Supersuckers + Throw Rag + Forty-Fives

Do you believe in Satan? Eddie Spaghetti (né Daly) of the Supersuckers would have you believe that he’s devil-spawned and loving it, living without a care in the world in pursuit of his unholy trinity of rock ‘n’ roll: the Ramones, Motörhead and AC/DC, to say nothing of more temporal pursuits (think drugs, women, gambling, fighting and liquor, a lot of liquor). While he may never reach the aforementioned legends’ acclaim (come on now), it’s a crying shame because there aren’t many bands around that can hold a candle to the furious post-turbobilly thwack of the Supersuckers, the self-proclaimed Greatest Rock ‘N’ Roll Band in the World. Spaghetti and the boys have always walked a postmodern tightrope, traipsing parody and sincerity, rawk and, for awhile there, Steve Earle-type county wandering. So it should come as no surprise that you see far more indie types at their shows than rednecks, but whatever you say about their poses (their work with the West Memphis Three proves they ain’t all bad, and Eddie is now married with a kid), this band just may be the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band in the world on any given night. Playing in Baltimore’s tiny Fletcher’s, the Supersuckers brought along a pair of mismatched acts, with the first bunch, Throw Rag, California’s answer to the question: “What if the Sex Pistols never existed?” Throw Rag singer Captain Sean-Doe, who claimed British heritage and more than sounded like it, tried his damnedest to please the audience while answering that question, strutting around equal parts Johnny Rotten, Iggy Pop and geeky foulmouthed street urchin all in one, even preaching some irreverent tripe involving his parents at his conception. The ass even stripped to his bikini briefs, but was somehow upstaged by chunky washboard player Jacko, who, when he wasn’t scratching the board or blowing on a bugle, was grabbing his flab and warbling tunes of his own calling. One transgressive scene between the two involved the Captain whipping a bent-over Jacko with a white plastic lei-like whip: that’s all I’ll say about the flogging. But they did rock. Atlanta’s Forty-Fives however, missed the mark somewhat. While seeming to possess some chops and tossing out rockabilly-tinged power pop, like the dude next to me said, “They don’t know what they wanna be,” or some jazz — and he’s right. No matter, everyone was there to see the aging but powerhouse Supersuckers in support of their new album, Motherfuckers Be Trippin’, which moves even further from Arizona twang and into Seattle riffville. With that famous black cowboy hat sutured on his good-looking-in-a-rough-way head, Eddie screamed out “are you ready?” for a short span before leading his honchos into cuts off Trippin’and the rest of their discography, including their 1999 masterpiece The Evil Powers of Rock’N’Roll, and in particular a hard-rocking hedonism-tongue-in-cheek “I Want the Drugs”. And he does, he really does. In fact, the Sub Pop years were well represented. Smoke of Hell‘s “Good Luck” shot out so punchy that before you knew it some fool was being passed around atop the roiling crowd of tattooed, nose-ringed wannabe outlaws and I didn’t even see the dingdong dive (it happened at least twice). Call it the Supersucker Levitation Machine; I feel another kitschy song title coming on — are you listening, Eddie? Better yet, call David Blaine, cause his ass is gonna be outta business soon. But what’s a Supersuckers throwdown without the rock clichés they live and die by? We would’ve missed “Rontrose” Heathman aping Jimi Hendrix on his Les Paul with a seemingly endless solo in the middle of La Mano Cornuda‘s “How to Maximize Your Kill Count”, a song which would have seen the Supersuckers jailed in some states if it had been released on Interscope or Warner Brothers recently. The band was sure to point their guitars to the sky while riffing, thereby eliciting the devil horns from the throng — rich stuff. The newer material like “Rock-N-Roll Records (Ain’t Selling This Year)” and “Pretty Fucked Up” was tighter than the older songs, but the highlight of the set was when the band played their cover of Willie Nelson’s “Bloody Mary Morning”, a perfect turbo-hicka-whatever-billy song that balances chicken fried roots and punk rock along with those badass synchronized unilateral riffs (if you’re a fan, you know what I mean). Willie’s noodling may have been missed, but not much. Live, these guys are hardly about nuance. So the truth, do these guys mean it, are they purveyors of evil? Should we call Tipper Gore and give her her job back? Truth is, whether Eddie was born with a tail or not, who the hell cares? The Supersuckers are the Greatest Rock ‘N’ Roll Band in the World . . . just maybe.