Well, they came, they reunited, they played two shows vowing that they were the last ever, celebrated the release of their posthumous EP Lovesucker (again), made that entire record available for free as a downloadable mp3 file on the internet (see kittyfeet.com), and had many first-timers transfixed and lots of old fans grinning ear to ear and banging their heads like they hadn’t done, oh, since maybe their last reunion show almost two years ago. But this time heads probably banged a bit more fervently with the knowledge that this would indeed be the last show ever by local rock and roll majestics and in my book, one of the truly perfect examples of everything a great rock and roll band can be. That band is Bomb. For a particular stretch of time they were the ultimate in satisfaction, the definitive rock and roll experience, the forbidden blasphemous renegades. With their raw aural potency and musical depth of genius, the over-the-top ritualistic antics, and the unhinged unpredictable insanity, Bomb was simply the greatest band on my planet. I’ve written them up many times over the last decade as they’ve never left me at a loss for words, in fact bassist/vocalist Michael Dean often provided the most amusing anecdotes from on the road by collect phone calls, chronicling the various strange exploits and predicaments encountered on a Bomb tour across the states, which I usually printed verbatim, as they were fascinating and gave a rather graphic indication of so many details that only a demented rock and roll lifestyle could produce. That of course was many years ago, and we watched Bomb go through many changes over the years. We saw the departure of original guitarist Jay Crawford for life in Europe, being replaced by a young Doug Hilsinger from Philly, then the eventual return of Jay to the continent and the band, creating the super-charged double-guitar line-up that saw the band through its finest moments. Among these high points was the eventual interest of a major label, Warner Brothers, who distributed the bands fourth record Hate Fed Love, produced by Bill Laswell. Perhaps their darkest, most dense and complex offering ever, Hate Fed Love, was of course a big hit with their loyal following created by tireless touring in the states and Europe but it wasn’t a big seller for Warner Brothers who eventually dropped them and now the disc is out of print and actually hard to find. If you see it at you’re local used record store, snatch it up, it’s well worth the $3.95 it will set you back, just for their cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne” which I coincidentally overheard coming from the darkened theater of the Century one night as I filled out an application for a DJ position in the lobby of that tenderloin strip joint once. I couldn’t believe that a girl was stripping to the mournful version of one of the more depressing songs in pop musical history as rendered by Bomb. If I were in the band, I would have felt like I’d finally made it in some weird sense. And come to think of it, many of Bomb’s shows would seem to end with everyone on stage stripped nude anyway.
It was a number of different elements that led to the demise of Bomb, be it personal and professional differences, obligatory rock and roll substance abuses and rehabilitation, Yoko Ono, spontaneous combustion, airplane accidents, etc., the band went their separate ways, pursuing varied interests both inside and outside the realm of rock and roll, including fatherhood, living abroad, new bands, highly developed internet entities, furthering education, working as bartenders, even working with yours truly as a cook in a restaurant. Guitarist Doug Hilsinger has kept the highest profile in the music department with a variety of bands including Hedonist, Gifthorse and his present band Waycross. Michael Dean bassist and vocalist has also been very busy and the fruits of his efforts are best exemplified by a visit to his shamelessly mastubatory yet fully intriguing website kittyfeet.com. Here you will find out everything he’s been doing for the past few years, and thanks to certain technological advancements of modern day home computing, you can also download many musical and visual offerings. As well as his own post-Bomb musical projects you can also find all the information you need about Bomb in there too. One incredible offering culled from his website is an out-take from the first Bomb reunion recording Lovesucker. There was a cut meant to be included on that disc but drummer Tony Fag vetoed that idea for some reason. The song is called “If I Were a Gurl,” and the website explains quite well how the cut came to be and how you can download it for your own listening pleasure. Thankfully Eugene my fellow Hole in the Wall DJ and huge Bomb fan has a writeable CD thingy (I’m so tech savvy) and has burned copies of it to play at the bar, because it is an unbelievably brilliant piece of music.
Playing on a theme present in other Bomb songs such as “Spoked Feet” with it’s opening lyric, “The girl that I miss is just me in a dress,” “If I Were A Gurl” explores the realm and possibilities of gender fluidity, something many of rock and roll’s most sensational figures have dwelled upon at one time or another. But here Bomb take the idea for an epic anthemic 18 minute romp that from beginning to end is utterly powerful and intriguing and most certainly never boring. Each drum beat, guitar foray and resonant throb of the bassline is positively essential and realized and not filler believe it or not. People frequently ask about it whenever it’s played, commenting “It’s beautiful,” or “It’s so satanic,” or my favorite, “It’s a tranny anthem!” It is definitely one of the finest songs I’ve heard all year, and to download your own copy of it go to http://kittyfeet.com/mp3.htm then if you are fortunate enough to have a friend with a CD burner you can have a copy of your very own to impress your friends at parties.
Back to the final Bomb shows, the first took place at the Cocoderie in north beach and it was amazing. As far as Bomb shows go, this one was particularly dark and powerful and intense beyond belief. I knew we were in for something huge and monumental when after a very leisurely long time setting up and a noodling psychedelic guitar-off intro by Jay and Doug, Michael walked onstage barefoot and wearing just a T-shirt and a pair of black briefs, but the playfulness stopped after the nearly a cappella version of Mrs. Happiness from their first LP, To Elvis in Hell, when Tony placed himself behind the drum kit. From there on out it was a fucking dark and powerful affair. The crowd was a definite Bomb-loving group of folks, ready to see the sacred wonderkind rip it up, and they did, probably louder and darker and scarier than I’ve ever seen them play. They also announced before this all started that they would be playing a free show at The Eagle Tavern’s second anniversary party that coming Wednesday, a surprise bit of news that nearly put me through the roof. Not only would this show not be their final show after all, but their true final show would be held in a bar that I frequent, have DJed at before, and is one of the few gay bars around that ever plays Bomb’s music, or Rock and Roll for that matter. And just for the record here at the onset of the big Folsom Street Fair Weekend and all the Leather Community events, pageants, secret edge-play parties and stylistic stratification symposiums by which you will be judged, read, chewed up and spit out by each other based on how your gear fits and if your “boy” has maintained it properly all weekend long, it is my understanding historically that the original leather bars of yesteryear most definitely featured rock and roll music, not disco, not Cher’s new song, but Rock and Roll, the music favored by the bikers whom you model your little outfits after. I’m glad that someone has the sense and sensibilities enough to remain true to that detail and The Eagle Tavern has for two years now, peeling back the many layers and upholding a fundamental and honest sense of tradition that most have forgotten. Faggots are so fickle. Well, they are.
That night at the Eagle was a tremendous party, with the extra treat of owner Joe Banks handling the DJ booth between bands, something he’s been doing a bit more of on some Friday nights lately, and his archival knowledge of music and general instinct and tastes have always set the standards of and broadened the scope of all the music played at both The Hole in the Wall and The Eagle. It’s always a pleasure to find him in the booth. I’ve also just learned that Bryon from The Hole, one of my favorite DJs in the city will now be doing every other Friday night at the Eagle, and in spite of his innocent boyish looks, he has a penchant for sick and twisted rock and colorful obscurities.
By the time Bomb took the stage I was feeling pretty festive, satisfied to see that a number of people I had told not to miss this show were there and ready to be dazzled, mystified and blown away. After a few minor sound bugs were worked out the band roared into a very long set concentrating mostly on selections from Lovesucker and Hate Fed Love, plus a few from their earlier records. The dark and scary tone of the previous show was still somewhat present but the quality that loomed more prominently over this set was one of distinctly solid musicianship. These players created such a finely tuned monstrous machine of a band, everyone shining equally, everyone’s timing impeccable, everyones interplay spellbinding and complex. Michael Dean was in great form, reminding me fully just what a tremendous vocalist/frontperson he is with his great range and clever phrasing and his irresistably magnetic angelic/demonic persona. The show was like a dream that just gets better and better. I was fully drawn into it and at times felt waves of nostagia hit me, getting all warm and sentimental and almost teary-eyed but in that happy way. Jay and Doug are definitely two of the best fucking guitar-wizards this town will ever see, and Tony Fags drumming is like a power bigger than himself, other-worldly, out of body even. T
Towards the end of the set at least one member, Jay had disrobed completely, like old times. Just after the show and the following couple of days when I ran into people who were there they kept saying things to me like, “I thought you were gonna snap your head right off your neck,” or “You certainly seemed to be in your element that night,” or “You were wild! Are you always like that?”
“Well, c’mon, this was Bomb’s final show ever,” I replied, “But I might be.”
Long live Bomb!