Entertaining for sure. But some of us remember a time when messiahs meant more than this.
Every generation needs a messiah. Kurt‘s too dead, Billy too bald, Liam loses too much in the translation, Blink are pop bunnies and Slipknot are too weird, so filling the gaping hole, and maybe a few others, is Jimmy Pop of Bloodhound Gang.
Equal parts ogre and deity, Pop may seem digestible on MTV, but live he and his band are something else entirely. Though the Gang are fiercely tight and musical on favourites like ‘I Wish I Was Queer So I Could Get Chicks’ and ‘I Hope You Die’, it’s the between-song banter that makes this show such a decadent banquet of brainwashing and debauchery. Bloodhound Gang want to offend, but they want you to join in too. They wank all over your taboos and easily cross any lines of taste and decency. If you’re not one of the hundreds here converted or one of the thousands elsewhere, offended, you soon will be.
“I’ll give you 20 bucks right now if you can throw up on me,” Pop asks a fan called Rich. Rich obliges, finger gauging his throat, and – [I]voil`[/I] – his stomach lining stains a cola-brown down the front of Pop‘s ‘Eat Shit’ T-shirt, the same one groupies will fondle when Pop summons them with the line: “I wanna get some girls [I](up here)[/I] that wanna make out with me.” He gets a snog, bassist Evil Jared Hasselhoff some ear-tongue, and DJ Q-Ball cheekily fondles one’s breasts and crowns her a wet T-shirt contest winner during ‘Mama’s Boy’. Political correctness may be up its own arse Stateside, but this is more than a motley crew overdose of backlash.
The Gang assume you’ve given tacit consent to this, because you’ve got a ticket to THEIR show and everyone’s buying into it. It’s just relentless. Given the finger by an overzealous fan, Pop threatens to eject the lad in question if he doesn’t apologise by stepping onstage, and putting his family jewels on display to the world (thus violating California Penal Code 647A, Lewd- Conduct). For the encore, the Gang each dress up like Limp Bizkit‘s Fred Durst for a laugh. It’s the final insane act of an insane gig. Entertaining for sure. But some of us remember a time when messiahs meant more than this.