Hot Idolatry
In terms of sound and subject matter, the Shotgun Idols might be the city’s sleaziest band. AssClown Timmay, the group’s massive, manic street-punk shouter, rants about “coke whores” and “big titties.” Von Hodad‘s slinky bass lines conjure images of strip-club snake charmers, guitarist Amy Farrand‘s raw riffs exude brass-knuckle menace, and Jon Cagle‘s drumbeats hit like the pounding fists of a jealous husband breaking down a bedroom door.
The Idols advertise their unhinged live shows with appropriately lurid fliers, upon the creation of which the group’s art designer, Timmay, agreed to elaborate.
In the first selection, an android-armed Paris Hilton places her remaining human hand on Timmay’s shoulder. “Her prosthetic is looking much better now,” he explains. “She left me in my floating barge on Brush Creek to go do that intern show. That’s OK. You do what you’ve got to do. We’re a nonwoe-is-me band. We don’t feel sorry for ourselves or anyone else.”
The next celebrity cameo comes from Britney Spears, who dons a shirt emblazoned with the slogan I (Heart) Punk. “She’s going to name her kid Timmay, after her father,” he predicts. “We’ve got stuff about MILFs in our new songs.”
For a Christmas Eve gig flier, the Idols pictured a nude, morbidly obese man with a Santa cap and a grime-yellowed beard. “That’s just Von hanging out in his costume,” Timmay says. “His bandana sucks in that gut. It’s weird how that works.”
In another shot, a smiling, bespectacled blonde in red panties and a black bra stands next to the claim I luv bar bands. They make me so, so hot. “That was our number-one fan at the time,” Timmay says. “Back then, we used to have a T-shirts-for-titties campaign. It was like a charity for the band. Who cares about the kids? Kids hate us anyway. When we play all-ages shows, they just stare at us and ask, ‘Why’s that guy who looks like my dad singing about boobies?’ They don’t get gonorrhea jokes because they haven’t been burned yet. They still think life is just peaches and roses.”
Given his aggressively obnoxious commentary, it’s hardly surprising that Timmay’s between-songs banter has scandalized spectators. Once, a concertgoer climbed onstage and smacked him in the face. “My heart swelled with pride,” he says. But anyone considering an assault on the Idols Friday night at the Brick should know something about the group’s ostensibly lascivious lifestyle. “It’s all tongue-in-cheek,” Timmay reveals. “We live on the edge, then we go home to our wives.”
