(A review of a show I saw in Seattle)…
The Detroit Cobras: Attack of the Golden Oldies Zombies
“Honey, you don’t wanna give me that whiskey–It’ll make me punch you in the face” growls Rachel Nagy, the Detroit Cobras retro-revivalist leading lady, when an adoring front row fan offers her Pink Lady-esque idol a sloshing shotglass onstage. “You’ve got a really pretty face there, and I don’t wanna ruin it, so just don’t give me that whiskey shot.”
Nagy and the rest of the Cobras, all veterans of the Detroit garage-rock scene, had a tough set to fill at Neumo’s in Seattle last night, after local punk-rock favorites the Whore Moans pogoed through their frantic, screamy set, each song a new mouthful of pop rocks and Jolt soda. Next was the adorable french outfit, Les Sans Culottes, and with jangly hooks and Mamas-and-the-Papas harmonies, they could’ve been on the Austin Powers soundtrack, right behind Strawberry Alarm Clock (not to mention their tight striped pants and hair shags). They served their own mod-flavored dish of The Knack’s “My Sharona” and Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Were Made for Walkin”, proving that the French really don’t hate Americans– or at least not our most exemplary pop songs.
Finally, the Detroit Cobras swaggered onstage, and let fly their revamped sixties R&B/doowop repertoire–whiskey soaked. Nagy with her sometimes raspy, always boozy-bluesy voice, changed lyrics from the Little Willie John’s “You Better Leave My Kitten All Alone” from “Well, Mister Dog I’m gonna hit you on the top of your head” to “Bitch, I’m gonna punch you on the top of your head”. She was more reminscient of a pill-popping, middle-finger flipping Johnny Cash than some of the sweet, head-bopping girl groups the band covers. The Cobras blasted through their lightspeed set, covering almost all of 2007’s Tied and True, including audience- arousers“On A Monday,” “Bad Girl,” and the raunchy Cobras-written “Hot Dog (Watch Me Eat).” Mary Ramirez, straddling her guitar over some chugging surf licks and effortlessly commanding the occasional spotlight, was the Angus to Nagy’s Bon Scott.
When watching them perform live, there is no question about the band’s explosive talent, and unique rockabilly-surf-country-blues amalgamation. While they do cover the gems of songs they and their parents grew up with, it almost seems insulting to label them a “cover band”. They unearth some of the best songs from a fifty year old American music catalog, some now only found in thrift store record bins and midwestern jukeboxes, chew them up, spit them out, let them sit overnight in a bed of cigarrette smoke, and then pummel us with their new life onstage. In an ever-increasing world of preachy ecophiles, the Detroit Cobras are the most badass recyclers around.
