Last Night: King Khan & BBQ at Rudz

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King Khan & BBQ
November 7, 2007

Better Than: Sitting home watching the CMAs.

Download: “Treat Me Like a Dog

I’m sure the more sanctimonious members of our little burgh would find King Khan and BBQ another reason why we don’t need gun control, but after an hour of watching the hokey, fucked-up Nashville mess known as the Country Music Association awards, I desperately needed King Khan and BBQ’s punked-up, amped-up blast of 50’s doo-wop translated through the solar time warp to right my conscience.

With BBQ pantless in a sleazy, bottom-fringed black satin top that looked like a Liza Minnelli reject from Cabaret (in fact, most of the night Mr. BBQ strongly resembled Liza Minnelli on speed and steroids), the two-guitar duo hit the stage at 12:30 a.m. and roared through a set that threatened to peel the paint off the walls of Rudz’s venerable upstairs – if it ever had any paint. BBQ’s outfit made Little Richard look like a Wall Street stockbroker, and Little Richard would undoubtedly have fainted if he’d gotten a glimpse of BBQ’s miniscule undies.

Running through tunes like “Treat Me Like a Dog.” “Wanderin’ Around,” and “Why Don’t You Lie,” with Mark Sultan (aka King Khan) laying down a tribal beat with two foot drums and a $200 Les Paul knockoff, the widely traveled troubadours who list Roanoke, Virginia, as their home base gave the crowd a huge dose of have-fun-or-we’ll-kick-your-hipster-ass attitude

The second the music started, the crowd abandoned their seats and moved down to the stage, heightening the sense of hedonistic excitement. The only slightly tense moment of the night came when BBQ intoned, “Please don’t spit, people. No spit.” Bet no one had to say that at the CMA awards. The evening was summed up by a woman as we walked down the stairs: “Wow, that was like the Beach Boys on bathtub meth.”

Personal Bias: Can’t beat a band with a guy wearing a red turban with a zirconium jewel clasp playing two foot drums, a guitar and singing at the same time.

Random Detail: There’s not enough Euro-porn in rock and roll anymore. – William Michael Smith

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