I knew Love Visions was “danger porn” when the first-track ripped into a cover of the Isley Brother’s “Nobody But Me,” with lyrics precociously revised to “Nobunny loves me” and accompanied by singing children. Shit. Pervert sounds like the Ramones and Cramps covering Jock Jams Vol. 8 on a snuff kid’s show populated with rotting, cheese-covered G.G. Allin puppets. Children will flip for this thing. And that’s because power-pop is like a pied-piper for the sex predator. More potent than GHB on an ice cream cone and more effective than mall-snatching some toddlers, the tykes just can’t get enough of that feel-good, power-pop. And believe it: Nobunny is concealing some infectious, bubblegum-fuzz beneath his trench-coat. Love Visions plays like a molester’s concoction of “kids-sing-a-long-to-the-hits” garage-jive with hockey-arena stomp/shout moments throughout. 

And kids will party to jock jams. Ask Rick Springfield. Or Sparks. Or that whack, jersey-wearing creep from Cheap Trick. And like the legendary, mostly British, sexual predators before him, there is no denying Nobunny’s intent: rabbit wants to sneak his freak-carrot into an eight-year-old’s closet.

Your average, power-pop pervert can’t resist exposing himself in his songwriting any more than he can resist exposing himself in elevators. And given that every male radio DJ is a child-molester (radio females being mere whores), popular music has a long-running, secret history of pushing “chart-toppers” that, in truth, are the thinly-veiled, boasts of perverts. Such shameful favorites include: “Do You Want To Touch Me (Oh Yeah!),” “Angst In My Pants,” “Dream Police,” and every Kenny Chesney song ever written. (You actually can’t join the Kenny Chesney fan club until you touch a kid on his farm.) 

Not to be out-perved, Nobunny wrote a sick confession all his own in “Chuck Berry Holiday.” Yes. He actually called a song “Chuck Berry Holiday.” It will steal your baby right out a window. 

When you can’t understand what Nobunny is singing, that nightmare goes down like candy from a stranger’s unmarked van. (It also ends like any good Chris Knox song.)

 

How does this 25-minutes of sick trash even exist? All evidence points to Nobunny having been a poor kid from a desert family. It follows deductively that his life was changed forever the day Gary Glitter walked into the Bunny family’s R.V. park. With royalty checks flying in from every sporting event ever, there is no telling how many daycares Gary Glitter has scored his way into. That kind of money buys a lot of “turned heads” in half-way houses, if you know what I mean. The hairy pervert probably tossed hockey arena-money at Nobunny’s fat, lazy parents until they caved and let him babysit their scared, little pride-and-joy. And then Gary Glitter partied.      

Impossible to know how Glitter managed to get the skinned rabbit to stick like that, but it’s Nobunny’s face now. And so he terrorizes preschoolers. 

That’s my guess, at least. The point is, something went bad wrong with a poor kid for Nobunny to happen. Any terrible origins notwithstanding, Nobunny might still be safely dismissed as tasteless, garage gimmickry; creepy, but lacking in genuine threat to the children. And that might be the case. So far, he has achieved nothing like Barney-levels of penetration. And reassuringly, his matted, discolored puss hasn’t made it to any elementary school cafeteria posters about the food groups. But all that granted, the fact stands that a paying audience applauds this drunken freak while he peels away the few threads of pantyhose he started with. Making matters worse, parents bring live five-year-olds within scant meters of the predator; all the while: home-bunny– he ain’t wearing no pants.

If I were a black president, I would sentence Nobunny to life at the Warped Tour. No parole. If a clear and present pervert makes rad jams – and make no mistake, Love Visions is indisputably rad- there is little choice but to launch Nobunny like a one-mega-perv-moles-torpedo right into thousands of shitty bands and shitty, fat kids that are owed a terrible, nightmarish lesson for encouraging NoFx and talking about their feelings. “Chuck Berry Holiday”, for sure.

Go ahead and buy this.