They Don't Really

Formed in Tucson in 1988 by a group of high school friends, the Supersuckers moved to Seattle (based on a coin-flip) a couple years before grunge could be found in JC Penney catalogs. The band didn't adapt to the sensitive caveman sludge that prevailed at the time, instead resembling smirky, macho cavemen whose fast-machine/motor-clean metal/punk hybrid sounded exactly like the work of four sun-baked best friends who'd taken their band name from a porno mag. Since then they've built an expansive repertoire that includes odes to weed, cocaine, fighting, shooting rampages, hell and Les Paul guitars. In concert, the cowboy-hat-sporting musicians exaggerate rock 'n' roll histrionics to a nearly Tenacious D-like degree. They close their shows with "fake encores" where they leave the stage and return within fifteen seconds; they make no attempt to conceal the phallic implications of their dueling lead-guitars, and flash devil-horns as often as Dio. Of course, parody is the icing rather than the cake for the Supersuckers, who back up the shtick with raw power, Buzzcockian tunefulness and teen-wet-dream guitar playing. Over the years they began dabbling in (relatively) pure country music, have backed up Willie Nelson and released a split single with Steve Earle. But you can usually expect their shows to explicate the title of their 1999 greatest hits record: How the Supersuckers Became the Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the World.
Wed., Dec. 19, 8 p.m., 2007

 
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