Mekons live

Chicago Tribune review July 7, 1998

“Ok, so I’m a singing chimp in a nurse’s uniform, but at least I get laid” declared Sally Timms, who surveyed Saturday night’s sweat-soaked Metro crowd and quickly added: “Regularly.” The vocalist’s remark neatly encapsulated the band’s mix of sex appeal and self-effacing absurdist humour, and she did it the way the Mekons appear to do everything: effortlessly.

But looks are deceiving, and casual observers could almost be forgiven for accusing the intellectually restless one-time punk band of dilettanteism for their excursions into reggae, dub, country, electronica, rap, folk, metal, dance, and even pop forms. But punk promised an avenue for expression unfettered by commercial considerations and adherence to arbitrary musical rules, and scratching beneath the surface of the Mekons’ 21-year history reveals exploration of consistent salient themes: the need for community and intimacy, the physical longing inherent in that quest, and ambivalance towards the often ridiculous aspects of sexual desire and the havoc it wreaks. Never a prudish band, the Mekons’ 1996 collaboration with writer Kathy Acker, Pussy, King of the Pirates, seems to have inspired geater heights of self-gratification, and on their “nude” album me, the Mekons channel the late libertine’s spirit as they take their taboo- trouncing experiments to new extremes.

The best Mekons shows dangle on the precipice of chaos, and though some recent shows found band members guilty of suffering from world-weary ennui (perhaps betraying the drain of sustaining bi-continental membership – half live in Chicago, the rest in England), Saturday’s show found them dancing on that edge with blithe abandon. The festivities began with the dispensing of “Mekondoms”, which were issued with the disclaimer “for novelty use only–don’t sue us if they don’t work”. Soon afterward singer/ guitarist Jon Langford used one to entice “alpha drummer” Steve Goulding into a bit of behind-the speakers frolicking. On “Tourettes” singer Timms, dubbed “nurse knickers” for the evening and sporting Spice Girls peraphernalia on her uniform, recited from a sex toy catalog with nonchalance that made the disease sound more like a blessing. “Narrative”, sung from the point of view of a leg-humping dog, was accompanied by the spectacle of accordionist Rico Bell, singer Tom Greenhalgh, and Langford transforming into rump-sniffing canines who chased each other aound the stage while Lu ‘Knee’ Edmonds reeled off an electrifying, distorted saz solo. All the while bassist Sarah Corina anchored the mayhen with resolute calm.

“Back to Back”, derived from the old folk tune “Zombie Jamboree”, introduced a dance that could only be described as a post-modern macarena, and by the time the band encored with old favorites like “Memphis, Egypt” and “Where Were You”, the spot in the audience ironically designated by Timms as the “lesbian mosh pit” erupted into near-baccanal status, with July 4th revelers giving themselves fully to a spirt of independence much different than our founding fathers ever envisioned.