The Jesus Lizard
at The Middle East
by Sheril Stanford
In the annals of on-stage antics, David Yow has earned himself a place among the legends, alongside luminaries like Iggy, Gibby, and, God rest his soul, Sid. Yow is a pillar among purveyors of destruction and bad taste, and the band he fronts, the Jesus Lizard, rumbles, roars, rages, shivers and squeals like the hot water boiler in the basement just before it explodes. Needless to say, I was psyched to see Yow and the rest of the Lizard live on stage, up close and personal (although I was understandably a little afraid to be up TOO close).
On the other hand, I was prepared for disappointment. The guys aren’t getting any younger – the Lizard’s only been around since 1988 or so, but vocalist Yow and bassist David Wm. Sims first teamed up in the early ’80s, when they called themselves Scratch Acid. So I lowered my expectations – maybe they’d gotten too old to take those musical/physical risks? (The current leg of the tour was to make up dates lost when Yow injured his back – don’t only OLD people hurt their backs?) Probably there would be no mid-show blow jobs. Yow probably wouldn’t use his head to demolish the stage and its environs. There’d probably be no nudity, no onstage pissing or defecating. Although why not? After all, actor Robert Downey, Jr. recently and inexplicably confirmed for Details magazine the truth of the rumor that he had shat on the dressing room chair of a co-star, AND added proudly that HE PEED UNDER IT TOO! But I digress….
Also cause for concern was Yow’s proclamation a few years back that the Lizard would reach a dead end in five years. Oh oh – HOW long ago did he say that? Plus, the Lizard had moved from Touch and Go to a major label, Capitol, to record their most recent disc, Shot. The good news? They’d lost nothing in the transition — Shot continued the band’s tradition of dirty, explosive punk/hardcore/metal tunes with sick n’ twisted lyrics. I was ambivalent, I was anxious — I had high hopes but I was ready for the worst.
I needn’t have been. Truth be told, there was none of the kind of fireworks described above. There was no nudity, although you ain’t seen nothin’ till you’ve seen Yow crowd surfing, garbed only in a blue feather boa and winter undies rolled up to his knees. Yow taunted the crowd with, “I know you want to see my testicles, my smelly, smelly testicles,” although he never accommodated. And there was no head-butting of monitors. In the course of crowd surfing/ceiling walking, Yow kicked out an offending recessed light that a wayward lighting guy mistakenly left glowing — that was pretty deviant. And Yow did take strolls down the length of the bar. Even from the sound board, you could lose track of where the hell Yow was, but you learned to follow the mic chord — eventually, he’d turn up at the end of it. Yow is a master of decidedly un-PC between song commentary. At one point he made a not very correct remark about the alleged sexual preferences of former Lollapalooza pals, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones (some of whom were in attendance), and he encouraged the crowd to “Drink-ety, drink, drink, drink-ety, drink, and do drugs, too,” and shamelessly pandered for bourbon or tequila.
Lest you think for one hot minute that Yow’s escapades detract in any way from the Lizard’s musical onslaught, think again, my sweet. Musically, the band was outstanding. Sims plays big, fat, round, loud, pile-driving bass that makes the walls rumble. You don’t just hear it, you feel it inside you — it’s a multisensory experience. Sludgy but clear, it brings to mind something malevolent and powerful fighting its way out of a mucky swamp. The Russ man rocks. Regular drummer Mac McNeilly was absent (word is he hasn’t left the band, he just decided not to tour. The Lizard is set to record some demos in Detroit at the end of the February leg of the tour, and McNeilly will resume his position then). Instead, Jim Kimball (past credits include Laughing Hyenas, Spinnanes) was on the riser, backing Sims measure for measure. Guitarist Duane Denison is LOUD, a bristling, searing , search and destroy counterpoint to Sims’ rolling bass. Then there’s Yow, relentlessly ranting, raving, roaring and screaming above the din. “LIES! PLACIDYLS! Why don’t you set up a camera to record your own death, dear?” Yow rages in “Blue Shot,” a selection from 1996’s Shot. (Placidyls? With lyrics like that, you believe it when you hear that Yow is an ace Scrabble player, frequently amassing 80 points on a first word. Or at least he knows his pharmaceuticals). The set was a showcase for Shot — outstanding choices were “Good Riddance,” about the clown who was worried because he lost his manners and his ethics, played slow and dark, oozing like molasses from a broken jar. Another first class offering was “Too Bad About the Fire,” which has a bluesy feel, paved deep under by Yow’s sore throat vocals (“If you like shooting up crack… you’ll lead an interesting life”). And, of course, there was “Thumper,” the song currently getting the Lizard more radio airplay than any of the band’s past offerings. I left the show placated and satiated — oh, Jesus, how could I have doubted you?
