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Lunachicks - Babysitters on Acid (1990,
Blast First) |
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| He later headed back off towards the restroom, resentfully, after a few run-throughs of these lame covers, and one half-written original, to suck down some more tepid faucet water, and encounters this dude who's all moussed-up to look like his childhood hero, Richard Butler, from the Psychedelic Furs! He was growing sick and tired of these come-lately punk-clones, all the annoying Sid Vicious and Ramones Clones he hadda see all over the increasingly tourist-y, Downtown neighborhood he'd grown up in, but this Richard Butler clone, man, this was too much! |
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The guy nodded all friendly, like he wanted
to make small-talk over by the pop machines, and was met with a sneering
glare of intense hostility. "Talk Talk Talk" had been one of the
most important albums of this kid's youth, and like many teenagers who
grew up in the 80's, the "Pretty In Pink" movie s/t had played, as
he had first kissed his one true, fine, 120 Minutes-watching
love, the girl of his dreams, who'd KISSED him, in her mother's
kitchen, as endless lines of neighborhood boys had showed up, knocking at
her door, only to be sent away by her older sister, cos none of her other
suitors stood a chance at touching her heavenly figure now, cos she'd
chosen the Duckie-like character over all the neighborhood
Blaines, and that was that! ...And here was this gaunt, ashen figure, in a fingerless leather glove, and mauve, velour, Chess King shirt, with the dozen zippers, emulating our hero, Butler, in the "Heartbreak Beat" video, like it was Halloween or sumpthin' and he had the misguided bottle to think he was gonna "make friends", with an angry young dude who HAD NO MONEY to buy soda pop, who'd slept in an abandoned building full of insane junkies, who'd set the place on fire every other night, whose flash metal bandmates weren't even civil enough to all chip in to help buy him a fuckin bottle of anything, OR a glazed donut to go, in spite of having copped-out on all their glimmery promises to help him find work at one of the many record stores their friends all ran, and he was NOT in any mood to socialize with anybody in a velour shirt, let alone, indulge yet ANOTHER one of these clone-rock wanna beez. This had gone too far. He returned to the practice room in a huff, and the guitarist, and bassist, were telling the Lunachicks drummer some story about meeting Patti Smith or somebody, and our cotton-mouthed king lit into a furious rant about how the poseur clone in the hall was lucky, he hadn't decked him, such was his devotion to the Psychedelic Furs. Dig... It was BUTLER. OK, onto the LUNACHICKS.... |
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The Luna-Chicks were one of the best live groups of all time. Charismatic
singer Theo Kogan, bassist Squid, and guitarist Gina first met at New
York's High School of Performing Arts and put together a ramshackle garage
band with somebody's boyfriend on drums, releasing an EP on Blast First,
and were, for a time, Sonic Youth protégée's, but were not content to swan
around as the anointed darlings of the Pyramid scene. So, the Lunachicks
quickly pawned-off their dissonant-hipster in-crowd prestige for an
infinitely more rockin' world-wide "Fuck You We're Havin' Fun" approach to
Flash Metal Suicide. These East Village junkshop-glam, glitter-grunge, proto-real-riot girls released a steady string of colorful albums in the early 90's, that were consistently overlooked by an alt-rock media who were always, (for reasons never specifically discerned by yours, bewilderedly) more concerned with the saturation marketed L7 and Babes In Toyland, all the Olympia riot grrl bands, and 7 Year |
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Bitch, etc., etc., but Theo and company were
performing these over the top live shows featuring all kindsa chaotic,
vaudevillian, roller derby debauchery, Carrie-like prom queen
caricatures, butt-plugs, garters and wigs, thigh-high boots, and strap-on
dildos, way before their more famous, feminist-y "grunge" contemporaries.
In spite of steadily acquiring a world-wide following, THE LUNACHICKS
somehow managed to always remain a cult band, beloved by Flipside Magazine
readers, and the young fans of Rev. Horton Heat and the Offspring, who the
'Chicks blew off their own stages, countless times, nightly. ___________________________________________________________________________________ |
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LUNACHICKS LINKS: http://users.erols.com/shydoll/lunachicks.html
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So
once upon a time in NYC, there was this scrawny leather clad kid, kinda "bohomeless" in
a stinky pair of sequined pants, who was squatting part-time in an old
building, and sleeping on various people's floors, including the broad the
Deadboys wrote Poison Lady about. One day, he was
expected to meet up with his bandmates, at a $15/ hr. rehearsal space on
Ave. B, to audition the Lunachicks drummer, for their fledgling
Flash Metal rockgroup, but he'd been out
late, meeting famous blonde performance artists, and drinking heavily, the
night before. He had an insufferable case of cotton mouth, and as he
approached the rehearsal space, he saw all his local band-
mates thoughtlessly purchasing various refreshments at the Korean grocery
store. They all knew he was dead-broke, and only in NYC to sing for this
band. Pointedly, no one could be bothered to pitch-in for anything for HIM to
drink, in spite of being well aware of the fact that he was going home
with different girls he met at bars every night and was penniless, in the
hardest city in the world to be penniless in...and he was the SINGER.
So, they get into the freight elevator, and he asks the guitarist which
way to the rest-room, cos he figures he can, at least, freshen up with
some water from the sink. He cups water in his hands, and drinks as much
as he can, then goes and half-heartedly rasps his way through the
eye-rolling, irritated paces of a dirge-y rendition of the Stones' "Play
With Fire", and some garage-rock tune about Sid 'N' Nancy
called "B-Movie".