Cowbell XXXMas As Lewd As Ever

Lee's Palace

Toronto, ON

on Dec 19 2008

John Papamarko (CHARTattack)

12/22/2008 1:44pm

I'm covered in aborted baby blood, and I have only myself to blame.

These are the hazards of the White Cowbell Oklahoma live experience. People near the front will get covered in every bodily fluid imaginable.

Like the Edmonton Oilers of the '80s being forced to trade Wayne Gretzky, the band have dominated the CHARTattack CMW and NXNE report cards so easily with their mind-blowing antics that a moratorium has been placed on their getting reviewed. This night, however, is different. Their XXX-mess holiday show is their most notorious event, and since they promised new material from their upcoming Bombardero album and "Cherished holiday traditions, sullied!" this was a show not to miss.

Montreal veteran prog-punkers GrimSkunk opened to a small, mostly male crowd and were casualties of a storm lovingly nicknamed "Snowmageddon" by many Toronto media types. I felt even worse for Diemonds, who most likely played only for the bartenders.

A keyboard is something rarely witnessed at a punk rock show, but that's exactly what added an extra layer to GrimSkunk's sound. It thankfully ensured there was no seven-string guitar on stage or the wankery that usually comes with a guy playing a seven-string guitar. That keyboard probably has a bit to do with them getting the "prog" moniker. Well, that and lyrics like "Black void howling enchanted things as the thunder clouds roll in," but I found the funk ("Blown To Pieces") and klezmer ("Perestroiska") influences just as evident.

Represenatives from the Cloven Path Ministries entertained and horrified the crowd between sets. They performed an abortion on a follower of notorious religious leader and pedophile Warren Jeffs, they faith healed a homosexual (not of homosexuality, but of nagging rectal issues) and peddled their own ministerial merchandise, from photos that stop bullets to a miracle anointing oil that cures everything from AIDS to cancer.

And then it was on to the main event.

White Cowbell Oklahoma are an assault on the senses. They fill your eyes with fireballs, strippers, cowboy hats and capes. They fill your nose with the smell of gasoline fumes and sweat and they fill your ears with southern rock and eventually the fire alarm of whatever venue they're playing.

Sadly, sound is last on the list because it seems to be an afterthought. Like the snake oil salesmen of the Cloven Path Ministries, they distract you with the dog and pony show because they know the pitch exceeds the product.

White Cowbell Oklahoma don't have the pure balls-out grit or songwriting ability of C'Mon, yet they're still authentic and tremendously talented. And isn't the whole point of a live show to get the audience to do what you want them to do? Be it chanting "Put the south in your mouth" or cheering while Santa sprays you with ejaculate from his gigantic foam penis, the crowd bought it. I was sold, too — if a little soiled.