Midnight
Creeps 
Tonight I'm Burning
"The only reason that I wouldn't become a serial killer is because then they'd put me in jail, and I wouldn't be able to drink." Ah yes, punk rock bands. Ever since Jerry Lee Lewis got the devil in him, and Johnny Rotten had the canny hooligan sense to bottle it, there's been gangs of greasy, leather-strewn rock and rollers full of pomade and piss, wrestling with Chuck Berry riffs and spitting out anti-social anthems like it's a wild new idea. The psycho killer talk is coming from a wisp of blonde fury that calls herself Hurricane Jenny. Jenny is a punk rocker. I know this because she alternates between staring at the walls and piercing me with looks of contempt every time I ask her a question. She's the lead screamer in the Midnight Creeps, who are most assuredly a punk rock band.
From their '77 pogo beat, to their snarling neo-thrash, to their skulking aura of drugged-out thugabilly, the Creeps have certainly got that angle covered. They are ostensibly from Providence, although they refuse to admit it. "We're from nowhere, we're from the van", as guitarist Heather Mars claims, and as far as prior histories del rock go, they don't have any of that tired shit, either. "I wasn't even living before I joined this band", Jenny tells me when I ask her about her pre-Creep existence. Heather's equally evasive. "We had to start somewhere", she shrugs. "We had our Kindergarten." As far as the band's origins go, she simply tells me, "We kind of just fell into each other. She hated me, he hated our drummer, I hated him, so we decided to form a band. We grew on each other, like a fungus." Apart from that, all is conjecture, wild speculation, and an hour or so of gutter philosophy and hungover surliness, so allow me to just tell you what I know for sure. The Midnight Creeps are one of the most authentically sleazy bands around, at least musically. They are the sound of rough sex in a back alley, of a feast of snakes, of that last gratuitous kick in the belly when you're already down. Their live shows are panic sirens of anguish, lust, and flying fists. There is ample evidence of this on their self-released "Punchin' Skanks live at the Venu" CD, although it's recommended that you witness the debacle for yourself. Besides Jenny on vocals and Heather on guitar, they've got a cat with slicked back hair named Jonas Parmelee on bass, who rocks a lot more then he talks, and a drummer, Jeff Creep, who doesn't show up for interviews at all. There's also this other guy that hangs around them, Marc. "He's the non-performer of the band", Jenny tells me, which could mean just about anything. They are never truly happy, but are slightly less miserable when they're on the road, which they are, most of the time. They look like they just robbed a bank- at least they do this otherwise quiet Sunday evening- disheveled but cunning, in classic skin tight underworld style. Oh yeah, and they are a psychological nightmare. The Midnight Creeps are not action rockers, they are reaction seekers. Having gone numb themselves, they provoke- their audience, each other, anyone within staring range- in order to feel something, anything, whether bliss or horror. Iggy Pop started that fire, and Mudhoney turned it into a rallying cry 15 years ago: "Touch Me, I'm Sick". Break out the peanut butter and bring in the biker gang, because rock city, it seems, is still in flames. What's Inside a Girl?
A petite, doll-faced charmer with a smile that would melt ice cubes in Oslo, Heather Mars looks like a desecrated debutante. In another world she would have been a prom queen. In this one, she's wearing torn fishnets and a t-shirt with iron on letters that spell out "I'm a Cunt". Although rockers sporting curses on their chests is not without precedent, it's a jarring enough juxtaposition that I have to mention it. "Jenny makes them", she tells me. "We've got a whole line of "I'm a Cunt" merchandise- shirts, tampon boxes", Jenny laughs. I ask them if it's a political statement. "No", Jenny says, "It's just like, let it be known that that's what we are." Heather pulls on her shirt, reading it upside down. "It's a word that people don't use enough. It's a great fuckin' word, cunt." Jenny lights another American Spirit. A fitting brand. "It's about taking this vulgar term that you've been called, and turning into something glorious", she explains. "I'm a cunt! I'd rather be called a cunt than a bitch. I'd rather be called a walking vagina than a female dog. It can be vulgar, it can be sexual, it can be mean or tough. We're hoping to get our young female fans to wear them." Heather nods. "Our goal is to get it in grammar schools!" Jenny's eyes light up at the thought. "Yeah, the best would be if, like some 10 year old boy got one, and wore it home. His mom would probably look at it and be like, "Yeah, you are!" You know what? If any male fan under the age of 18 wears an "I'm a cunt" shirt, than Heather and I will give you..." Heather breaks in. "Free passes to the show for life!" Jenny laughs. "Yeah", she says, in a brief moment of levity, "and a big old kiss." True to their punk ethos, The Midnight Creeps are adamant supporters and participants of all-ages shows, and find that their x-rated rock and roll mayhem goes well with raging hormones. "Most of our fans are 15 year old girls", Heather tells me. "And most of out stalkers are 15 year old boys", Jenny adds. Given the high 'pussy power' quotient in the band, I wonder if the Creeps leave any message of female empowerment with their younger fans. "Whatever they walk away with is there own business", Jenny snorts. "I don't intend for us to be a 'female power" band by any means. I just happen to be born with a vagina." Furthermore, she tells me, the girls in the audience aren't always so happy to see them. "Sometimes girls have a problem with us. Most of the time they greet us with open arms, and they're really into what we're doing. But sometimes their boyfriends get a little too interested, and they take that to mean that their boyfriends are attracted to the two chicks in the band, and they just don't understand that it's just that these guys haven't seen girls do something like this before." Heather smiles and shrugs. "We don't get along with other people very well."
No More Nothing
It's a common lament among feral young rock and roll bands. They play like speeding demons, attempting to fans some flames of rebellion and anarchy, and they get polite applause and a smattering of t-shirt sales for their efforts. Forget the fact that people internalize an experience in a million different ways. They don't care about introspection or inspiration, they want nothing less than pure chaos. Personally, I thought my 5 bucks would have been enough. I mean, what more do you want, fuckin' blood? Well, in the case of the Midnight Creeps, yeah, that's exactly what they want. Arterial gushings worth. "When we play, we're not on a fucking movie screen. It's not about, 'Oh we're a band, come sit down and listen to us play'. We enjoy it when the line between stage and audience have been completely erased, and it's just a free-for-all, an orgy of anger and energy and sex", Jenny tells me. I ask the band exactly what part the audience is supposed to play in this sex and terror scenario. "Just to lose your inhibitions and have a good time", Heather says. "Listen to the words, feel the music, punch people, have sex." Punch people? The problem is, they usually punch back. "Go for it, then", Jenny says, her lips curling into a half-smile. Find the biggest guy in the audience and jump on top of him." Pressed for examples of this punked-out Dystopia, Jenny recalls a couple favorites. "We had two shows that almost achieved my dream of a show", she tells me. "One was in Roanoke, Virginia, on New Year's Eve. Everybody just went fucking crazy, and it was like, there was no stage anymore. There weren't even any songs anymore, really, it was just crazy. I was screaming into the microphone for everybody to "Find somebody and fuck them", and they literally were. People were getting broken. One kid broke both of his kneecaps, another girl broke her nose, and they were all smiling ear to ear. Another show was in DC at the U-Turn, it was the same scenario. All these boys were going off to war, and this was there last night before they shipped off, so they came to our show. That's the way every show should be, they should be ingesting the music and having it bleed out of their pores." All this infernal internal aggression would certainly be enough to topple most bands, but as Heather points out, it only makes for hotter rock. "We could be at each other's throats before we get on stage, but by the time we're through, we can't even remember what we were fighting about. On stage is where we get out all our aggressions." And on the road is where these anti-social creatures have finally found their people. "Punks are just the kindest people", Jenny says. "They have housed us, and fed us, and given us Bloody Mary's out the ass." Heather agrees. "Someone will always come through, and put a smile on your face, and make you remember why you got into this in the first place."
Too Punk To Fuck
I suppose it's a stupid question- they all are today, apparently- but I ask the band if they have any other aspirations besides being full-time creeps anyway. "No", Heather says, emphatically. "Music is in my blood. I'm only happy when my guitar is in my hand. I think I'd go crazy without it." Jenny lights another smoke. "Anybody wants to quit, they can just walk out and see if there's anything else out there." Heather shakes her head. "There's shit, there's nothing out there." Jenny smiles her evil, Courtney Love smile. "Maybe become a junkie or something, that's about it." Any band, I point out, is a transient thing, it's only got a certain life span, and someday, the Midnight Creeps may breathe their last. "Exactly", she says, anticipating my question. "That's why we want to grab it by the balls and ride it for all it's worth for as long as it will let us do it. And when that ends, I don't know what we're going to do. Being in band is like being in a relationship with really good sex. There's an anger that's always present, there's a passion that's always present, there's a happiness that's always present. It's always back and forth between those things, and once that ends, you don't have any of those things anymore." Sooner or later, I offer, you'll fall into a routine. "That's the time to have sex in a different place, in a new position, with a mask on", she says. But for now, the hustle is on, and the road beckons. "None of us really have homes", Jenny tells me, "but we don't care. As long as we have the band, we'll survive. And if we're not rock stars in ten years, I'm not going to shed any tears. If we've changed or destroyed 5 or ten lives in that time, then I'll smile."
The Midnight Creeps first full length CD, "Doomed From the Start", comes out November 3rd on Rodent Popsicle records. And then they'll get in their van, and take off in a puff of smoke. Find out where they'll be at www.midnightcreeps.com.
Live photos courtesy Eric Johansen