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Bang Tango - Psycho Cafe (MCA, 1989) |
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 "Someone Like You" was Bang Tango's heavy
rotation Headbanger's Ball video-hit, featuring some eighties space
age guitar effects, an urgent sonic-metal-disco drum 'n' bass siege, and
a sneering, "Eyes Without A Face"-era Billy Idol imitation:
"Wrapped up in this world of anger/ there's no second chance out here/ well, nail tight your eyes now, honey, cos I know just whatchoo fear/well, I've seen it all before/and it all comes back to me! / Well I see your face now, honey and I know just-- where you've been..." Then, the vocal abruptly pitch-shifts into an Axl Rose/Jason McMaster/Dan McCafferty-style super-high, piercing screech: "...With someone, someone! Well there's someone just like yoooouuuuu! Oh, whoa, I need someone! To take away the bluuuue! Aw! Oh! Aw! Oh!" Bang Tango were like this throb-metal, pseudo-echo of a goth band, with a metal edge, custom-tailored for easily intrigued, bouffey haired, white trash chicks from farm towns, who may have previously owned that daft "Lost Boys" soundtrack, who were socially damned to repeat their mother's patterns of playing the victim by staying in abusive relationships with rednecks who beat them, cheated on them, AND still obsessively micro-managed their lives, drug intake, and even their listening habits. These violent grit assholes typically found the pasty complexions and make-up wearing androgyny of Bauhaus or the Mission or the Cure or whatever, too "gay" to "allow" their "bitch" to listen to that stuff (?!) Only Motley Crue were allowed to wear lipstick (?!!) The broads weren't allowed to threaten these dude's reality by listening to anything other than like, Trixter, Slaughter, or Tesla. Y'know? Bang Tango were the token mainstream "vampire" band for chicks too corn-fed and brow-beaten to buy into the "really weird" goth scene. The dudes might have a friend who was into Fields Of Nephillim and Queensryche, but that was about as far-out as alot of Middle-America allowed themselves to get. Remember, much of the mid-west was still terrified of devil spawn, Ozzy (As threatening as RINGO, maybe???) in those days. Enter Bang Tango, with their requisite pouting "toughness", and effects pedal wanking, kinda skirting the death rock Gene Loves Jezebel/ The Cult style image with crucifixes, unbuttoned silver gauzy shirts and skull belt buckles galore. And a drummer named Tigg. Less obviously sleazy than Faster Pussycat, less fey than Gene Loves Jezebel, much dumber and more plastic than the Cult. Like I said, bleach headed smalltown chicks with vampire fantasies ate this shit up with a burnt spoon. Mainstream dance metal for mall vamps. How ingenious, from a capitalist perspective, no? |
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The bass player, Kyle Kyle, was THEE hair-metal bitch-magnet of the late eighties, the hard rock John Taylor, if you will. Singer Joe LeSte was like the karaoke-champion of his day, as he tried to be every other singer at once-Steven Tyler, Axl Rose, Billy Idol, Michael Hutchence, Ian Astbury, Michael Franano, and Jason McMasters! Sometimes, all in the same song! He also wore whatever he saw Ian Astbury had on the year before, and steroid-parakeeted his flash metal way through all kindsa slinky "groove-metal" anthems, that like Idol, Inxs, Sisters Of Mercy, and the Dan Reed Network, tried |
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to infuse flash metal guitars with a
throbbing bass line that hairspray queens could serpentine their child
bearing, leather-clad hips to. It was a good idea, cos chicks like to dance, and
without groups like Bang Tango, the metal clubs woulda been even worse
boys clubs. I dunno about some of you "kickin' ass on the wild side" type
a guys- alot a these former "headbangers" always seemed to prefer fist
fighting other poodle haired muscle shirts in the parking lot, or riding
round town with a Chevette or Gremlin load of their stone-washed bros
from way back when, staring menacingly at the younger punk, new wave, or glam
pussies; to ever actively pursuing my three ongoing specific
preoccupations. It was always ok with me, if I have to sit through a
couple of lame, flesh-for-fantasy, groove-metal "sex attacks", and/or poofter cowboy ballads, or hell, maybe even, post-"Pyromania"
Def Leppard
bullshit, s'long as the room's packed wall-to-wall with hot metal sluts in
red leather miniskirts and fishnet and safety pins and the well bourbon's
a triple shot for a dollar. But you know, that's just me--I was obviously
one of the younger punk/new wave/ glam pussies all the older stonewashed
stoner goons tried to intimidate all the time. I worked at a hippie record
store on the outskirts of a small town, and back in those days, there were
like, three or four seperate "ROCK" factions. You had the poofy permed-headed,
older, rich, weight-lifting, sadist jock dudes whose parents paid for them
to take years of jerkoff Yngwie style guitar lessons. They had bands with
the dumbest names you've ever heard of, and still, to this day, have never
stopped covering Journey. These were the guys whose cheerleader
girlfriends came to school with black eyes, and who would invite the
coolest of the sophomore burnouts over to their richkid keg-parties when
the parents were out of town, only to beat 'em up when they got there.
These guys were also really into killing cats, hanging 'em from trees and
beating them with golf clubs, bloodying young kid's noses, date rape, and
that sort of thing. These are the guys who learned all the Bon Jovi
and
Skid Row covers and had the big equipment and the lightshow and their
parents owned the local bars, etc. Then there was the white trash Beavis N Butthead downtown stoner faction who mostly smoked pot, sucked up to the aforementioned suburban jock crowd, liked stuff like Winger, and Warrant, and White Lion, and Whitesnake, and Dokken, and these guys kinda specialized in burglary and were not really that committed to their rock pastimes except when somebody from another clique started bangin' their most sought-after, blonde bombshell metal chick. These were the dudes who still talk in Jeff Spicoli voices even though they live in Iowa. Then you had the cross-eyed, hayseed stoners from the county schools, who mostly focused on the dark stuff. Slayer, Ozzy, Metallica, thrash, Wasp, that kinda thing. These dudes always seemed to like Pink Floyd alot, too. These are the ones who ended up kinda shot-gunning themselves to death, or going to jail, or disappearing, coming to some seamy ends to the sad strains of a Bob Seger ballad on classic radio, or got their hands cut off working in rubber factories and shit. |
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| Then, there was the outcast crowd, all the strays and punks who didn't fit in with any of the aforementioned cliques, who read punk mags from the big cities and who took tri-annual trips to nearby college towns to buy all the records from the $1 bins, and well, ok, that was my gang-a guitar prodigy, some mohawked thrash dudes, some lesbo punk chicks, a patchoulli soaked goth enchantress, an anti-social Manson freak, the local biker Vietnam Vet tattoo crowd, the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers acid casualty record collector, the token skinhead, a sociopathic mechanic, the artschool dolls from the other side of the tracks, you know. Well one night the sociopathic mechanic who'd moved into the front porch of this gang's band house, |
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(nestled in between a car dealership and a
Christian bookstore,) after burning his tradeschool dorm down by trying to
cook and passing out, well, he brought this white-hot, ice cream blonde
home, on the back of his motorcycle, who he met at the local meat market
metal club, and who'd asked him to introduce her to the singer of well,
the local black leather outcast band, right? Ahem, so he brought her home,
and, uh well, she immediately hooked up with the singer dude, and next
thing he knows, the other stoner/metal factions start menacing the dude at
work, and making all kindsa tacky death threats, cos this chick and her
sister "belonged" to the downtown crew. Real weird smalltown dementia. The
threats had to be taken somewhat seriously, though, cos this same crew had
burnt down her sister's new boyfriend's house and duped her sister into perjuring
herself on the witness stand to protect the dude. Well, BANG TANGO was the
soundtrack to alot of this drama, as the blonde bombshell and the pasty
outlaw kinda just spent all their time and every last dime on every manner
of motel debauchery not involving dwarves or fireworks, and this chick,
man, the singer cat was once quoted as sayin' if you could throw her pussy
in the air, it'd be sunshine, or something like that, but this dude was
doing alot of hallucinogenics at the time. So he kinda got obsessed with
this chick and her delicious Penthouse centerfold body, and started
neglecting his band, and other friends, and spent all his time drunk on
whiskey and wine, wrapping his wings around this sweet little razor, until
her sister explained to him that she'd been simultaneously sleeping with
one of the dudes from Faster Pussycat and Bang Tango voxist,
Joe LeSte. So
anyway, the metal love affair ended acrimoniously and the singer ended up
listening to Aerosmith's "What It Takes" and Skid Row's "I Remember You"
and feeling sorry for himself all the time, still drunk on the mash
whiskey until his spirits were at long last lifted by his other
girlfriends. BANG TANGO went on to make more sleekly overproduced "funky metal" records, with some obligatory bad blues thrown in, kinda trying to please all metal factions at once. They did a Hanoi Rocks cover on their live album, and T. Rex, if I remember correctly. Years later, Joe LeSte went on to form the Beautiful Creatures, and Kyle Kyle was in one of Taime Downe's loony tributes to Marilyn Manson for awhile, and played on Paul Black and Jo Dog's brilliant album. They always seemed kinda cheezy to me, but lotsa people, particularly midwest-dwelling, twice-divorced MILF's, and overweight secretaries who read Ann Rice books, seemed to still take them seriously. In that era, I was musically consumed by "Fire Woman", the first Jane's Addiction record, "Instinct" by Iggy Pop, Circus Of Power, Mother Love Bone, and the Dogs D'Amour. Maybe Bang Tango weren't as terrible as I remember them, but I'm pretty sure I preferred the gothic, sissy-wailing of Gene Loves Jezebel, or y'know, the first Keith Richards solo album, or Black Crowes, or London Quireboys to this "Love Injection" shit, but it's difficult staying that enthusiastic about bands your girlfriend's lightin' outta town to sleaze around with on the side, y'know? I liked 'em better than alot of the shite from that era, though. Still Better Than Roxx Gang: Bang Tango official website Beautiful Creatures official website -Pepsi Sheen |
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