October 9, 2002

A five-boy orgy of sweaty, Stones-prone prowess and hornball blues-punk, the Pattern has had sex on the brainpan ever since forming as a backyard barbecue band two years ago. It made total sense, then, that last month, when the Oakland A-list band celebrated the release of its first full-length, Real Feelness (Lookout! Records), at least two overeager couples in the crowd were sucking face through the entire performance. And, really, who could blame 'em? After all, the band's 40-minute set showcased mop-topped pouter Christopher Appelgren, who spent most of the show gyrating his pelvis and getting intimate with the mic stand.

Including members of the Peechees, Saint James Infirmary, Nuisance, and Black Fork, the Pattern is, to many, a local supergroup. It's Appelgren, however, who gives the Motor City-inspired band its edge over so many acts milking that whole neo-garage rock revival these days. With greased-hip dancing and sexual antics that are as corny as they are contagious, Appelgren – who multitasks as head honcho at Lookout! – is a frontperson of the highest caliber. And with a pro-libido boogie that aims for nothing more than to get the audience horizontal, the Pattern is one of the Bay Area's best live bands.

So with Appelgren, drummer Scott Batiste, bassist Carson Bell, and dual guitarists Jason Rosenberg and Andy Asp strutting their punk rock stuff like old pros all night, it seemed fitting to keep a log and capture the Pattern's rock 'n' soul seduction play-by-play. Good thing I can take good notes while on my back.

12:05 a.m. With a pair of spastic openers under the band's belt, Appelgren gets all emo. "I'm gonna break one rock 'n' roll rule right now, if you don't mind – I'm gonna be earnest. Our first record is out in our hometown, and we have it here for you," he says. "This is a holy moment."

12:06 a.m. His spiritual awakening is short-lived, however, as in the next song, he immediately starts molesting the mic stand, dry humping it with a vigor unseen since, well, the Gossip's Beth Ditto last panted her way across the floor on all fours.

12:10 a.m. Appelgren talks dirty: "Y'all giving it the wiggle? You gotta give it a little shake, or it ain't gonna bake."

12:12 a.m. After barreling through the cranky, White Stripes-style "Mary's Sister Margaret Jones," the band begins "Thunder Us," wherein Appelgren offers the best come-on of his entire post-Peechees career: "Straddle my heart / Saddle my part." Only if you can peel off his painfully tight pants first.

12:15 a.m. Personal request: Chris, please quit sucking your finger and then waving it at us like we're naughty babies. It may seem sexy in the heat of the moment, but it's not. Really.

12:20 a.m. Appelgren charmingly flips his hair, Valley girl-style, for the umpteenth time.

12:22 a.m. After Real Feelness's highlight and first single, "Fragile Awareness," a friend returns from the bar and informs me that he likes "everyone in the band except the tacky guitarist guy." Indeed. Said tacky guitarist guy, Asp, gets the night's Desperate Court Jester award for his cheesy and contrived windmills, nonstop bunny hops, and annoying attempts at comic relief.

12:24 a.m. "This one goes out to our homegirls, the Donnas." Number of Donnas sighted so far: two.

12:29 a.m. Appelgren's manhandling of the mic finally takes its toll, as the mic falls apart during the punk rock rumba of "She's a Libra." "The word is I gotta mellow out," he says with a laugh, then immediately busts the mic again during "The Best Hate the Rest," the best kiss-off song title since "Sorry Yer Band Sux," by Cold Cold Hearts (R.I.P.) – or at least since Pink's "You Make Me Sick."

12:36 a.m. Inexplicably donning a pink party hat in the middle of his forehead, Appelgren lets us in on what is either an inside joke or an extremely drunken revelation: "Unicorns are one-horned goats." Um, OK.