Waves of Sensuality

The Quilz

Yeah, I know New Wave Fest was over a week ago. But the weather's finally been so beautiful lately that between the choice of writing or playing outside, you know what I had to do. But I didn't want to ignore what was a really enjoyable night, especially since I lean toward more of the punk side of what was going on in the 80s, as opposed to the New Wave side.

But the thing about New Wave Fest was that it reminded me how much I really enjoyed it. It's kind of like the comparison between the Beatles and the Stones. I love the Stones more than the Beatles, there I said it. The Stones spoke more to me. But that doesn't mean I don't love the Beatles, don't appreciate the impact they had, or anything like that.

But back to New Wave Fest. For me, it started early, and ended later than just the show at Shank Hall. I wrote last time about how it started early for me: a band called Beaker was on the bill when the Electric Six came through to Garibaldi's. Beaker came out onstage dressed in lab coats, with guitars and keyboards that lit up, and automatic movements that of course brought to mind Devo, but they were more punk about it. They really need to be on the bill for the next New Wave Fest: this show can't be about us reminiscing -- these younguns are carrying the torch and this should be nurtured.

So, OK, at the "real" New Wave Fest, I got to Shank Hall late and missed opening 80s tribute band Radio Radio.  And dang it, I just learned that the Radio Radio boat cruise is sold out. I'm bummed about this, because their playlist is built for cruising down the Milwaukee River into Lake Michigan: plenty of new wave, of course the Elvis (Costello!) referenced in the band's name, but lots of two-tone, punk, new pop -- pretty much the playlist for my college radio station back when I was an undergrad at UIUC. (Or pretty much any college radio station of the time).

The Star Girls have new uniforms. Hot Aliens! 

I did get there in time for the Quilz, a great duo of otherworldly synth pop, where the Cocteau Twins meet the Thompson Twins in look, sound, and overall presentation. I'd seen them before at  -- get this -- the Pumpkin Pavillion at Humboldt Park, and given that occasion was of course Halloween, it wasn't fair to judge them in that environment because you don't exactly do your standard set (they'd been followed by the Dick Satan Trio, who also didn't do their standard set that night). They've shared the stage with the Xposed 4Heads before, and for numerous reasons, I kept missing them which has been my loss.  Sage Schwarm holds down rhythm, guitar, keyboard, and anything else he can cram into his laptop while singer Becky Heck is bathed in light . She croons their songs with sweet airy voice that belongs on 4AD, but she can put out a sinister sound as well: their cover of the old gay bar hit White Horse sent shivers down spines while simultaneously shimmying. And their take on Prince's "Little Red Corvette" was just as smooth and sensual. They passed out glow in the dark balloons to the crowd that kicked the party into gear, ready for the next act.

XPosed 4Heads on the other hand, eschew subtlety and go straight for the jugular. (Let's see if I can get through a description of them without dropping the Devo reference, even though it's obvious, what with their uniforms and highly synched stage mannerisms, even though they met the last band, the Fantastic Plastics at a DEVOtional, even though they don't just wear their nerd credentials on their sleeve: they actually have embroidered badges.) From "Hot Aliens" to a newer song, "Do Ya Get My Thrust" , the 4Heads don't have time to beat around the bush. In fact, not to be outdone by the Quilz, they passed out glow in the dark sticks so that everybody could join in on the thrusting. They are here for fun and games  -- but they're also wonderfully paranoid: from the title cut of last year's "Urgency Squad" to "System Overload" they pay tribute to their spiritual godfathers from Akron OH while sounding like their own thing. (Even their set list is in code).  And when Mark GE digs out his old snark about the East Side, "Nice Guy", the audience is only to oblige him when he asks "Dontcha think that I'm a Nice Guy?" by hollering back a definitive NO!

The last act of the night, NYC's Fantastic Plastics, are working the same "yeah, we're paranoid but let's have fun" turf as the 4Heads. They bring along a light show worthy of a Residents concert (and if they don't have a copy of "Duck Stab" in their collection I'd be surprised) but they're also fun, poppy and synthy. Miranda Plastic wields her keyboard and her theremin with authority while her partner, Tyson Plastic, spazzes all over the stage, looking, acting and sounding like some rock and roll mad scientist from some other galaxy. But the music is solid but dangerous pop, bringing elements of 60s space invader spy surf monster movie to balance out the paranoia the do-not-adjust-set-for-we-control-the-horizontal light show they brought along. It's easy to see how the 4Heads and the Fantastic Plastics bonded out at that Devotional. 

While official "New Wave Fest" was over after that, New Wave music wasn't over for me. The other night I decided to "brave" the weather after that "thundersnow" we were supposed to get never materialized. But even if it had, I would have gone out Saturday anyway: the new Lex Allen album was dropping at the Cooperage, and I knew that I'd better go see him, because if there's any justice in this world, it's only a matter of time before he gets really discovered and it will be damn near impossible to get to see him for less than three figures. I got to the Cooperage just in time to catch opening act Immortal Girlfriend, and I was enchanted. If they had existed 30 or so years ago, you would have definitely called them "new wave." They had this Visage meets The The thing going- this is new wave with a definite soul. Their best moments are when they get into a downtempo clubbing groove and then waft their gorgeous voices over it all to produce this blues floating through the ether sound. I missed them at MAM After Dark a week or so ago and I don't want to miss them again. Note to New Wave Fest organizers: get hold of these guys. They, like Beaker, will fit right in (albeit for totally different reasons.)

So, Lex Allen. Not new wave. But this was his night and I didn't expect him to just get up there and sing his songs. But i wasn't expecting dancers, guest stars, a string section, costume changes, and the man himself, working the entire room, making his entrance from the second floor, schmoozing his way across the dance floor, and making use of the entire, minimal yet elegantly draped stage. Last time I saw him, I compared him to Lady Gaga; this time I saw plenty of Prince in there too, but he's got his own thing going. First, he makes it clear that he has his own Identity going (duh, that's the name of his latest jam)and as I've pointed out before, this isn't a drag queen: this is a man who looks sensational in a dress. He hides nothing: both his masculinity and femininity are on proud full display and the crowd loves him for it. He started out the night in some jeans and a jacket that the purple one might have been caught in. His repertoire surveys deep soul, to blues, to dance club (songs that should be) hits. He hid behind the drapes to deliver "Mama's Boy", a tearjerking ode that obviously means a lot to him (he told the audience he didn't want them to see him as he sung it) but I saw him because I was standing on the side of the stage and he clearly wasn't faking the emotion he put into the song, backed up by Sista Strings and a drummer who kept the beats (both analog and digital) on tap all night. He deftly moves between songs and styles and before you know it, he's changed outfits. He spent the second half of his show absolutely resplendent in a sparkly mid-length jersey shift that left little to the imagination, and managed to keep on his pizza-toed pink spike heels for at least three songs before kicking those off for the rest of the show.He kept the crowd riveted for his new songs, which featured the strings, some dancers, and even got assistance from the crowd as he truly worked the stage

before he ripped into his old hits like "I Struck Gold" and the show-closing "Bitch U Fabulous," the latter featuring a fashion show with a variety of models of size, color and gender. It was a gorgeously inclusive, warm, wonderful night. I approached him afterwards (because even with his bombastic stage presence, he's an approachable guy) and praised him for the thing that I bet people take for granted: his songwriting. Even if he just wore jeans and a t-shirt and was an OK performer, Lex Allen is a brilliant songwriter. Every song had a catchy hook. Every song was delivered in its own distinctive style. There wasn't one weak moment in the show-- and that's the mark of a great songsmith.  But when you have a showman with his level of charisma (let's face it, he could go up and sing "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and bring down the house in a sweaty sensual grind) people tend to forget that underneath that slinky dress, there's a sharp writer crafting every moment. Why isn't this guy filling ballrooms yet?

So Sunday afternoon, I celebrated the weather to catch a couple of reliable standbys, Two and a Half Stars and The Truck (formerly Camel Tow Truck, changing their name because, well, that's nasty.) They were at Redbar in St Francis and I'm liking that room despite the long, galley-like setup that forces the band to approach the audience in a physically narrow way. Both bands are fun bands that are very self-conscious and depreciating: Two and a Half Stars' talent is overlooked because a lot of their songs are jokey (they pay tribute to both the Milverine and the Bay View Prius Lady). For whatever reason, they've ditched the video show and that's probably for the best: they're fun enough as it is and their videos work best as YouTube moments. (Waah, either they already did my favorite, "Screw it" before I got there or didn't do it at all.) 

The Truck, a bunch of Milwaukee music vets banging out delicious white trash musical food, (the set starts with joyful lament called "Lonely and Large") were up afterwards. They take a lap steel guitar, throw in some flying V guitar and bass,

 country-fried metal drums and a lead voice that could just as easily holler "Get Offa My Lawn" through TWO vintage microphones before spitting out the chewing tobacco juice. They continued the theme of irreverent punky fun, which as most readers know is where I always come home to. What can I say? I'm a punk girl at heart  but I'll listen to any wave as long as it's good.