"I Can't Get No Nookie," for example, was recorded at 4:00 in the morning after an all night party on the tundra with the local Eskimos. "Boy, those Eskimo women sure are something," the lead guitarist said to me as he shook the snow from his parka. He was right. The title of the song actually refers to one of them -- "Nookie," the lovely girl friend of Nanook of the North who attended the sessions. Rumors that the title and lyrics contain an obscene reference are nothing more than a vile ethnic slur cooked up by some demented mind.
You'd think people would've caught on to the joke there, but not everybody reads so good. The fake songs were aired on a couple of underground radio stations, and demand started pouring in -- especially after New York Magazine called it "this year's album." The hype was so real that Warner Bros. jumped at the opportunity to sign a $15,000 contract with the biggest fake band the world has ever seen.
Even though it was a sloppy collection of mostly improvised music by distinctly non-legendary musicians, and Rolling Stone came out and admitted it was a big fat hoax, the record still sold over 100,000 copies, and it is available for purchase today. Which means, sadly, that this intentionally terrible music attached to an out-of-control lie is far more successful than most real bands.