grayspike

Rabid as those Turbonegro fans are, I chose the SG revue at the Knitting Factory last Monday night. If the band is as good as advertised, theyll have other go-rounds. Ill hear them later.

Other than bare breasts, nimble bodies and hope against hope, some humor, I attended not quite knowing what else this revue might provide. Yielding to either prudence or prudery, pasties covered the dancers nipples.

Although Mayor Money now leads New York City, the hypocritical mood of Rudy still festers. (Oh yeah. It was okay for Rudy to cheat on wifey with his secretary -- among other bims -- but bad for the rest of us to partake in adult entertainment. Nevertheless the former mayor is lionized throughout the rest of America. Hes mud here.)

Pasties blotting nipples? Ugh! Theres something you wouldnt expect in New York. Strange. As a culture we can enjoy all sorts of bloody mayhem. Movie grosses prove that. But spare our tender senses from exposed female nipples!

And they were probably perky ones, too!

On the plus side, one object of art in motion summoned the likely still raving spirit of Wendy O. Williams by breaking out and obscuring pink nibs with gaffers tape. Somewhere the old Plasmatic was surely snarling in appreciation.

The revue itself was energetic. Better than merely suggestive, the sweaty choreography strove for and occasionally gyrated into clever.

The glistening talent was a delicious mixture of agile, nubile and limber femininity. For me Monday was too early in the week to start getting lathered up. Yet for one otherwise hard-wired youth, the on-stage effervescence moved him to exclaim: Im not gay anymore!

Indeed.