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Rating: Boss Hog
If you search for it on an Internet browser, the Hazard boss comes up. A fat man dressed in white with a cigar in his mouth, a pleasant '80s memory, especially for Daisy, the cousin of Bo and Luke who would poke fun at the village's foolish sheriff.
A leap into the past was gifted by Boss Hog last night in a not entirely packed Magnolia, unlike a few weeks prior for other peculiar figures, now icons of Italian rock (Il Teatro degli Orrori). An attentive, present audience, interested not just in Christina's allure but also in a garage machine that was downright frightening, above all, Him, Jon Spencer, also the fortunate partner of the goddess of the New York underground. Before them, 3 Finnish girls opened the concert: The Micragirls armed with guitar, drums, and hammond. They seem like Lux Interior's daughters genetically modified by the Ramones: fuzz guitars, a monotonous but powerful beat, western inserts, and digressions. In the end, a very pleasing mix, pieces that could rightfully belong in a Russ Mayer film but without the voluptuous figures. In short, healthy and honest rock'n'roll.
The sixties environment of the evening was somehow supported by the Sonics, by Wooly Booly flowing pleasantly while our heroes set up THE STAGE ON THEIR OWN.
Finally, she comes out. Gorgeous. Completely dressed in black: leather pants and high boots, a slightly low-cut t-shirt, and her magnificent sleek raven hair accentuated by an extraordinary face and two lips framed by lipstick. Pure allure. A cross between Lady Kier of Dee-Lite in style and Shirley Manson of Garbage, with the difference that compared to the latter, she doesn't resort to gratuitous flirtations to hide her absolute mediocrity. Christina has a great voice, powerful, aggressive, and seductive, as in the catchy "I Dig You" or the moment where rock turns into erotica or perhaps vice versa: "I Idolize You". An absolutely perfect set, constructed in blocks of three pieces (where there's room for their entire discography which is frankly a bit sparse in numerical terms—3 records plus a few EPs in almost 15 years), but not in quality. Powerful drumming, with a very dry snare microphone-amplified from below and supported by Jens Jugursen who, like almost all bassists, doesn't yield a smile or a gesture of engagement: cold.
And so the punk of "Winn Coma" and "Green Shirt" becomes garage with "Sky Bunny" or "Defender" to then transform into psychobilly with "Whiteout". The sum of all the Nuggets box sets condensed into an hour and a quarter of healthy sweat.
Rock in its various digressions still exists and is in splendid form.
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