Girl Planet
Life
is safer and more exciting on Girl Planet than anywhere else in the shag-o-sphere.
The songs on this joyous-beast-of-a-record range from brilliant to better,
from fiery to feathery. It has more sexedhelic horsepower than an octopus
has suction; more groove than a grove has leaves; and more taste than
an elephant has daydreams. Lord Russ' valiant
voice takes no prisoners and requires no cheerleaders. It is a voice laced
with a wistful gusto reminiscent of those sandbox days, when every kind
of bird, from robin to grackle to partridge, rained down its blue and
lonely syllables of vulnerable intimacy and a heartbreaking desire to
never be fully understood. And what can one say about the melodious antics
of that tireless rapscallion bassist (lanky ham), Señor
Ohlenbusch, that hasn't already been said by a million fireflies copulating
in a crepuscular glade preparing for an evening of divine ballet? To say
he is a lean, clean, clown-engined machine, would be overstressing the
girth of his poetic breadth. The drummer, Monsignor
Todd, is a genuine whirligig of carnal badinage, a blistering wilderness
of rhythmical conundrums, or in plainer english, let's just say he kicks
enough bottom to qualify him for eternal citizenship on that groovy little
swinging globe known as Girl Planet. So, fasten your sweet-belts, mates,
because The Aloha Steamtrain is less a band than they are an omnivorous
carnival of hotpink persuasion, whose noble (albeit libidinous) mission
is to free the willies and thaw the digits of every frozen man on earth,
and to add cinnamon and mischief to the bubblebaths of every woman's privacy.
So, goodbye headaches, farewell doldrums, adios ulcers, The Aloha Steamtrain,
like its kissable cousin, The Little Red Caboose, is enroute to Toytown
as we speak, lugging its cargo of erotic delights and eclectic wonders,
for all the boys and girls to share, as they will one day share each other.
Connolly Ryan P.I. 
