Lesbians on Ecstasy
Hot Canadian queer dance party drips into town
It was such a good concert, I took my hat off.
Had to put it in my back pocket to really shake it on out, my floppy blonde hair in synch with the electronic drums, head-banging like the olden' days, shaking it for daddy daddy being The Lesbians on Esctasy's leather-clad front-wom Fruity Frankie, the only one of the quartet sporting the band's usual uniform chaps this go-round. But they all had their leather, vests and ties and such, and we had our dance party, starting slowly, like a faggy climactic techno ditty, with only a few feeling it at first, the way bar-goers do when giving into those first few rounds. If you build it, they will come. Fill the bar with beer and smoke and lights and lesbians rocking it, electronic-pump-yer-fists kinds of jams, and they'll all start dancing. More. Then, more. Until, and the band couldn't really see past the blazing spotlights, but there were rows of dancing, not-afraid-to-get-sweaty pleased crowd members, grinning ear to ear, thinking hey, these lesbians sure do know how to boogie.
And they did. Boogie. From the get-go. They took the stage. Brought the lights down to darkness, and then chucked handfuls of glow sticks at the crowd, fearing not of lawsuits or a raver catch-the-bouquet frenzy. Just to get it started. Because they drove 30 hours, and they're Canadian, dammit, and they're going to make you dance, dammit. Glow sticks, Bernie Bankrupt spinning the brilliant computer-geek foundation with bottom lines so good that bassist Veronique Mystique has to rock it front-of-stage style, milking that riff and taking us all for a walk, with front-gunner Frank-meister piping up on a distorted mike and Jackie the JackHammer jackham-hammering on the ones and twos and eights, the octagon pad, the drum of the future 'til the frenzy was too much, and it just had to break open. All the way open.
Man, the shit was hot.
The kids were dancing. And the Lesbians on Ecstasy had fun. They said so. Free beers. Because it was just about having some fun. Front-row-like because they're my new favorites. I'm writing home about it. The Canadians are bringing dance to the lesbians. Finally. The kind of dancing I get to do at The Faint, when I've gotta wash up after. It's kinda dirty, kinda German, kinda deep drum and bass, with lyrics of Melissa Etheridge spotting in, and Indigo Girls making a comeback, and their rendition of High School Confidential ... that was the closer to end all closers.
It was sexy, with a better climax than phone sex. Frankie, sweaty at this point with shag stuck to her smiling, wide-eyed face, whispering seductively her foreplay of "You've been naughty. Please report to the principal's office," urging a sudden but unanimous desire for detention. Simply put, this song broke it off, saved it all for last, and just ripped it to shreds, leaving us gasping for more. "Who are these guys?" whispered the industry folk, who had just stumbled in because they heard you could smoke here, everybody needing a good fag after a set that got us all sweaty. Needing. And thinking dirty thoughts.