April 2, 2003

I USED TO run into the singer for the Deep Throats all over the place when I first moved here. He's noticeable because he always has makeup on and is usually wearing fucked-up tranny rock star clothes, with giant mirrored sunglasses and furry belts.

I was always like, "What the hell's up with this dude? Who does he think he is?" Then I went to see the Deep Throats at Kimo's one night, and their broken-down, angular punk blues-rock cabaret really knocked my socks off. No shit. I learned a valuable lesson about judging a book by its cover that night, a lesson we could all benefit from in these trying times.

First of all the dude is for real. Crazy dresser, crazy singer, and in a fucking hot band. Second, before this when I heard the term blues rock, I thought of white British men playing awful, awful music, and let's face it, the word cabaret makes every living, breathing person think of Liza Minnelli. On their own, these terms are not exactly endorsements – I mean, who doesn't hate British people and Liza Minnelli? Anyway, my mind was forever opened by the Deep Throats that night, and now I even think there are some good songs by Steely Dan, so hopefully my experience will be of some use to you, gentle reader. The two other great things about the Deep Throats are that the singer's name is Tracy Lords, which rules, and that one time I was in Cala on South Van Ness, the one that's always two seconds away from total chaos, at like 2:30 a.m. and Lords happened to be there too. We were both buying cigarettes. There was no one up front to get us our cigarettes, so he picked up the phone by the register and said over the loudspeaker, "We need somebody up front, please, thanks," which really pissed off the security guard and was funny as hell.

According to Lords, the Deep Throats have never been a part of any scene here since they started in 1996. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. If the Deep Throats had been playing rap metal since 1996, I'd say the lack of widespread local validation would be a good thing, but because the band stakes out the ground between the dark theater of the Birthday Party and the perversion of classic rock that was Pussy Galore, the fact they've always remained on the fringes is sort of a shame. Underneath Lords's tantrumlike theatrics, both vocally and physically (he played his guitar while running from the stage to the pool table and back at Bottom of the Hill), there is the solid foundation of straight-up rock 'n' roll, with splattery post-punk guitars making big, familiar-but-great moves and a strong emphasis on a downright filthy rhythm section, provided by Sugar Fixx on drums and Ron Draino on bass.

It seems like no one wants to hear rock music for some reason, though. These guys have been around forever and they have a following, sure, but at Bottom of the Hill, it appeared that only a few members of the audience got it. They were too raw – Lords's shrieking vocals just chased people out of the room. I don't understand why people talk about how great Fun House, the Stooges, and the MC5 are, but when bands do more than just mimic the bare stylistics of those groups, or when bands actually deliver a similarly antisocial or nihilistic aesthetic, those same people run for some performer who sounds like Flock of Seagulls. That's lame.

This show lost a little since this is a band you want to see up close. They are served much better on a small stage so that Lords's antics have the freedom to get all over you instead of all in front of you, which is what happens with that high stage at Bottom of the Hill. But it was loud, loud, loud, and Lords was definitely on his game, jumping around, screeching, mewling, and pulling the sort of guitar moves people only attempt in their bedrooms, when no one is looking, and he pulls them off. The music, like I said earlier, is spiky and brash, but with a seriously sweaty underbelly – there are elements of garage rock, Stooge-punk, and '70s glam squirting out the corners.