The Butthole Surfers have been in retrospective mode this year, which both makes sense and doesn’t compute. The band’s brand of dangerous dirtbag chaos is not congruent with reverential nostalgia, but it’s also exactly the kind of unrepeatable phenomenon that deserves to be preserved by history. Their legend is tied in with their live show more than their studio output; they are the kind of band that lends itself to archival footage and wild anecdotes from talking heads. So although Matador’s recent album reissue campaign is honorable and necessary, what I’m really excited for is the movie.