Tom Jones has made a career of them, but that shouldn't make it a game plan for every singer or musician hoping to carve out a name, or at least a figure, for themselves in the public eye. And it isn't just a Seattle thing; we haven't been spawning any fashion trends lately for the world to take note of and turn into a runway sensation, praise God.

I'm talking about tight pants here. And I don't mean the these-pants-shrunk-in-the-dryer-they'll-stretch-out-in-a-minute kind of tight, the kind you can get back into a livable shape with a couple of deep knee bends. I'm talking about ouch tight, the kind that hurts the viewer as much as it does the wearer, unless of course it's made of a fabric that incorporates spandex--in which case it probably only hurts the former. It's hard to tell these days who's sweating it out in the legitimate ouch pants and who's breathing free and easy in the kinder, gentler version--because these days most new pants are designed to look like newly rediscovered warehouse stock. So it's anybody's guess who's chafing and pinching and squirming worse: us or them.

I got it worst during EMP's kickoff of its tribute to Jimi Hendrix held on Sunday, November 26 at Benaroya Hall. There was a certain horn player on stage who, within a matter of minutes, I felt very intimate with. In mere moments of his strutting onto stage in tension-trial defining white pants, I was quite certain he was wearing boxer briefs, that he had a slim, square parcel in his left front pocket, and that he had 35 cents in his right. Mostly, I was made quite aware that he was an undeniable member of the male species. Alas, I'm not a JimiLover, and I feared the pants would make it impossible for me to settle into what would turn out to be an intermittent three-hour nap, but somehow I managed to do it just fine, much to the disgust of the JimiLovers surrounding me on all sides. Sorry.

I next witnessed the ouch-pants-on-stage phenomenon at the all-ages White Stripes show the following Saturday at Sit & Spin. White Stripes singer Jack White was working his tight red pants something fierce, and believe me when I tell you Jack White is not a frail lad. He's a big strapper, what we used to refer to as "husky" back in the Toughskins days of my youth. At first the pants gave me great pains as I eyed their straining seams and obviously high polyester content. I scoffed in disbelief as White dawdled before his set, idling while getting advance mileage out of his tightly encapsulated keister before he finally took the stage. Seated as I was in the last row of the chair section, I was afforded a view that featured said pants strictly from the side and back angles, and I'll be damned if by the midpoint of the set I wasn't panting myself, because White, in his red, husky, ouch-pants glory, is very sexy in a Jethro Bodean kind of way. Maybe we're on to something here.

So keep it up, all you Travis "tight pants" Turn Ons and Brian Catheters out there (not that the two should be mentioned in the same sentence without a disclaimer: Sorry, Brian). You could be the ones who make the difference between your bands' local and national stardom.