Lorraine Lewis has been steeped in rock ’n’ roll for decades. Never mind her spell fronting Vixen, though, because this is a return to basics. Femme Fatale’s original all-female sleaze-rock incarnation left a genuine legacy, while even Nita Strauss – The Hurricane herself – was briefly part of the group.
This, however, is no mere nostalgia trip. New single “Living Like There’s No Tomorrow” has all the attitude you could want, with Lewis revealing that she even jumped out of a plane for its video. That is commitment to the cause.
She admits to feeling emotional before “Waiting For The Big One”, but the fire has never gone anywhere and Femme Fatale remain gloriously, unapologetically rooted in rock ’n’ roll excess.
“See ya at the merch,” she says as the set concludes. “We can take selfies, or you can smack my ass. Do whatever you want.”
Somehow, you wouldn’t expect Femme Fatale to leave any other way.
You barely notice Blacklist Union are onstage until Tony West yells “One, two, three, four!” If they don’t believe in grand entrances, they certainly make up for it once they start playing.
“Letters From The Psych Ward” provides an immediate statement of intent. “We’re from Hollywood – let’s rock this shit,” declares West, and that is essentially their manifesto. During “Mississippi Moonhound”, you can close your eyes and imagine you’re back at the Cathouse in its late-’80s pomp.
“Heavy Is The Crown” is a new one, but the influences remain clear. West dons a cowboy hat and suddenly Blacklist Union resemble LA Guns at their most gloriously disreputable. “Evil Eye”, dedicated to the late Todd Youth, possesses all the swagger you could possibly want.
“Dirty Halo” is slower and more emotional, offered “for everyone we love that’s on the other side”, before current single “Madame Butterfly” changes the mood again. Written about Lorraine Lewis, any fear that it might become overly sentimental is swiftly removed. “She’s one sexy bitch, I’ll tell you that,” grins West.
Lewis returns to join the band for Johnny Cash and June Carter’s “Jackson”, which Blacklist Union have effectively turned into a punk song.
They even afford themselves an encore. “Back To Momo”, a song about a whorehouse that West wrote with the aforementioned Youth, brings things to an appropriately sleazy conclusion.
Watching Blacklist Union carry the Hollywood rock ’n’ roll torch with this much attitude and enjoyment is enormous fun.
The record library in Solihull is one of the seminal places in my life, and that is where this story begins.
I was 12 years old in 1987 and listened religiously to Tommy Vance’s Friday Rock Show, trying to buy, borrow or somehow find anything I liked on the programme. One night he played “Cathouse” by Faster Pussycat. A couple of weeks later, I found the album in the record library when I went there with my dad on a Thursday evening.
Now, 39 years later, I’m sitting at the back of KK’s watching one of the bands from that period. Music does things like that.
“Motorbike” opens with the instruction to “hold on tight and just enjoy the ride,” before Taime Downe – not his real name, obviously – arrives with a cheery: “What’s up, motherfuckers?”
“A little Hollywood for ya,” he says before “Don’t Change That Song”, and barely a minute later it is “Cathouse”. You can get an STI merely from its guitar riff, while Ace Von Johnson’s leads are stunning.
“Slip Of The Tongue” is ludicrous now, and believe me, we knew it was ludicrous then. But it’s brilliant. Their cover of Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” follows, and if the object of a cover is to sound nothing like the original, then job done.
Even the less celebrated songs, such as “Like A Ghost”, possess that unmistakable Faster Pussycat sleaze. “The Power And The Glory Hole” is catchier than something for which you might need a cream, while “Pirate Love” is bluesier, dirtier and ready to walk the plank.
“House Of Pain” reminds you that all these bands had brilliantly constructed ballads. “Nonstop To Nowhere” is mid-paced fun, before “Where There’s A Whip There’s A Way” begins the race towards the finish.
“Bathroom Wall” is introduced by Downe as “old-school shit”, and you’d best believe that Danny Nordahl’s bassline is sexy. Drummer Chad Stewart, resplendent in his Dolly Parton shirt, looks the part too.
“Shut Up And Fuck” finds Downe still wanting a 69 after all these years, before “Babylon” remains as absolutely, insanely brilliant as it ever was.
Faster Pussycat were always the best sleaze band. They were the sleaziest, the most outrageous and simply the best at what they did. More importantly, these songs have stood the test of time.
And no, we’re still not sure we’ll ever stop babbling on about them.
