Saturday March 25, 2017
Cramps frontman Lux Interior died seven years ago today (4/2/09), so in his honour Wolfgang Bang recalls the time he told him to get his bell end out.
I had my bollocks vigorously and lasciviously rubbed by some unknown person while in the front row of the audience when the Cramps played the Brixton Academy in 1995.
It seemed to perfectly sum up their blend of psychedelic garage, 50s primitive rock and roll and love of classic horror films.
Regrettably, I could see no shapely goth birds about, so I surmised it could only be a rubber-clad lady dwarf wearing breathing apparatus.
It did not engender tumescence but caused me to laugh like a drain and turn to Emlyn Saul and proclaim that "Some dirty cunt's rubbing my knackers! I hope she's got big tits!"
Later, Lux stuck his hands down his rubber trousers and started chafing his member.
So I started a chant of "Show us your bell end!" to the tune of UK children's television show We Are the Champions.
Half the audience joined in and he looked very annoyed.
Ivy Rorschach looked like Satan's ginger dominatrix.
Bet she would pop anyone the old shocker and not wash her hands afterwards.
Ladies and gentlemen, the Cramps.
Chief hack's note: Apparently, Bang's unsolicited clockweight coddling occurred during Human Fly but as Can Your Pussy Do the Dog? is one of my all-time favourite songs you're getting that one and that one only. Or maybe not. Either way, RIP Lux Interior, 21/10/46 to 4/2/09.
And while I'm about it, here's a few minutes of We Are the Champions for you all to sing along too. All together now...
The above three vids are embedded here on the tune-tastic Rake & Herald from the respective YouTube channels of TheTubeTapes, Mehr Licht! and terminus69, which you can check out here, here and here.
See also Cross of Iron, posted 17/11/15, among others.
Have you got a favourite gig/celeb story you'd like to share with us? If so, get in touch via email, FaceBook or Twitter or summat. We won't pay you a penny. Promise.
Wolfgang Bang is a former skate punk who dropped the skateboard but remains reliably enraged by various aspects of modern culture. His oaths and verbal abuse still echo around the fashionable Portobello Road area of West London. His hobbies include long-range outdoor drinking, cooking and modern history. He spends much of his time in a hedge with an air rifle, waiting for the rabbits of mass media to pop out of their burrows and graze upon the sweet grass of empty promises.
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