Oooookay. There are a couple of angles from which I could begin this review and I don’t know where to start so let me puss out and just lay the my main points out right here. First, the Boardwalk is a less than desirable venue that’s far-the-fuck-away from downtown with security that doesn’t let you go back to your car to get the cell phone that you’ve forgotten unless you want to skip the show that you’ve already paid for, wristband and hand stamp notwithstanding. I have no idea why that is, but I will float the idea that the Boardwalk, being the 18 and over venue that it is, is afraid that the teenyboppers, mall punks, newly-pierced and tatted future hipsters that I’ll want to punch who can’t currently drink will be sneaking out to their cars to take shots of ten dollar vodka and come back to the show and cause a ruckus that security will not want to deal with. It was just my phone dammit. I can understand that dealing with the young’uns can an amazing pain in the ass, but I mean, c’mon.
However, this does bring me to my second point that is slightly about teenagers, but more about going to shows in which the crowd is on the whole younger. My point is this: knock it off, you dorks. I can understand expressing yourself and, though I cringe with embarrassment whenever I see it, I can understand that the process of self discovery and individuality includes several gaffes that’ll out someone as a poser. But certain things are ridiculous, such as someone whose facial hair looks like explorers conquering uncharted territory wearing a t-shirt for The Clash. That night I also saw innumerable Betty Page haircuts, pompadours, flattops and dresses with cherries on them. Lord help me. But I can also imagine those same children mocking kids their age who are getting their jollies listening to New Found Glory or Fergie and I have to admit that at least they had the good sense to pick a band to listen to like the Horrorpops, who I should state rock the hell out of their audience.
My roommate calls them ridiculous and it has to be said that the Horrorpops candy-goth themed psychobilly can’t be described any other way. The immediate example brought to mind is the two stage dancers that pop out of the wings as the first crescendo peaked attired in white flouncing dresses with skeletons on Ã¢â‚¬Ëœem. What the hell, why not have them pose with oversized wooden lollipops too? Or obviously plastic toy revolvers? And see if you can roll your eyes a bit more, Kim Nekroman as you play the guitar. You licked the microphone! Awesome initiative!
Oh, but silly as they may be, though, the energy can’t be denied as Patricia Day plunks on her stand up bass while grinding her voice into the microphone and despite what a nitwit he can look like on stage, Kim’s can shred a decent guitar. If it was at any venue besides the Boardwalk, Patricia might have gotten the circle pit she was asking for. Ah well, they should be proud of their encore. As she launched into Ã¢â‚¬Å“Psychobitches Outta HellÃ¢â‚¬Â there wasn’t anyone who could keep their fists out of the air. This was the second time the Horrorpops have played in Sacramento in two years. Don’t miss the third.