Vaginacide

Saturday Night.

We go to the Belmont to see an acquaintance's band. The drummer for The Cut Loose. And the Belmont is in Hamtramck. Somehow, E2 (whom I'm dragging with me, poor girl) has heard about Hamtramck, even though she is an extreme West Sider. And really, Hamtramck doesn't look all that different. And the Belmont looks like a bar that should be in Hamtramck. . . full of arty hipsters with bad haircuts (oh, Princess . . . the bad hair I didn't expose you to). Black floor, green walls, exceedingly hard to get a drink. Smokey. And very "art fag". (high school term for artist with nose up in the air, thinking that no one could possibly understand the deepness)

And E3 spots me right away. Is very nice, friendly. Chats with us over the noise.

But there is a "surprise" opening band. E3 thinks they may just do a couple of songs. It is the bar owner's birthday and the "surprise" opening band is part of the present. And they take forever to set up. There is taping up a bed sheet. Seems very Wayne's World.

And finally, they start. There seem to be strippers, in gold lame bikinis and thigh-high athletic socks. And they are hitting the bar owner with plungers and wrapping him in toilet paper, while the lead singer yells the most vile things he can think of into the microphone.

"Bloody, bloody tampon . . . I want to eat your bloody, bloody tampon . . . " And as you can see from the playlist . . . this goes on for hours. At least an hour and a half. It seemed like a lifetime. And it kept getting worse. The strippers did not strip (which would have at least been interesting), the lead singer did strip (and had horrible man boobs), and the loud vile yelling went on. It's as if a bunch of ninth grade boys had gotten together (or better yet, seventh grade boys) and thought up as much toilet humor as they could think of. "Vaginacide, vaginacide . . . I want to crawl up in your hole and die . . ." I kid you not.

And we couldn't leave, having come all the way to the bowels of Metro Detroit to see E3 play. And the poor guy was so embarrassed. And just when we thought it would end, there would be another song. "Seething F**K Patties" The name of the band. No, really. I think they even have a myspace.

And when The Cut Loose could finally set up, E3 stole their playlist for me. It was just sitting up on the stage. So I thought I would share it with you. And warn the world.

The Cut Loose are pretty good, however. Kinda like Doors, plus Buddy Holly, with a little punk edge. At least live anyway.