The Butthole Surfers are back with a cracking song and video. ‘Intelligent Guy’ is taken from the forthcoming album ‘After The Astronaut’. Love it!
MAY 19, 2026 [New York, NY] — “We are not and never were in the business of being intelligent,” laughs guitarist Paul Leary of psychedelic post-punk sonic terrorists BUTTHOLE SURFERS about their ironically named single “INTELLIGENT GUY” from their upcoming album AFTER THE ASTRONAUT, which comes out on June 26, 2026viaSunset Blvd. The third single released from the album that was originally recorded back in 1998 as the follow-up to their 1996 mainstream breakthrough album Electric Larryland but shelved by the label… until now, “Intelligent Guy” pits Leary’s searing guitar against King Coffey’s syncopated drum programming while Gibby Haynes delivers his trademark surreal yet oddly poetic lyrics (Now I’m not the world’s most incredible man / I never can quite seem to understand / If it weren’t for all the people I’d be all alone).
The follow-up to previous singles “Jet Fighter” and “Imbuya,”“Intelligent Guy” is accompanied by a fever dream of a video, filled with aliens, cellular-dividing fetuses, grotesque landscapes, muscular babies, and dinosaurs being ridden by clowns playing guitar.
VIDEO DIRECTOR, RON ENGLISH:
The first time I ever heard the name Butthole Surfers was when Daniel Johnston burst into our co-op house at four in the morning shouting, “Wake up! Wake up! Everybody wake up! The Butthole Surfers need acid!”
So when eight women from the house decided to go see this band called The Butthole Surfers, I agreed to tag along. I even let the girls doll me up in makeup, a bouffant hairdo, and a nice dress because, somehow, it seemed appropriate for the occasion. We had no idea what we were walking into. We only knew people were saying insane things about this band and we wanted to make sure we looked worthy of the experience.
The chaos of the show was already spilling into the parking lot. The doorman seemed too overwhelmed to notice I was smuggling a gallon of wine under my dress.
From the first note, the band was electrifying. At first, they seemed like a typical Texas punk band, but that illusion quickly dissolved into a surrealist tent-revival sideshow. The band tore through pro-wrestling power chords while the shamanic lead singer summoned lyrics out of the smoky ether of the club. The music was nicely illustrated with a backdrop of flickering autopsy films, completing the hallucination. I need to remember to thank Daniel Johnston.
Many years later, I was tapped to do a video. Fuck yes!
DeClunk 