Blammo

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needs some black-eyelinered, black-leather-wearing, giant-dildo-wielding, screaming, surly, Patti Smith look-alike women singing "Too Drunk to Fuck." She needs Blammo.

It was a bizarre scene at the Heidelberg the last time I saw Blammo. An entire bandwagon of WRIF people were there, and big testosterone-pumped guys in black with SECURITY across their backs lurched around, staring down the crowd as if it were a real tough one. In reality it consisted of students, scruffy old rockers, a few hippie kids, and three fleece-wearing web designers who I supposed were there for the boobs.

A gaggle of big-boobed, skinny young girls wandered around, trying to sell Miller beer. My German friend Lucas was especially amused by this scene. "Yeah," he said, "the boobs are nice, but I don't drink Miller."

The Blammo band members have day jobs, and I suspect they're ministers or feds or something, because they insist on using aliases and wouldn't tell me what they do for a living. My friend "Boris" is their drummer. He is not a fed or a man of the cloth. He does, however, exude a mysterious Superman-like aura to me now. I know him to be a most kind, gentle man. But then he got onstage behind that kit and was transformed into a maniac.