Lesbian - A Band as Enticing As The Real Thing
Miami is not really much of a live music town. I mean, I suppose if you consider men spinning dance music records in tight, hot clubs "live music" then it is. But in the traditional, "Hey, there's this great band playing down at the so-and-so bar" kind of way, Dade County leaves a lot to be desired. Of course, I'm not really a fan of going to hear live bands so this is really more of an observation than a complaint. But Seattle, well, anyone alive between 1993-1998 knows it is unfortunately known for a lot of live music. I say unfortunately because unless your band was named Peal Jam, Soundgarden, Nirvana or Green Day, you contributed to the darkest, saddest period in Rock and Roll history. Some people like to call it "Grunge."
But since I was in what some may consider a "good" live music town this week, I thought I'd try something different and make a trip to the Crocodile Café on Friday night. For those unfamiliar, "The Croc" is sort of Seattle's version of CBGB or The Roxy. Like pretty much every major Seattle band got their start there. You're welcome. A friend of a friend insisted there was an "awesome" metal band playing with that oh-so-hardcore name of "Lesbian." Not "The Lesbians" which would have at least given us the excitement of maybe some girl-on-girl action on stage, but just "Lesbian." Singular. Which offered up about all the enticement of a real-life Seattle lesbian, which is absolutely zero. Apparently this band, which did not include one female, had just been signed to a national contract. What exactly the contract was for was not mentioned to me, but after hearing them I have to guess it is for Office Supply Distribution. Because there is no way in Hell it could have been for music.
I like to think of myself as at least a little open-minded to music not called "Reggaeton" but I was definitely in the majority in my disdain for Lesbian. The room was a crowd of men with more piercings than the women, and women with shorter hair than the men. If you didn't have a tattoo, you weren't allowed in, and everyone just sort of stared at the band as they grinded out chord after chord after chord to a song that, if I had to guess, was called "Airplane Taking Off." There were, however, a few loyal fans in the front who were flexing to the music. I say flexing because what they were doing cannot be described as dancing or head banging or anything that a normal person at a normal rock show would do. It looked almost as if they had had a complete breakdown in their nitric oxide system and lost all ability to relax smooth muscle. I thought about maybe calling an ambulance as this looked exceptionally painful, but then realized that each of these people believed they were deriving some sort of cosmic power from the two chords the lead guitarist continued to repeat, and was summoning it by trying to crush some invisible glass ball in the palm of their hand. Which was apparently very hard to crush.
After about 15 minutes of "Airplane Taking Off," the lead singer stopped screaming and came to the microphone. "This is something new we have called 'War and Poverty Forever!'" And the crowd went nuts. YESSS! War and Poverty! FOREVER!!!! YAAAAYYYYY! While I found it difficult to cheer for eternal strife and misery, again the crowd began to go into their metal-induced seizures. My friends and I gave up on talking and just began texting back and forth with such gems as "God, I hope they do another 20-minute song," and "AAAARRRRRGGGHHHH." (This was the main lyric to "War and Poverty, Forever" which makes me wonder if that was just what War and Poverty sounded like to these guys, or if they just really couldn't justify naming a song "AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHH." I could have thought of a better name. Like perhaps "Exasperated Charlie Brown.")
Mercifully, Lesbian did only a three-song set, which lasted roughly 82 minutes. I think I'll stick to my guys spinning records in hot, crowded clubs where there may actually be real-live lesbians. Or at least attention-whores pretending to be lesbians. And while I do like Seattle, every time I come back here I am starting to think maybe Simon Cowell was right: This place really is full of freaks and wierdos.