The last time this writer spoke to Bob Schneider, it was nearly 3 a.m., and he had just played his butt off with one of his now semi-defunct bands, the Scabs, at the Fabulous Satellite Lounge. He paid the band, and then hopped into his rented BMW Z3 and took off. He had packed them in and whipped them into a frenzy, as usual. Women we had never met wrapped their arms around total strangers and screamed “Pussy Fever” until they were hoarse. So it will be interesting to see Schneider’s transition to big-room status as he brings his music-for-grown-ups to town. He will likely stage a performance focusing on the present and future rather than his illustrious and notorious past. He hasn’t forgotten his funky roots, though; he’ll still toss in a bad word or two, because he’s the last one who’ll forget where he came from.
This article appears in Sep 27 – Oct 3, 2001.