Gas Huffer isn't merely another goofy, punkabilly parody act taking their cue from dimwit method actors Southern Culture on the Skids. Yet ever since their great 1994 release One Inch Masters drag- raced its way onto the scene, Gas Huffer has steadily regressed from mild musical retardation to the Down's Syndrome sufferings of Just Beautiful Music. Gas Huffer's rusty, muffler- less exhaust pipes belch gargantuan stinkclouds of hayseedic Reverend Horton Heat- ish cowpunk, fronted by a singer that prides himself on upchucking verbal puddles of illiterate puke. So don't be fooled by the album title's shallow smidgen of redneck irony. After a few years' worth of wear, tear, and slow brain oxidation, Gas Huffer may now be one of the biggest lemons on the Epitaph lot.

Yup. I'm sayin' Just Beautiful Music is a rickety ol' hunk o' junk, y'all. Lead belter Matt Wright's exaggerated ape-like grunts are turned way up in the mix; which, in turn, allows the listener to hear just how embarrassingly bad his lyrics are. Secondly, the reckless half- rhythm- half- lead guitar parts and fumbling Budweiser- drenched solos just lose their point after awhile. And slop- Guitarist Tom Price makes Johnny Thunders' playing seem polished and refined.

True, no one expects punk/ rockabilly lyrics to be the stuff of major American poetry anthologies. But Wright's songwriting is dull, nonsensical, and full of stupid humor. He seems determined to unload on the listener every ounce of cowshit lodged between his ears. "Is That For Me" is an ode to domestic hell in "the toilets of Ohio." Dig the chorus, dude: "Man, what'd you gimme that tequila for?/ Ohiiiiiiyyyooooooohh." Wright howls like he's just taken some buckshot in the ass. There's also some amorphous, plodding lounge- punk on "The Surgeons," ostensibly about a cut-rate plastic surgery service.

That brings me to this year's Steve Miller Booby Prize selection for Most Creative Rhyme: "Cut the Check." Behold Wright's innovative syllabic manipulations: "You call me a foolah/ To be so uncoolah/ So stop with yer yakkin/ And make with the moolah." Wow, that's even more creative than rhyming Texas with Taxes, no? "Beware of Viking" is Gas Huffer's lasting contribution to ancient Nordic lore: "Beware the Viking/ When he comes a strikin'/ His face is frightnin'." Finally on "You May Have Already Won," Wright begins warbling, "Woke up this mornin'/ Knock at the door/ It was Ed McMahon/ With a million dollar check in his hand." These are just a few prime examples of the proud- to- be- moronic, Kindergarten school of songwriting to which Gas Huffer sadly subscribes.

The Huffies do have a nice lil' cult followin' goin' for 'em, though. I guess, in some respects, it pays to be perceived as an empty- headed rube these days. Just ask cultural icons Forrest Gump, Maximum Bob, Jeff Foxworthy, Garth Brooks, Hank Hill, and Bill Clinton, for starters. I suppose if your leisure activities include firing up a monster 4x4 Ford truck, shotgunning a four- pack of 16- ounce tall- boys, plowing through manicured lawns, upending garbage cans, ruining flower beds and flattening sundry stray animals, then Just Beautiful Music may leave indelible skid marks on your perpetual childhood.

-Michael Sandlin