by JACK OATMON

What kind of twisted, Satanic monster would be spawned if the Cramps and Kraftwerk got their DNA crossed in a genetic recombinator accident, much like the ones that turned Peter Parker into Spiderman, Michael Jackson into Brooke Shields, and Oliver Cromwell into Stockwell Day? Well, Glen Danzig, I suppose.

But what if it happened in a weirder, more flaming and flamboyant locale, like Quebec? Then we might just bear witness to something rotten, sleazy and downright tacky, like tonight’s Chernobyl Cha-Cha show. Let your grim curiosity get the best of you at Zoobizarre when they play alongside similarly raunchy cheeseballs, Pornorobo. Ugh. Now we’ll finally find out whether things really can be so bad that they’re good.

For more sonic kipple that might have cropped up if synthesizers were commercially available in Tennessee in the ’50s, or if hillbilly retro had caught on in Paris in the mid-’80s, peep Call Me Poupée at Petit Campus on Friday night (say that five times fast). If fashion mullets and sarsaparillas aren’t your bag, you might want to roll on over to Academy on Friday to catch DJ Craze who, if the DMC championship judges are any sort of barometer, is one hell of a scratch act.

The following night, Saturday, will see West Coast guest Paul Devro gracing Baile Funk Montreal at Zoobizarre. On the other side of town, the 10th edition of Electro-Chic goes down at the SAT. It’s their Christmas bash, but don’t expect too much in the way of carols other than Rudolph the Red-Thonged Metrosexual.

I know, I know, you don’t want to think about that particular holiday just yet. Judging by the 26-foot red bulb on St-Laurent and the gaping hole being burned in my pocket, however, I’d say we are indeed narrowing in on everyone’s favourite annual stock-market spike. Truth be told, I love all the kitschy bull-kak surrounding Christmas (or Hanukah, or whatever your thing is), even if I’m about as religious as René Descartes on a Saturday night. What I wanna know, though, is when is Santa Clause gonna update his outfit? He’s been wearing that damned Coca-Cola advertisement get-up for as long as I can remember. For a guy who flies around delivering fashion accessories, designer jeans and consumer electronics to the 800,000,000 loyal customers that can afford his services, he sure has some homely duds.

Pitch the reindeer and get a Caddy. Kangol military cap crowning a shaggy faux-hawk. Shave the hideous beard down to a set of mean chops and a handlebar moustache. Black leather bomber jacket. Blue jeans (no tacky fade-wash or pre-ripped bullshit). T-shirt by Parasuco and a slicin’ pair of Vans high-top remakes. Then just lose the chimney routine and ditch Mrs. Claus for some ho-ho-hos!

ISLAM IS THE NEW BLACK. jack.oatmon@gmail.com

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