buttcrack of the major, and a Mooney Suzuki review

Checked out the semi-new, tiny (375-peep), stripped-to-the-concrete-basics club Rebel last night, in the bowels of the Fashion District on W. 30th Street, to see Generals & Majors and The Mooney Suzuki.

The Mooney Suzuki kick out the jams.

Generals & Majors shares its name with a super-fave XTC song.
Mooney Suzuki is named for two members of Can, inventors of weird Kraut rock shit.

This information is entirely extraneous. Neither XTC nor Can seem to have had anything to do with last night.

G&M is possibly one of the WORST bands I’ve seen in a long time. Supposedly influenced by the MC5, Kiss, and the Stooges, they played like bad Ramones imitators. The lead singer’s look seemed coyly designed to appeal to both male and female fans but instead seemed to inspire a pan-gender urge to beat him like a drum.

One companion asked, “Do you think he ever listened to himself?” prompting the reply, “No, but he sure spent a lot of time looking at himself.”

The crowning achievement was his Iggy-inspired gyrating strip to the torso,

revealing a soul-crushing view of both major butt crack and pillowy man muffin-tops. [Ha, now you have that image in your brain too. I do not suffer alone. . . ]

Ahem. The Mooney Suzuki came on and delivered a rousing set of good old-fashioned garage-band dance music. Gleefully sporting guitar lines from Neil Young’s “Cowgirl in the Sand,” the Who’s, “My Generation,” Joe Walsh, and even the Georgia Satellites’, “Keep Your Hands to Yourself,” the guys played hard and fast, propelled by some giant bass lines and the 4/4 drums of true believers in rock ‘n’ roll. Lots o’ joyous 60s style dancing.

Admittedly, it’s not my all-time favorite genre, but it was worthless to resist their boyish charm and the excellently loud sound system of Rebel. And the closer, a paean to mind-altering chemicals and alcohol, sung to a country-rock beat, was an instant classic.

The MS had some of the best hair ever, very sweaty shirts, and a shitload of fun. The G&M guys actually tried to climb onstage in the interstice of the show and encore, only to be roundly defeated.

Posers: 0
Old-Time R ‘n’ R: 7

4:05 PM – 5 Comments – 2 Kudos – Add CommentEditRemove

twi-ny

Thanks for the photo credits.

But I heartily agree with the assessment of the bands. That butt-crack image is gonna stay with me for an awful long, wholly unwanted time. This was no mere Nordge moment.

The Mooney Suzuki rocked out, kicking ass on “Half of My Heart,” “My Dear Persephone,” “Oh Sweet Susannah,” “Alive & Amplified,” “Natural Fact,” “Singin’ a Song About Today,” and songs from their soon-to-be-released HAVE MERCY, including that great alcohol tune mentioned above as well as the awesome “First Comes Love.”

They’re a weird-looking band, but they’re fun as hell.

And they draw a weird crowd too, but few hipsters, thankfully.

Posted by twi-ny on Friday, February 16, 2007 at 5:18 PM
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Raquel

Could that Iggy wannabe please pull up his damn pants! Yeesh…

Posted by Raquel on Friday, February 16, 2007 at 5:28 PM
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QueensGirl

Okay Ellen and Rifkin, can you explain to me why a band that claims to be influenced by the Stooges and the MC5 names themselves after a song by XTC, that most English and pointy-headed (and I mean that in only the BEST way. Love XTC) of bands? What the hell?

Posted by QueensGirl on Friday, February 16, 2007 at 10:39 PM
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I Got My Reasons

cool article!

Posted by I Got My Reasons on Saturday, February 17, 2007 at 7:18 AM
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Ellen

thnx!

Here are the footnotes:
video of them from Fearless Music (a late Sat night Fox TV show, a worthy sucessor to the immortal “Don Kirschner’s Rock Concert” of my youth). Hmm, looks like FOX wants to adverstise their shows! Die, Viacom scum. . . .

and links to their myspace pages:
Generals & Majors (view at your discretion)
Mooney Suzuki

Posted by Ellen on Saturday, February 17, 2007 at 10:09 AM
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Stupor Bowl Music

Far as I was concerned, the headliners on Sunday at 6pm weren’t the Chicago Bears or Indianapolis (Baltimore-deserting Weasel) Colts; they were Stevie Nicks and Prince.

Oh Stevie! You can watch her SuperBowl performance on YouTube, but do you really want to? The witchy woman who inspired thousands of femme girl goths and witchy little waifs is today a substanial woman of middle age, in a long dirndl skirt, her ample bosoms tightly buttoned into some kind of form-fitting Anne Klein suit jacket. She twirled like wind-up doll, carefully, so as not to get dizzy. Once, record company interns blew coke up her ass (I know one of them) so as to save the delicate remnants of her nostrils. Today, she looks all too well-fed and appears nasally quite sound.
A far cry from the mesmeriing chick in the video to “Gypsy” – which my hubby assures me was up there with the Pat Benatar videos as a, um, a locus of some considerable fantasy activity [insert Howard Stern-thigh slapping sound, ahem]. And her voice sounded AWFUL. No Fleetwood Mac fan myself, I would admit she always had had some kind of vocal styling going on, but it was all gone . . . . Oh Stevie, retire w/Anne and Nancy Wilson of Heart. You can all go shopping for sensible suits and compare groupie stories. But leave the boys their memories.

Ah, Prince.

And watch all 12 mins – the end is the payoff.

Riffing on Jimi, Tina Turner, and his bad younger self, among others, he ripped thru a guitar-driven medley from “Let’s Go Crazy” into “Proud Mary,” and more, winding up w/a mighty fine “Purple Rain”. And he still cracks me up (I’ve seen him live a few times) cuz it’s too, too funny at the end, when the giant shadow of him and his special “Purple Rain” guitar looms over the whitebread crowd like nothing so much as the sly silohouette of a priapic little Satan in middle America.