To be honest, I'd kinda forgotten about this show until the Wednesday previous. But our pre-show practice went well, running through about 8 songs, trying a few tempo changes and all. We decided to head down a little early and avoid the parking snafus related to The Great Douchebaggery occuring at Kell's that night. That's a long time to sit down at the Ash Street, tho'...
Filthy White Trash were already loaded in, as were The Cooks, when we got there around 7:15pm. FWT even had a banner outside promoting the show and, between them and Monkey Fur, they'd pumped alotta hype around this show which was super cool on their part. I didn't chat with anyone from The Cooks but everyone else I talked with seemed pretty laid back and, alternately, stoked for the show. That alone got me much more in the mood for it all.
The show came with an emcee, Tres (the "s" is silent, he told me; I responded with, "As in "fox"? but he didn't get it), who talked alot but was a pretty good natured guy. He supplied us with an entire bucket of his Voodoo Doughnuts for our set so I'm not complaining AT ALL. Heck, even Elvis opened up with a few crowd favorites to set the tone for the evening (really!).
The Cooks were alright - think less "home cookin'" perhaps and more "cooking school" and you get the idea. They didn't piss me off anyway.
Monkey Fur were up next. Before their set the emcee introduced Kitty and Master Cylinder, SG-lookin' strippers who acted more like ringcard girls. They seemed to think very highly of themselves but did successfully parade the bands' names on placards before their sets (except for The Cooks - sorry, guys; I guess that's the price of being more on time than a stripper). They were also taking care of raffle registrants, apparently. Not a bad idea, altogether, but their collective brain power wouldn't light a glowstick and since when is an "A" cup size acceptable for a stripper? What's wrong with this freakin' country?!?
Monkey Fur more than made up for it with pure decadent noisepunk fun. Despite some folks' objections to their wearing masks ("too 'Slipknot' for me" which is understandable) they rawked right in the gutter from the get-go and had a ball doing it. Their guitarist was a quite-capable shreddist, too, and their stage show included another pseudo-stripper/super-annoying chick gyrated with them for most of the set. Unfortunately, the lead singer didn't heed my oft-yelled advice to punch her in the head but whatever. She and another alterna-chick got all friendly on stage, this same broad who later told us, as we entered to get on stage, that we "looked HOT!" Brash, noisy, and super-messy, Monkey Fur lived up to my expectations and I can't wait to play with 'em again.
FWT took to the stage next. They had the most crowd activity by far, getting a bit of a pit going a few times during their rawk-filled set. And, yes - they were hipsters disguised as that sect's romanticized vision of white trash (let me show you where I grew up and I'll give you true "whiskey tango" - code for "W/T" or "White Trash" for you un-military types) - but there's no denying their rawkability. Their guitar and bass were out-freakin'-standing and the lead singer had enough David Lee Roth in him to make it damn entertaining. Noisepunk, to be certain, but very well done. The strippers flashing and then making out didn't necessarily hurt, either, but, again, no response to, "PUNCH 'EM IN THE HEAD!!!"
So we were there batting cleanup, I guess, tho' I'm thankful we didn't have to clean up. Stuffed animals, granny grippers, hardcore porn, and donuts littered the stage and floor by that point. And, apparently, much to Miss Kelly's chagrin, she doubled the number of penises that she's seen at Misfats shows as Elvis exposed his ol'self as our "opener." I did appreciate that soundgirl Heather played the theme from "The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly" as our intro, too. We sped up a few songs primarily 'cuz they sound better ("Some Kinda Meat," especially but also, "Elastic Age") that way; but I also appreciate it so I'm tired sooner in the set but we've done more by that point now. Until I get into better cardio shape and get my legs back under me, so to speak, that works nicely. Band friend Tommy made his appearance and made it worthwhile, shrieking, "I LOVE YOU, GLEN HAMZINGER!" between each song. I told him that never gets old. Jokes about us having more tits on stage than the so-called strippers of earlier (they were looooong gone by the time we started) and their low self-esteem aside, the crowd that was left seemed to respond pretty well to us, I'd say.
I only wish we had $15 for the 3 shirts that were sold versus the $10 we ended up with but oh well. Oh and having my cell phone (and the bottle opener from my key chain) back would be swell, too, I suppose. But I'd still call it a success of a show anyway.