What’s in a Name?

Way back in the day when Fuck the Informer was going through Total Mass Destruction, we had this song called “Hit the Bitch Hard.” It wasn’t really about anything in particular, not advocating actually hitting anybody or anything, just some stupid song that we played almost as a stupid segue between one stupid song and the next. As was typical of us at the time, the lyrics were simple and repetitive.

“Hit the bitch, hit the bitch, hit the bitch hard… hard… hard…” and that was it.

Now, I’m pretty sure we wrote the song as a mix between the Dwarves song “Hits” and the Ramones “Beat on the Brat,” though I don’t think we consciously were connecting it to either of them at the time. That happens with music—you end up ripping shit off whether you intend to or not. Sometimes you do it on purpose, like we did for our song “Revenge,” which was a blend of two Aretha Franklin songs (You Better Think and Respect) dangerously sung over two abusive and driving chords. But in the case of “Hit the Bitch Hard,” we just wrote it in two seconds and played it that night. If you ever saw us, I’m pretty sure you’d agree we were the type of band that could get away with that. We didn’t have to worry about being sloppy because being sloppy was already written into the equation. It made it easier for us to care less, and for whatever reason caring less was the driving goal of the band.  We could care less harder than any other Salt Lake band could care. Our band sweated lazy, and it was reflected in our song writing.

So anyway, we started realizing that “Hit the Bitch Hard” was turning into one of our hits. People could jump on stage and sing the twenty-seconds long song for us, and that made them feel special, which meant they’d likely buy us shots after the show. Jocks also seemed to like the song, and when you play in a band that tends to make people want to kick your ass, having jocks like something gives you a fragile layer of protection. We’d play the song at almost every show regardless of where it was or who we were playing with, twenty-seconds of gang vocals screaming “Hard!” guaranteed.

That is, guaranteed until somebody came up to us and told us how much he related to the song. It was at Burt’s Tiki Lounge after an especially lackluster performance. Some older guy walked up to us as we were loading our gear and was like, “Man! I love you guys! That song about hitting the bitch… man, loved it! Cause sometimes, you know, when your girl is mouthing off and shit, you gotta… bam! Put her in her place!”

Brian, Andy and I looked at each other uncomfortably before looking back at the guy. He was really, really excited, and there was no question in any of our minds that he was also serious. I mean, obviously somebody could make some sort of sarcastic comment along those lines while trying to be funny, and yeah, we understood that, but there was no way this was not one of those moments. Homeboy related to our song in the worst way, and if there was one thing we didn’t want, it was relating to him in any way.

Long story short, we never played the song again. Instead, we went on to writing more personally relevant songs like “Sex Offender” (which lyrics like, “Don’t try to label me, I’m not a monster, I’m a sex offender”), “Dead Hookers” (“I know how to keep it erect, and dead hookers are a side-effect”), “Oh No, Oh Yeah (“I met a girl in the checkout line, I asked her out, she said fine”) and “Too Much Personality” (“I’m gonna supe up my go-kart and drive it into the sun, just for fun, a supernova blasting off for everyone—you’ll be seeing sunspots baby”). You know, stuff we could stand behind. Of course we stuck to our classics too, cause if we didn’t play “I Killed Your Fucking Dog,” then what was the point of playing at all?

“I fucking killed your dog, I killed your fucking dog, I fucking killed your fucking dog… your dog.”

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