From the Aug 5 – Aug 11, 2004 issue

Music

Live Wire

Show Me Your Hits

by Jennifer Maerz

Although "Show me your tits" is a classic mating call for the blacked- and bottoming-out, you've got to wonder how it becomes the command of choice at certain events. It's like, the fewer females there are around, the more often you're gonna hear it. But the pea brains floating in Bud sauce figure that if they say it enough times they're gonna get flashed flesh. At least that was the case at last week's Ozzfest, where "Show me your tits," was bantered around almost as often as "You here to see Slayer?" when all other pickup lines failed. The beer garden--where oddly formed sunburns matched the crimson shades of most concertgoers' eyeballs--was populated by dudes with Mardi Gras beads hoping to get a flash of chest (other than those of their shirtless buddies), but instead got an eyeful of black metal Dimmu Borgir frontman Shagrath in a kilt. The guy behind me in line for the concession stand ($6 mini pizzas and $7 beer--White River Amphitheatre should just have you empty your wallet into a trash can when you walk though the gates) wasn't having metal in a skirt and bitched about the kilt incessantly. But really, the night was all about Slayer and Sabbath anyway. When Slayer took to the main stage just past feeding time, not even the guy manning the "Kick Me in the Head, Bitch" booth could lure any takers to slam him with a soccer ball. Slayer riled up the crowd most with "Mandatory Suicide"--in the intro, they said the song was about "the ultimate sacrifice" and blasted it out through a stack of Marshall amps 24 deep--and closed with "Raining Blood," shredding through a condensed set of their hits. Black Sabbath was the most visually impressive act--even with Judas Priest frontman Rob Halford riding out for an encore of his set on a motorcycle and sporting a sparkling overcoat--with video screens framing live images of the band members with old-school graphics (skulls, cherubic devil kids). It was a little odd to see men who looked only slightly younger than my grandpa sweating through songs like "War Pigs," but as Ozzy laid out in the beginning, nothing--not even the doctor's orders--was going to stall this performance. (Speaking of the Osbournes, though, turns out little Kelly bought a T-shirt from local dance punkers the Fitness at a recent stop on their tour with the Scissor Sisters.) But really, the only stall-out came after Ozzfest, with the buzzkill of sitting for more than an hour in the fucking White River parking lot as traffic crawled slower than a Sabbath riff.

Traffic shouldn't be an issue at this week's eighth annual Dead Baby Bike Race. The kamikaze event goes down Friday, August 6, in the same general area as last year and ends at "The Big Building," with kegs, raffles, bike events, and musical entertainment from Audio Infidels, Bristle, Hell Promise, Suicide Jack, and Hoof--Tad Doyle's new band. If all that info's a little too coded for your tastes (unfortunately that's the nature of a renegade bike-messenger competition), e-mail daninfecto@yahoo.com for the details. I went last year and it's a total blast.

If you're not at the bike race Friday, you should be at the Fucking Fabulous Film Fest (see page 85), where the second of three nights of indie films and indie bands showcases an impressive lineup. Along with the Popular Shapes and Phobophobe, you can witness the two-man garage destruction of the Hospitals, a band featuring John Dwyer of Coachwhips, at the Comet that night.

Nostalgic for Pho Bang? Good news: Jackie Hell, Ursula Android, and little Debbie hosted their first real show together since the popular punk cabaret night disappeared last year with a one-off last week at Chop Suey. As the entertainment between sets for the Lesbians on Ecstasy show, attendance was sparse but the trashy queens proved they haven't abandoned their creative outlets--screechy singing and crass humor--by any means. Also on the bill that night were the Scream Club ladies, who debuted a new song called "Sorry for Calling and Waking You Up but We Were Drunk," before telling the crowd they were "the Germs of hiphop." Whatever they are, this duo will probably be one of the indie breakout acts of the Northwest over time--we'll see how an upcoming European tour treats them.

Remember a little band called the Replacements? Bassist Tommy Stinson's new solo record, Village Gorilla Head is out now and local power poppers Alien Crime Syndicate will tour as his backing band; they land together in Seattle on August 25 at Chop Suey.

The Showbox's Scott Giampino is now doing press for the posh supper club the Triple Door as well as DJing Sunday nights at the Clockwork Orange-ish Bada Lounge--a night tagged as "from the Stooges to the Strokes." And speaking of the Strokes, local radio DJ John Richards recently played a track off a three-song demo from a Portland band called Jackie that sounded exactly like Julian Casablancas and company--right down to the Velvet Underground guitar licks and lightly distorted vocals.

jennifer@thestranger.com

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