Countdown to Ecstasy:
A Non-Blonde Experience
W hen the group 4 non-Blondes sprang up locally more than two years ago and began presenting before queers and rock fans live club gigs of remarkable clarity and drive, the bowled-over audiences left in the wake of their passionate sets buzzing with one shared and much overheard comment: "This band is gonna be big."
If you saw them at one of their earlier gigs at Female Trouble (the first club to ever feature them regularly, along with the early solo shows by vocalist Linda Perry before 4 non-Blondes formed), or first caught their act at 1015 Folsom when they played a frenetic set to benefit needle exchange, or waited till their demo tape was regularly featured on KUSF, or caught the show they played at the Kennel on the night of January 16-mere hours after Bush decided to start that darn war-the expectation of impending 4 non-Blonde World Domination may have planted itself firmly inyourhead. You don't have to be Jeanne Dixon to predict the future success or impact of 4 non-Blondes. All you really have to do is be present and attentive when Linda Perry approaches the microphone. The look in her eyes reflects the driving ambition and honesty of a lifer, someone who has to make music forever. Then she sings. Then you know.
4 non-Blondes whipped up quite a local following in a short amount of time, largely comprised of dykes who like to rock-the longtime fans who've provided support since the Linda Perry solo acoustic days. When the band started gigging all over town, hitting every club and even landing a surprise opening spot at the Warfield, their fans went with them. Soon they were winning the accolades of many local rock heroes, and record companies started sniffing around. Interscope picked them up, and gigging ended to facilitate recording. The new record's due soon and the band has just returned to the stage after its long break.
NEW MEMBERS
In the interim, there have been changes in the band's line-up. First, Wanda, the drummer, was replaced. Then, more recently, guitarist Shawna Hall parted ways with the band, which was sad and surprising news. But Shawna's not the kind to sit still, and she has already aligned herself with Pat Wilder, blues/funk goddess and best-kept secret of the lesbian music community. Even more surprising than Shawna's departure was news that the replacement was a male guitarist. It somehow seemed odd to throw the all-girl lineup askew, but I guess it's not like he's blond or anything. And it's not likely to stir up any political controversy at future women's music festivals- functions always replete with issues. Just mention something about a "Prince Albert" anywhere near the piercing tent and boom, you're on Lesbians' Court, featured somewhere in the sea of public access cable, ready to "issue" about tofu and pro-genital manipulation discrimination. When I hear the word "issue" being used as a verb too much, I run for the nearest rock 'n' roll show. Say, what a happy coincidence: The return of 4 non-Blondes. Their first show with the new line-up hit Slim's just when I needed it most. The opening act was the best possible choice-Stone Fox.
YUPPIES AND FOXES
What is it about Slim's? Every time I've been there I've felt overwhelmed by this incredibly Yuppie aesthetic, which comes complete with Yuppie-type people, regardless of what entertainment is being featured. My friend Becky said they were even present for Lydia Lunch's latest poetic foray into hell.
That's why I got such a thrill when Jorgee, the Stone Fox vocalist, introduced their second song by saying, "This is for all you perfect feathered-hair bitches." They were there, and Stone Fox is just about the funnest multi-babe fortified rock band in bell bottoms. Even better news is their rhythm section. The drummer, a guy with a lovely brunette Barbara Eden-esque fall and very good make-up, showed that it takes much more than beauty to be a Stone Fox. He kept the set clipping along in that tight, hard, fast and talented way. This, matched with the fluid yet punchy bass of Janice from the Jackson Saints, adds precisely what Stone Fox needed-a musical backbone forged by experience. Janice must have lots of experience. She can play while lying on her back and, to top it off, she happens to be a truly babe-ilicicus looker too. She and the drummer have erased the notion that Stone Fox is a novelty act who only play a few times a year like they used to. With all the glamour still intact, they're much more than that.
Someone from the audience brought Jorge what looked like a glass of whiskey. She replied, "Oooooh, its my rock juice, thanks," in a purring rock-kitten way. Her dancing and gestures and facial expressions scream, "I'm a sex bomb" And then she'll turn and raise her eyelids a bit higher than usual and suddenly she's a big-eyed Keane print. In its set, Stone Fox covered the song, Twist Barbie," by Shorten Knife, nodded to influences such as Black Sabbath with the slow and heavy guitar assault, dabbled in styles like country western and blues, but not too much, and finished off with a song about lip gloss. What could be better?
WELL WORTH THE WAIT
When the video screen/curtain went up, exposing the band of the hour to their many adoring fans who've missed them a lot, along with a rush of new fans ready to be rocked, the joint went wild. The uncharacteristic opening song was a great cover of' 'To Sir, With Love," which was campy and funny, but eventually awesome as Linda began startling me with her vocal abilities in a way that gives me chills. It was just the first song! In spite of an obvious assuredness and a quickly captivated crowd, you could sense their slight nervousness about debuting a new line-up and returning to live performance after a long break. Then they all strapped on guitars and tore into a fast and hard one with a sonic vengeance. Yep, they're back, and louder than I remember. The new guitarist was running all over his part of the stage in a subtle physical tribute to Chuck Berry and metal axe-wielding postures. It was a few songs into the set before his playing took on a life that matched the zeal of his movements. In spite of my overly optimistic expectations of what the new guy would be like, I forced myself to be critical. I noted his better-than-average use of the wah-wah pedal and conferred about his playing with Becky Slane's date/look-alike, who also plays guitar. This entailed glancing over at her after every acrobatic riff of note and saying, '1 think he'll do just fine." She agreed and, as the set progressed, his strengths as a musician became more and more evident.
The drummer, who played in a fine L.A.-based band called Love Dog before joining 4 non Blondes, had a monolithic black drum set that she commanded fully, charming me through the whole set with her warm smile and a look on her face like she was the happiest woman alive. I had seen her play with the band before and remembered her charged and efficient drumming, which had already received a thumbs-up from me in a previous article. I praised her for the snappy rapport she so quickly developed with Krista, the bass player. They musically accentuate each other via method and, more importantly, sense, and when it comes to complementing a talent as fierce as Krista's, I'm sure it ain't no cakewalk.
Krista is an original non-Blonde and, to get the idea across as simply as possible, she's a jock motherfucker on the bass. She's got the fastest Fastest fingers and the most developed personal style and a history of constant bass playing that spans 15 years of situations as disparate as Top 40 lounge bands and Sapphic blues jams with the likes of Pat Wilder. Plain and simple, she rips shit on most bass players around town, ranking right up there with Les Claypool, the Bammie-winning bassist for Primus. Seldom do I see a band and think to myself, "My god, this is like watching Stanley Clarke or Jaco Pastorious or some other bass player of legendary status." Krista brings greatness to mind always. She's a valuable player- integral, structured and hot.
On stage, Linda Perry modestly nursed a small bottle of Jack Daniels, having had a cold for three days prior to this show. I like it better than Nyquil myself and, by the end of their set, I wanted nothing more than to buy a bottle just like it and I don't even have a cold. The urge was more of a hero-worship thing, and isn't that just about the grossest, schmaltziest thing I've ever written? However, when Linda Perry steps up to the microphone with an acoustic guitar and starts to sing, the sum of all these figures equals one rock'n roll soul fearlessly bared, joyously unstoppable. During their best-known, arguably greatest song, "What's Up," a modern classic of anthemic disillusionment, I started getting, uh, well, sort of choked up, or as Ggreg D. Taylor would say, "Feeling all warm and fuzzy inside." The faces of all the band members, specifically the drummer, reflected a similar feeling. I felt like a sentimental fool, but not the only one in the crowd by a long shot.
Enough already. It was a rock show, not a Harlequin romance. Further antics included a trademark Linda Perry-transforms-into-a-screaming-Tasmanian-Devil explosion near the end of their final song, which I believe was en-tided "Morphone." Her between-song banter to the audience was clever, haughty and humorous, with a side of clown-like self-mockery bouncing in and out of view.
So-see this band, buy their record, tell your friends. Oh yes, I almost forgot to point out one special detail to end wit: Linda grabs her coos a lot when she sings, just like Bjork of the Sugarcubes did when I saw her. Great minds grope alike.
