LOUISVILLE LOVES HORROR #4: Yoko Molotov LOVES The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

One of Yoko Molotov‘s most enduring qualities is the fact that she fearlessly refuses to be boring. Whether she be playing bass in weirdo rock band Sweatermeat or singing in garage punk collective Tycoons of Teen, or creating some of the boldest visual art I’ve ever seen come out of this town, her approach to being alive is incredibly infectious. I’m no visual artist, and am certainly not a critic of the medium, but her creative pursuits, both musically and visually inspire me personally to not give a fuck what you or anyone else might think of any endeavor I choose to chase.

Speaking of her visual art, over the last few years she has quickly garnered a name for herself, largely for her manga drawings which often lean toward the obscure/vaguely offensive variety, depending on the piece and who the viewer is. I’d strongly suggest that you follow her Instagram feed (go here) for further evidence on her brilliant, sometimes outlandish portfolio.

We reached out to Yoko to see if she’d be willing to talk about one of her own personal favorite horror films as part of our LOUISVILLE LOVES HORROR series, and we were lucky enough to not only get an awesome write-up, but also a badass photo of her dressed up as Sadako/Samara from The Ring (see above). Hell yes.

Read on as Yoko, in her own words describes one of the genre’s most defining films…


He said to me, “You will finally be cool if you watch this movie.” I liked the guy So I went along with it. “It’s just some movie, sure I’ll watch it with you.”

The clanging. Everything was red, brown, burnt. A Texas summer, the kids in a van. The van was hot. Inside was metal, the kids were cagey. The girl’s brother who was in the wheelchair was a cry baby. I was interested, compositionally it was very beautiful, the characters set up to tumble to something ominous. I was morbidly fascinated with how the disabled brother would somehow get out of this and how the girls would be splayed. The hitchhiker, his wild dirty face and his knife split hand. After all, Texas is the Reason.

Leatherface reached for the girl and slung her on a meat hook. What was in the freezer? Animal bones on the wall. Screaming. Clanging. Oh, the chainsaw. It riddled through the heat, the landscape, orange now red, now even through celluloid, smelling of blood, of fear, of death. Rampage. Lust. Vice. I remember when Leatherface fucked up and realized he was going to be punished by his brother for his wanton killing, the anxiety and worry that wrought his face. His face behind his face.

Then the family dinner. The girl crying smeared with blood. What the hell happened to the brother? Do you remember? Her head lolling about, grandpa getting his dibs in with the slaughtering hammer. Coming painfully close each time, nerve rackingly close each time to bludgeoning her but missing, missing.

Her escape. The sun rising. The hellish night biting at her heels. Leatherface chasing her, lumbering with his metal teeth and machine grind, the buzzing. The haven of the truck bed, the maniac laughter of her surviving, the only survivor, beating the night, beating Leatherface, beating death.

Leatherface, defeated, throwing his temper, twirling the chainsaw, spinning out of control, the sun rising on another murderous day…

That was the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.