By somehow sidestepping cheap Wendy O. Williams connect-the-dot punk-rock jive, the black electrical tape over the shouter's nipples worked. The trashy and busted-up way in which she carried herself across the stage, too, lurking, at once stiff and sinuous, was equal parts Iggy, peepshow barker and Nazi femme dom. Her lithesome form, a physical manifestation of a tweaked yet unspecified sexuality, had those in possession of penises boning up front and center, happy to be recipients of her random mizzles of spit and sweat. All the while, she was spouting lyrics like, "It's not that hard to get on S.S.I. if you're someone like me," with enough vinegar piss to make L7 look like warm and... More >>>