill as someone passed him a bowl of marijuana. “I don’t smoke weed. It’s gay,” he answered.
“You guys go on in ten minutes,” said a man who approached, out of breath.
Seth grabbed my arm. “Can you help me get to the stage?” he asked.
We slowly stumbled through the crowd inside. Patrons were packed in like cattle, clutching their bottles of Bud Lite and parting like the Red Sea.
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By this time, the guitarist and drummer were already onstage playing. Seth let go of my arm and subsequently almost fell down. He crawled like a baby onto the stage as audience members pushed him into an amplifier. This was grindcore at its finest. Seth struggled for balance as he tried to stand up. His eyes suddenly popped out of his head as he screamed into the microphone. The music and his voice, both piercing and loud, scraped the inside of everyone’s skulls.
“This next song is called ‘Ha-Ha Holocaust,’” mumbled Seth into the microphone.
“More like Ha Ha Heroin,” someone yelled. “You suck!” Seth swayed back and forth, staring into the spotlights with glazed eyes.
His body seemed to seizure as he fought with gravity, falling into the monitors. An empty beer bottle whizzed past his head. -- Jason Handelsman