I want to paint you a picture of a typical night with King Khan and BBQ Show; I've seen them a few times now, and each time I'm somehow impressed with what I've already seen. So let's get started. Actually, before that, has anyone heard the A-Bombs? Well they opened the night sounding something like the Detroit Cobras if they were older and playing parties. But the most intriguing part of that set was Ira Kaplan from Yo La Tengo playing keyboard and guitar throughout the set. Watch for his name, he should come up later in the article.
After that the Vivian Girls graced us with their presence. All right, maybe that sounds a little embittered and jealous, but only half of that is right. See I bought the hype back in June when their self titled came out. It instantly sounded awesome. Everybody was talking about getting their hands on one of their albums as soon as it hit the street and about just how awesome they were. But GOD DAMN they are boring. Ok, the drummer isn't bad, but JESUS. I would really rather go to the dentist than have to sit through another of their sets. But it's not their fault; they probably just misinterpreted the term shoe gaze and thought it meant putting someone to sleep in a standing position, making the visual like someone staring at their shoes. Maybe that's a little harsh, but I have really high standards for In the Red Records.
Anyways, they weren't all that boring. For instance, when lead singer, Cassie Ramone broke one of her strings, it was Ira Kaplan who saved the day. When he handed her a beautiful guitar a little out of her Fender league, she professed the she didn't know what all the knobs did. I don't know, guess that can just rub a boy the wrong way. If Francis Bacon was standing around holding a bunch of paint brushes and suddenly turned to me and explained he didn't really know what each one did, a little part of me just might die.
Anyway, they finished their set, and for more than one reason I was much happier. I felt like a child on Christmas Eve knowing what was about to come. When King Khan and BBQ (also answering to Mark Sultan) first enter the stage, per usual they're dressed in street clothes. They fuck around with their setup, which goes as follows: King Khan essentially sets up his guitar, amp, mic, etc. Pretty boring unless you start dreaming about his sweet, sweet legs. I know this might sound confusing, but work with me. BBQ has a very strange setup typically seen only in folk and avant shows. It involves a makeshift drum kit: he secures two pieces of a drum set to the ground perpendicular to the floor and attaches kick pedals to each. After that, he makes sure his guitar, which looks like the most ragged adolescent instrument I've seen, is tuned up and ready.
This is where the intensity begins. Some of the weaker at heart might take this break in action to get a beer or maybe to go mentally prepare for what King Khan and BBQ Show are about to give them.
As the lights turn down, BBQ steps onto the stage wearing a turban and a cape. Yep. A turban, the likes of which you would expect to find had you been getting your fortune told in the 19th century. He sits down to the aforementioned make-shift drum kit and fastens a tambourine to his shoe. As if this wasn't grandiose enough, King Khan walks on stage behind BBQ. I'm going to describe the articles of clothing and accessories the man had on. In your head you can place them anywhere you wish on his body, being as I'm sure it couldn't look any more ridiculous (aka HOTT) than he looked. We have:
One pair of boy shorts underwear
One black puffy wig
Two golden pointed shoes seven sizes too big
A hunk of sundry jewelry
One bejeweled veil
One sweet ass guitar
It's enough to make a boy go to confession just seeing the two up on stage. Even if the show ended right there I would be a little disappointed, but relatively satisfied by the spectacle I'd just witnessed. But then this beautiful raucous burst: rockin' Garage with a dash of doo-wop, the spirit of Janis Joplin, Chuck Berry's beat, the Spectacle of Boy George. Makes you feel a little bit like Mark Foley.
by Edmond Stansberry
[Photos: Oliver Lopena]