Another Night At Kimos

Sometimes things just go very well. Sometimes you just happen, luckily, on something exceptional.

It happened to me tonight. It was four bands for five bucks at Kimos again, and they were all great. All of them. Part of it might be that, by accident, I stumbled on Glam-Rock night, but the night was full of filthy guitars, moshing, wailing, and eyeshadow. If you need more for a perfect night at the local dive-bar venue, I don't know what it would be.

The first group was called "Inferno of Joy," a classic-rock four-peice. I love those. There's a monsterous teddy bear for a drummer, nice guy, talked to him before the show. There's Argentine bass player who stands wide and doesn't screw around. There's a guitar player who looks sort of like a soft-boiled Axl Rose who was doing incredible things on an intriguingly ancient Telecaster, which he, like a pro, swapped for a white Mexican after he broke a string. There's a lead singer in vinyl pants, a red work-shirt and long gloves, writhing and yelping like a younger Iggy Pop. This performance was just a whirlwind from beginning to end. Dirty, sexy, slinky, sounds like something you'd hear in a sleezy club in New York in the 70s, and that's a very, VERY good thing. This performance was just incredible.

So incredible, in fact, that the straight up hard rock of the next act, Lucabrazzi , couldn't really hope to follow. Don't get me wrong, they were pretty great: a power-trio in the style of Primus with the blue-dredlocked, sandy throated bass player as the frontman, and a lethe, dark guitarist who, despite more then a few technical difficulties, still jumped right off the stage to mosh with the front row...while still playing his guitar. They were pretty hard rock, pretty no frills, but sometimes, that's all you need.

The third band, Floating Corpses, was another three-peice and looked like it was going to be the most experimental band of the night. A red-headed girl in a black vinyl constructon was working a synthesizer, the dressed-to-match frontman (sequin miniskirt anyone?) had his guitar and a keyboard, the mics had the echo effect turned all the way up, and the drummer didn't seem to match because he looked totally normal. He was an absolute beast on the drum-kit. He brought a contingent of large, moshing Latino men with him, and the results were painful but preditctable. Thankfully, synth or no synth, the songs were meaty enough on their own that there was always plenty to dance to. They were very good. It sounds boring to say, but it was great to be there.

Last act of the night was Pink Swastika, fronted by possibly the shyest gay man ever to don a little-bo-peep polka-dotted dress and rock out on a lead-heavy blue Tele. I can't describe these guys without saying that they were, hands down, the most visual band of the night. The drummer stripped to the waist, smeared colorful body paint all over himself, and mimicked a broken robot over his kit. The bass player's hair was teased up in epic fashion, he sported a mini, some leggings, and a fuzzy red cardigan sweater. The keyboardist could double for Arther "Killer" Kane of New York Doll fame: huge blond hair, a tight sequened top, giant boots, and netted arm-warmers. He worked his keyboard with as much flare as I've ever seen anyone do it. And the singer, well, I've already mentioned him, so definitely this was a group that demanded attention, but how did they sound? Well, less heavy on the bottom then most of the other act (one sways side to side rather then bounce up and down) but still harsh, angry, scary, and.... yeah. Anyway, they were great too.

This was a great set-list. Thanks a lot Kimos. I owe you one.