Last night, I braved the snow hazards and unnavigability of industrial northeast KC and headed to a place I've been sorely remiss in visiting this, or any, year: Knuckleheads Saloon.
The show, which was a benefit for Harvesters, drew a good crowd, most of the members of which preferred to cram themselves around the narrow tables in the bar-half of the room rather than venture out onto the dancefloor -- though one or two couples did swing dance (more on them to come).
Rex Hobart, left, and Cody Wyoming of the HTS
The first band to perform was Rex Hobart & the Honky Tonk Standards. Not to be confused with the everlasting Misery Boys, this is the band (more or less) that has backed for Rex at his Chuck Wagon Supper Club early-evening Tuesday gig at the Record Bar, which, I was astonished to realize, has been going on for over two years now -- because I've only been down to it two or three times! Man, I suck.
Anything Hobart, as far as I'm concerned, is worth driving mile upon mile to see. Especially if it's a Hobart machine full of body parts. I'd drive to Lawrence to see that, I tell you what. But seriously, Scott Hobart is the shit. How many musicians do you know that have gone from singing and playing crazy-ass skronk chords in a totally righteous posthardcore band to completely reinventing themselves as an old-school country balladeer par excellence? I bet you know none, chump. Also, Scott is totally nice and humble. Sorry for the effusiveness. I'm just feeling positive today. Call me. I might compliment you, too.
Anyway, back to the club. After an hour's worth of classic and classic-sounding honky tonk songs about drunkeness and failure, plus some clever banter from Hobart, the Honky Tonk Standards packed up -- all except pedal steel maestro Darryl Logue, who plays in the next group, Miss Major and Her Minor Moodswings.
Logue kind of looks like Australian actor Hugo Weaving from this angle.
While the Moodswings set up, the evening's hostess, Lurlene the Trailer Court Queen, clad in a tacky Christmas outfit, performed karaoke-style original songs in a shrill nasal drawl. One of them was a rap that contained the repeated refrain: Shoot! Gol-durn! That silo's gonna burn! The performance was campy, that's all I'll say.
The real show, for me, was the place itself. Pardon my tourist's enthusiasm, but it was nice to get away from "the scene" and be among people who don't give a fuck what the kids are listening to these days. There were serious greasers in leather jackets and pompadours, there was the smell of fried steak in the air, there was fresh, bountiful ice in the piss trough in the men's room, and there was lots of interaction between the musicians and the crowd -- mostly verbal.
Miss Major shakes her shaker and laughs with Logue.
Moodswings guitarist Paul Coughlin is quite the showman.
There was a couple sitting right behind me, just quietly watching and drinking bottles of Bud. But, man, when the Moodswings played a fast swing tune -- Western, rockabilly, whatever had the right beat -- the two got up, trucked down to the floor and danced like maniacs. I mean, they were like black belts in swing dancing, and they were also totally not styled up at all. The man wore his shirt tucked into his tapered jeans and did not smile. The woman had plain black slacks and a striped shirt. She didn't smile either. When at one point another less-talented couple got near the hardcore swing nerds, they strode clear to the other side of the stage and commenced the surefooted acrobatics. At one point, the guy dropped down below my line of vision and crab-danced or something across the floor. When they came back to their seats, I swore I overheard them complaining that the place's ceiling was too low. I should have taken a picture of them, but there was something about them that was sort of vulnerable, something that said, "Please, we need this." Or maybe they're a couple of asses. Anyway, I don't have a picture, sorry.
I also chose not to take any pictures of the burlesque performers from the KC Society of Burlesque -- they're not just a troupe, they're a society. I believe I watched two whole rounds of performance, between and after the Moodswings played. All in all, it was standard local burlesque, you know what I mean?
The crowd was still growing strong, and the mighty Tater & the Gravy Train had yet to play, but I was beginning to worry about my merriment level vs. the drive home. Out in the night, a large factory belched steam into the sky over clapboard houses.
I need to get over to this side of town more often.
-- Jason Harper
Bonus: A rather bohemian 30-something blond woman was sitting with her friend, an older guy, across the table from us during one of Lurlene's later, more drunken karaoke performances. I began eavesdropping and I wrote down every statement the blonde made to her friend about the spectacle before us."Why does she have to be so personal?"
"I can't walk out of here without myself."
[Lurlene had asked who in the crowd had come to the bar in order to walk out with someone better than the person they walked in with.]
"This is mental torture."
"This is horrible."
"I'm in the wrong bar."
"Who's playing the song?"
At the end, she clapped.
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You know, Harper, I don't see what your problem is with burlesque. We Burlys have caught each other in mid-air, sang, danced, stripped, and lit our tits on fire... Yet you are unimpressed. A lot of people have a hard time digesting burlesque because it's out of their normal comfort zone, and range of exposure. You might realize performance does not have to be serious, polished and ultra-hip ALL of the time! We're having fun, and the point is for the audience to have fun too (even the critics), as the crowd at Knucklehead's clearly was. That's the WHOLE POINT. So anyway, I hope your readers understand that "standard local burlesque" is a compliment in these parts. As for the KC Society of Burlesque, the name is tongue in cheek, clearly. The K.C.S.O.B., when abbreviated. I invite you to have a drink with us some evening, and we'll discuss the deeper meaning of burlesque, and the lack thereof.
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