The Automatik

The Shim Sham Club
November 24, 2001

One of the great things about club shows is that they’re relatively inexpensive ($8 to $15) so if the band sucks, you don’t feel like you got ripped off. Ironically, this was one of the better shows I’ve seen by a band I’d never heard before and I didn’t even have to pay! My friend Laura, who was working with the promoters, put me on her “plus one” list. Yay!

Sadly, I missed the first opening band, The Hives. Jeanette and I sauntered in about halfway through the second band’s set (Rival Schools). They were pretty good in that sort of slow, melodic punk way. Slowly we realized that it was an all ages show (the 6 year old in front of us was the giveaway) and I was pleased since most big shows in this town are at 18 and up venues.

When the Noise Conspiracy hit the stage I immediately knew why my friend Chris likes them so much: they were loud; they were wearing matching outfits (black and white striped t-shirts, black denim motorcycle jackets, jeans, and white leather belts); the lead singer was good-looking and captivating with a shag haircut and there was a beautiful dark-haired girl in the band. Visions of Ian Svenonius and Make*Up flashed before my eyes. Quickly, I went down to the floor to get a better look and listen. My earplugs remained in my pocket the entire time; I’m sure I’ll be deaf by age 40.

What a phenomenal band! Their energy and talent was astounding, their chord changes were gut-wrenching. Singer Dennis Lyxz�n is overwhelmingly charismatic and his lanky physique and stage moves reminded me much of Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker, the louche mannerisms replaced by raw, animal magnetism. He scaled the tower of amps and jiggled his hips, he leaped up and down and kicked his legs out, tossed his microphone up in the air, twirled around and caught it, not missing a beat. When he started between-song-banter about politics and the proletariat (yet another reason for Chris to love them) I was hooked. And I normally hate political bands.

As soon as I heard the first few notes of their cover/take-off of The Stooges’ “T.V. Eye” the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I nearly started to cry. It was incredible, even better than El Vez’s fabulous version of “I Wanna Be Your Dog.” Sara wailed on the tambourine while Dennis grunted and screamed his way through the song. They continued their sonic assault for the better part of an hour, but I wanted more.

The place cleared out in a heartbeat as soon as the show was over. I don’t think that bunch was jazzed for “Glitter” and the fear of traffic in the Quarter from the Bayou Classic football game crowd kept the regulars away. Jeanette and I joined some friends in the front bar until back bar bartender Laura begged us to go to the floor and dance just to keep up the morale of the go-go dancers, who were grinding along to an empty house. And with AC/DC’s “T.N.T.” pounding the walls, how could we resist? Suddenly, Matt Vaughn (front bar bartender) came running in wearing a construction helmet THAT WAS LITERALLY ON FIRE and screaming siren noises into a megaphone. It was all so surreal, but if you know Matt Vaughn, it made perfect, crazy sense.

We left the Shim Sham to check out the scene at Molly’s. They have the Old 97s on the jukebox! But after a while, hunger pangs directed us to Angelil, the 24-hour, vaguely Mediterranean eatery. There we introduced ourselves to fellow diner Rodney, who had just gotten off of his bartending shift and was waiting for a cab. In my drunken giddiness, I started singing “Would I Lie To You?” by the Eurythmics (I swear I can’t remember why). Almost a half hour later, when I’d forgotten my own bizarre actions, this very odd-looking guy in a track suit jacket, baseball cap and wire-rimmed glasses starts singing it back to me in an unrecognizable, faux-Frank Sinatra delivery and I jumped, foiled by my own pop culture reference. He approached me as if to touch my arm and I recoiled, exclaiming, “Don’t touch me! I’ve got a pathological fear of germs!” In a flat, peculiar tone he informed me, with much seriousness, “Well, I’m chock full to the brim with germs…” and then left. The bartenders and waiters huddled around us, rabidly curious, “What did he say? He’s been freaking us out all night.”

So it was off to The Abbey, where two girls in powder blue tu-tus danced on the bar for money. Eerie, spectral voices singing, “La, la, la, la” emanated from the D.J.’s turntable and I ran over to him and demanded to know what the hell he was playing. He pointed to a vinyl copy of the soundtrack to Exorcist II: The Heretic and then I grokked in full. I tried to share my mirth over my favorite line in that movie (when Linda Blair tells a fellow psychiatric patient, “I used to be possessed by the devil, but I’m okay now,” with cheerful Linda Blair aplomb) but he just smiled and nodded cryptically. So we sat and listened to his rather odd choice of music and then later I rifled through his milk crate of albums, thrusting Scott Walker and Todd Rundgren into his face insistently. When the familiar strains of Mr. Walker crooning “Jackie” floated by, I couldn’t stop grinning and dancing in my seat. He even played “Showroom Dummies,” by Kraftwerk!

Jeanette and I eventually determined that we were much too exhausted to spend any more time in the bar and so we left. Someone gasped, “The sun is coming up!” and we were horrified to see that it was true. Where did the time go? So, like nightlife vampires, we slunk off to our respective homes to crash, and dream of a very strange evening.