The Cheetah Whores singer Liz O'Brian oozes the kind of lust I like. She cruised a coupla gears over sultry as the band rolled beneath her at the Bug Jar Saturday night. It was definitely her party, if you know what I mean. There's just something about a woman losing her voice that sends me. The band is obviously a little new, still waiting for the music to tell it what to do. The various aspects of the group that dominate, however, are incredible. Joey Pitts is one of the most maniacal, unconventional, fascinating drummers I know. She doesn't play the drums, she pounds them. She loves and believes every beat. El Destructo's fingerprints are all over this band and he brings in an understated cool that bridges the gap between the swagger and the power. His cheap guitar feedback fed the chaos; a chaos the rest of the band will enjoy as it matures, I'm sure. The Cheetah Whores is a big band for such a primitive strain --- like The Brian Jonestown Massacre, for instance. Once the nuance sprouts, The Cheetah Whores will become one big wall of shake.
The Whores opened for Boston's The Demon Seeds, who despite a squeaky-clean personae (it takes balls to play rock 'n' roll in a letterman sweater) played a fantastic and tight set of Woggles-style garage rock tunes mostly about zombies. The band even dedicated one to the Late Hasil Adkins, who I'm surprised hasn't returned yet as a zombie himself. Or has he?
Watkins and the Rapiers decked the airways on the Shakedown Sunday with a perfect blend of plugged acousticity, holiday cheer, and sarcasm. Gypsy-jazz outfit Lumiere followed and was just magnificent. El Destructo even popped in and read a hipster version of "The Night Before Christmas" over Lumiere's casual swing as visions of sugar plums danced in my head.
"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the pad,
Not a hip cat was swinging, and that's nowhere, Dad.
The stove was hung up on that stocking routine,
In hopes that the fat man would soon make the scene."