Today, a passerby might not even notice the former location of Unreal Audio, now home to a small carniceria tucked between a laundromat and a massage parlor on the southeast corner of Olive and Victory. But on January 19th, 1973, if one was to duck inside the cramped reception area to escape the downpour on a sodden gray Friday afternoon, he would hear angels and demons harmonizing over deep, soulful riffs crackling over the house speakers. Only steps away, behind the heavy, sound-proofed door to the studio, three itinerant session musicians were cutting nasty tracks that would live long after their names had faded into obscurity.
Bonded by shared bottles and bummed Marlboros, the trio had crossed paths over three decades, their private repertoire growing with each encounter. The songs they wrote together were the fruits of staving off boredom between takes, an attempt to keep sharp while the “real” talent argued amongst themselves, bitch slapped their producers and hounded put-upon engineers, foul ditties composed to amuse themselves, far too profane for public consumption. More importantly, when tempers frayed and moods turned black, they’d lighten things up, salve bruised superstar egos with laughter. Vince Vagina and the Clits had been born.
At first, the names were changed to protect the guilty. Eventually, they were lost altogether. In the end, there are only the tapes, a dozen or so songs, some of which have been previously available as bootlegs and outtakes. Sacred and Profane is the first compilation made available since they were recorded almost four decades ago that rainy day in Burbank (the sole exception is the remastered notorious live version of “Cat Man Ray” that caused a near riot in 1971 at the Third Annual Kerrville Folk Festival).