
For all their big talk, "the Whore Moans presents the Black Atom!" turned out to mean only that the guys in the bands wore suits (either black and sharp or gaudy game-show-host gold); that they were joined by a couple singer/dancer girls in black baby-doll dresses, straps falling off, the girls swaying rather off-time with the beat; and that in between songs the girls and the band engaged in some pre-planned banter, the girls speaking in semi-creepy semi-cute unison. Not exactly a rock opera. As for the music, it was fine—big, blown-out rock with not always discernable lyrics that seemed vaguely political and/or religiously-themed (something about jackals? something about a collection plate?), like a poor man's Thermals or Deseparecidos. And then sometimes it was a very throwback, kind of teen-pop rock'n'roll, like a John Waters Crybaby idea of rock'n'roll (only thrown off by some incongruous screaming on the choruses)—an impression made explicit by the band's interpolation of the Ronettes' "Be My Baby."
Previews of everything happening at the festival, plus a customizable schedule in the Stranger's Bumbershoot Guide.
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