The Nude Honeys (named from the deck of playing cards popular with American forces in WW II) bring me back to my original hypothesis about garage and spectacle. I don’t’ speak Japanese. No matter. Lead singer Yuri could’ve been screeching, “Give me your money, idiot!” and I would’ve never known the difference. The Nude Honeys gave the mostly male audience exactly what they wanted: high energy, surf-tinged garage-punk and dominatrix theatrics.
Darkness is to Honeys as Kryptonite is to Superman. You have to see them to love them. Judging from the roaring crowd, some of it exploding in to an impressively post-teenage mosh pit, the Honeys belong to an audio-visual genre that bends the borders of rock, theater, the gentleman’s club, and the musical. They also follow in the tradition of theatrical dirty rockers like The Plasmatics, G.G. Allin, The Stooges, and The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black. Their all latex attire is poached from the legendary punk fashionistas on King’s Road circa ’76. Chanteuse Yuri’s bikini provocatively shoots up the mercury as she shakes her fists violently at the ceiling, pouncing about, and screaming in a voice and antics that recall a deluded yappy schnauzer picking fights with Doberman Pinschers. Her range is not impressive, but war cries and transitory ululating is real brand differentiation.
Just as Rodeo Massacre is about Linqwister, so the Honeys are about front(al)-lady Yuri. The bassist and guitarist, did little to draw attention beyond their admittedly sultry attire. A smile here and there. A tough SnM presence handling the prominently long-necked guitars—but with more stationary and muted gestures by comparison to their singer. The drummer, the lone guy in the group about whom the male audience no doubt fantasizes for his intimate surroundings on this “Sexy Pistols Tour,” is the second most prominent figure. Relegated like all drummers to the dustbin of the stage, he nevertheless refuses that anonymity with wild movements and a sopping wet chest. Picture Animal from the Muppets, but wet, Japanese, shirtless, and in latex pants.
It’s true that the sound does matter. No one moshes to Simon and Garfunkel or Air. But this is definitely a band to watch.
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