Lords of Acid
with Thrill Kill Kult and Blownload
Firestone Live, Orlando FL • August 4, 2010
Carl F Gauze
I’m sweating in line and chatting with a pirate themed chick from St. Auggie when this enormous red hummer rolls into the no parking zone in front of the Firestone. Behind the wheel is an earnest ex-hippie with a graying beard and wire rim glasses. We speculate — an important VIP… or two clean-cut teens too young to drive but old enough to talk daddy into a Lords of Acid show. They get out, he circles the block twice, and sure enough, there they are inside, grooving to Blownload, a band with possibly the most disgusting logo ever. I’m so glad when I can be part of corrupting the next generation of music lovers.
Blownload is lead by Erie Loch, who I mistook for a roadie when he parted the curtains. He was the friendliest and most self deprecating lead singer I ever saw, making fat jokes about himself, bantering with the audience, and generally projecting a nice guy image. Stage right we find his shorn-head bassist Crash, and stage left Jesus H. Chrysler on lead. Lurking in the back is Sprocket Ocelot Conover banging away on the skins, and as Erie sings in an alternate hip hop metal growl or Dr Demento falsetto, it’s hard to decide just how serious these guys are. Simplistic titles like “Cheap Sex Evil” and “Suck it” get right to the point, and these guys not only had “The Look,” but exuded stage confidence. Their songwriting isn’t earth shattering, but they were a pleasing opener.
The cavernous room slowly filled and Thrill Kill Kult quietly took the stage. Less a rock band than an art collective, their show revolved round a drum and audio effect tape. Lead singer Groovie Mann looked heroin skinny in his Bee Girl sunglasses and leather jacket, and he performed the show almost as a dance piece. If you recall the tripped out fans grooving to the Grateful Dead, that was his groove. Accompanying him on guitar and bass were Buzz Mcoy and Charles Levi, but I couldn’t spot a drummer. Songs like “Kill the Child” and “Christian Zombie Vampire” flowed along with the dancing, and they kept their best number for last. “Sex On Wheels” sounded fine but seemed anticlimactic. This group picks a gear and sticks to it, neither speeding up nor slowing down. Nice, but not all that exciting.
Good thing you can’t say that about the headliners, even though they took their sweet time getting on stage. When Lords of Acid opened with “Sex Bomb” the crowd went wild. They blasted through a high-power set, bringing up women from the audience to dance for “Spank My Bootie.” New lead singer Lacey Conner (of Rock of Love fame) didn’t look old enough to tour in 1996, and due to some quirky Orlando ordinances about bare breasts and alcohol, she kept black electrical tape over her nipples. Clearly, someone here WAS thinking of the children. Stage right stood mastermind and band founder Praga Khan, looking like a demented cross between Orlando Weekly‘s flamboyant columnist Billy Manes and Alice Cooper. Stage left we find an impassive Sin Quirin (from RevCo and MInistry) in black leather and a flying V guitar. The best part of the show was Murv Douglas (Powerman 5000) on bass in a super fly afro and Bootsy Collins sunglasses. His bouncing and jiving was so entertaining you barely had time to look at Ms. Conner. Most of the big hits were in place — “Pure Sex,” “Crab Louse,” “Rubber Doll,” all the important songs about screwing for screwing’s sake, and not much about weepy wimpy love.
As the show rolled up, a single guy broke out some light sticks and did his best to make the show more authentic. The band took a quick break and came back for a blowout ending with “I Sit on Acid.” That’s the song with the famous lead in set to a nursery rhyme, “Darling, come here / fuck me up the… ” only to cut to a loud acid house grind. More adventurous female audience members came up on stage again for the big closer, “Pussy.” There was some light stripping and spanking, but overall it was a chaste audience, and at quarter to one we spilled out into the marginally cooler Florida night ready to smoke a post-show cigarette.