Like the black-blooded, flesh-rotted, brain-slurping demons of the kitschy B-movies they adore, you simply can't stop the Cramps. Nor should you want to. Thirty years into their deliciously decadent career, latex-clad howler Lux Interior and six-string-slinging supervixen Poison Ivy Rorschach (and whatever rhythm section they're employing this week) are just as trashy, creepy, deviant and fun as ever. Witnessing a Cramps show is like stumbling upon a secret pagan shindig in the woods behind the trailer park, where sketchy carnival freaks, dope-addled Elvis impersonators, slimy swamp creatures, swingin' Russ Meyer sexpots and maybe-malevolent Martians gyrate wildly to stompin' horrorbilly garage-rock in front of a blazing bonfire. Now that's a party!
Get the ICYMI: Today's Top Stories Newsletter Our daily newsletter delivers quick clicks to keep you in the know
Catch up on the day's news and stay informed with our daily digest of the most popular news, music, food and arts stories in Phoenix, delivered to your inbox Monday through Friday.