By Alamantra

LISTEN:

I’ve known the guys in GNP since the early 80s. We’ve shared stages at places like Tuxedo Junction, The Nick, a party or two, and Head on the Door in Montgomery. I consider Chris Hendrix to be a brother —we’ve done other projects together, he was a regular at my Solstice gatherings, and I stood with him at his mom’s memorial. So when Grossest National Product gets the Prank Records vinyl reissue treatment for their 1985 demo, this isn’t some detached review. To me, this is family.

Formed in December 1982, GNP was never about polish. They were anti-everything: anti-pretension, anti-polish, anti-“scene.” Spike Rogers took the mic with a feral snarl and unhinged stage presence. Duhg (Doug Benjamin) eventually locked in behind the kit like a man trying to murder his own drumset. Chris Hendrix delivered the power chords and sharp stage wit. 

The Boykin brothers—Tim (one of the best guitarists this city has ever produced) and Scott—brought real musical skill early on. Bassists came and went: Jimmy Starr (an early/original member), Charlz Null, Michael Morgan (one show), Dusty Graves in a full luchador mask, David Manning, Allen Eaton, and probably a couple more. Six confirmed. Maybe more. “If there’s another, OOOPS…”

The band’s origin has that classic GNP chaos. It started as an experiment to put instruments in the hands of people who couldn’t play and see what happened. Roles shifted fast: Duhg moved to drums, Spike grabbed the mic, Keith Patton (Dim Wisdom) jumped in on guitar. They sounded exactly like what they were, mostly non-musicians making noise with zero fucks given, and it became their signature.

Live, they were a public service announcement for bad decisions. Their first show was a June 1983 benefit for United Campuses Against Nuclear War at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church—holy ground, unholy racket—alongside the Ether Dogs and Jim Bob & the Leisure Suits. Over the years they were just as likely to be found playing somebody’s house or apartment as a club, and it wasn’t rare for the cops to roll up and try to shut things down.

One of the greatest stories: busloads of pro-life Christians converged on the All Women’s Center in Southside, only to find GNP set up in the parking lot blasting classics  like “Jerkin’ Off On Your Grave.” The protesters quickly packed up and split. Later, I saw Chris walking around Southside with a flyer featuring the Statue of Liberty, talking about replacing her torch with a syringe—“Hey, that’s what freedom is about, right?”

They opened for the Meat Puppets at The Loft (Bubblegum Playhouse) in summer ’85 and Corrosion of Conformity at the Eclectic Theater in January ’86. They played with the Murder Junkies at the Nick in ’95 and GBH (where they freely admit they were terrible). When they played with Jucifer in the early 2000s, the headliners loved them so much they insisted GNP close the night.

The stories keep coming. At the Corrosion of Conformity gig, the late Reed Mullin traded the shirt off his back for a GNP tape. Chris’s reply to the band’s grumbling at him winding up with the shirt was perfect: “You’re missing the point. Right now Corrosion of Conformity is in their van listening to our stuff.”

At the Radio Free UAB event (a Center Stage Productions attempt at a UAB college radio station, held at Sloss Furnace), they decided to end their mangled mix of “Free Dog” (a Frankenstein’s monster of Free Bird smashed together with Now I Wanna Be Your Dog) with four bars of “Interstellar Overdrive.” Show promoter, Jay Willoughby started frantically doing the neck-slice “cut it off” gesture. Chris started laughing. Then the power died. It’s on tape somewhere—one lone camera in the back.

One of the last times the Spike/Dave/Duhg/Chris lineup played was around 2004 at Head on the Door with Alamantra. True to form, Duhg forgot his cymbal stands and had to balance his snare on a beer keg.

They earned their rep the hard way. Some people called them “the worst band in Birmingham.” They shrugged and wore it like a crown. Positive mentions and reviews rolled in from Maximum Rocknroll (Tim Yohannan himself on the ’85 tape), Flipside, and strong local pieces. J.R. Taylor’s 1986 write-up remains a classic: after seven whiskey sours, GNP’s set hit and his stomach decided it was time to eject everything. He later sat in on a rehearsal and nailed the vibe: Spike demanding anarchy or lower liquor taxes, the band’s goofy sense of the absurd, and their refusal to sing about love and good times. “We sing about real life,” Chris said. “We don’t dress well. We don’t look good. We cuss almost constantly.” Songs like “Reggie’s a Veggie,” “Ready to Ralph,” “Rabid Lassie,” “Teenage Abortion,” and “I Married an Astro Zombie” delivered fast, loose, garage-thrash with Stooges snarl, Ramones energy, and dark Southern humor. They played loud to the point of brutality and kept at it for decades. The Prank reissue is putting those raw 1985 tracks in front of a new generation that needs to hear what real, unfiltered, who-gives-a-fuck punk sounds like—loud, sloppy in the best way, and still refusing to tickle.

GNP stomped on the terra. They left their mark the only way they knew how.

Long live GNP. Destroy all day jobs.

Don’t let the conversation stop here. We’re tearing down the walls and continuing the debate over on Blue Sky – @thebohemianstar.com. If you’re still lingering in the old spaces, you can also join our private inner circle over at The Bohemian Star Salon on Facebook to talk rock mythology, occult history, and alternative realities with the rest of the crew.