Eskimo

at The Rat
by Clarendon Lavorich
photo by Rich Rodichok

Opening bands blow. Hard. I won’t even mention who they were, ’cause that would be far too embarrassing for them. Needless to say, one was obviously bombarded by radio activity, and the other was hopelessly marooned in the ’80s emo-metal/rock scene. More confusing, however, is why they would be opening for Eskimo. I mean, a Zappa-Beefheart combo gone funk usually is not booked with acts that suck. When asked, David Cooper (vibes, vocals) replied “I don’t know, man. We’ve been stuck with shitty bands all over this tour.”

So anyway, Eskimo took the stage, trombone, MIDI mallets, a guy in a vivid orange dress playing guitar, bass, drums, the works. They immediately launched into the opening song off of The Further Adventures of Das Shrimpkin (Mammoth), “Bones of the Saints.” I know I sort of panned the album last issue, but that was because I didn’t realize the context that Eskimo exists in. I love them now. After several beers and the experience of seeing Eskimo up close and personal, I wish I could breed with them. They have a danceable strangeness that pops your feet that much higher, a skewed view of how to play party music in clubs. Believe me, it was a party. The funk brought us close, the lyrics made us grin, the twisted lines made us jump up and down with glee. True, it was hardly a packed crowd (probably because everyone left when they heard the opening bands), and outwardly there were mostly bobbing heads with a few people actually dancing, but I knew that inside everybody was running around wildly like headless chickens (or at least headless somethings). I knew this because Eskimo was asked to do an encore or two. Well, “asked” isn’t the right word, it was more like screaming and applause. They finished us off with the much-requested “Kill the Great Raven,” a Snakefinger classic, and a promise that they’ll be back again, someday. Maybe by that time, promoters will know what bands to put them with.