Cuts Like a Knife
Warm enough for you, Kansas City? The idea of an Indian Summer sure sounds romantic, but the reality of it is rather wretched. Why must we poor Midwesterners suffer climate change so acutely? Alas!
As if to add to the misery, it’s pretty much official now that Doris Henson is breaking up. The band will play its last (oh, please, let it at least be “tentative”) Friday night at the Record Bar with the Republic Tigers. As soon as I find out what contentious falling out brought on the band’s demise, I’ll let you know.
Last Thursday, I attended the Deadboy and the Elephantmen show at the Record Bar, and they were so bad that a woman cut herself with a razor blade. Actually, for her, it was probably the reverse — they were so moving, she had no better way of expressing herself than carving up her flesh and bleeding on the floor. Had I any sort of edged weapon, I would have been tempted to use it on myself to relieve the pain, because the show was pretty lame. Because Deadboy records for Fat Possum, I expected the old-school, scuzzy blues-rock that the revered label is known for. Instead, what I got was coffeehouse Nirvana played to a young, metal-oriented crowd, many of whom stood on chairs through the unusually quiet show. And then a chick cut herself: a big horizontal X across her chest and somewhere else that caused blood to drip down her arm. After the doorman, Cartoon, led her out, she stood outside, bleeding and trying to look cool.
And then the band played “Wave of Mutilation” by the Pixies. I’m not kidding. I suppose you old punks are used to the sight of blood at rock and roll shows, but it skeezed me out. And the Record Bar’s just not that kind of place. Who cuts themselves in a bar where you can buy a pizza?
