After seeing the big ad in CL last week, I had to check out the Goddess Wanda Dee for myself. I'll remember my trip to the Thoroughbred Lounge the rest of my life. Want the formula? Kick the scene off in an industrial area on the West side of Charlotte not far from Tank Town. Take an old white redneck bar with classic office-style hanging tile ceilings and beer signs. Fill it full of Arnold Palmer types and aging weekly comb-out beauty salon queens bouncing around to some contemporary hip hop, a handful of middle-aged black clientele nonchalantly munching on a hot wing buffet, a token lesbian in a rainbow cap chatting with her western gear-wearing girlfriend along with a few over-dressed posing gay men and for good measure stir in a mullet-wearing wrestler known as the "Italian Stallion" locking lips with a local radio DJ (female). Add a one-armed comic known as "Minister P" who promises to heal any "coochie" by a laying upon of his nub, a couple of faded strutting disco divas, and one pleasantly high-strung promoter in a black jumpsuit with a headful of extensions, and you've got the mighty Thoroughbred Lounge. The heavily hyped Wanda Dee, by the way, bounded onto the stage looking something like a circuit party drag diva from the planet Venus. Audience total. . .about 50. Nevertheless, it was one of the most surreal evenings I've spent in any bar, anywhere, ever. It was even stranger than the evening I spent with the Del Rubio Triplets. (Moore)
Saturday night, they had something called Punk Wars at Tremont Music Hall, featuring bands like Choke Their Rivers With Our Dead, Walsham, My So-Called Band, and many others. Ironically, none of the bands are what you'd consider straight-ahead punk, with the exception of My So-Called Band, who received one of the worst receptions of any band on the list. Go figure. It was packed, however, meaning that Americans in general love a war, even when they don't know what the heck it's for or about (hmmm...something vaguely familiar about that). And if you've ever wondered what happened to all those old high school P.E. shirts of old, this would have been a good night to come out. But it was a grand night, one that makes you feel pretty good about the Charlotte music scene's potential staying power. One of the best bands on the bill, the caustic Between The Buried And Me, effectively mix a little emo-sensitivity with hardcore, topped off with some death-metal-lite vocals that would make Phil Anselmo of Pantera shave his head in glee. This band doesn't play emo, they play chemo. Conveniently free of mook skinheads looking to cause trouble, the show even featured several makeshift moshpits, as well as some dancing circles people would enter and do a Fight Club-style dance that I heard one onlooker describe as "like watching someone drown without water." (Davis)