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I'm guessing Ken Turetzky doesn't get invited to many debutante
balls. From his album cover, with the little girl proudly holding up
(what he claims is fake) poo, to a set of track names that
promise your baser delights, we aren't looking at Dallas's upper crust
here. Even a superficially upbeat title like
Today
Was a Very Good Day, with its faux
Cat Stevens vocals and
cheery tone, delivers a message that would be out of place during
National
Brotherhood Week. Turetzky's a disturbed individual, or at
least he plays one on radio. Which leads to the only question that
matters: can you relate to his kind of disturbed, what I've decided
just cries out to be called Turetzky's Syndrome? Much as I hate to
admit it, I certainly can.
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