Absolut is one of the few organizations with the money and clout to make Roxy go free. Over the years, the nightclub has hosted everything from the punk-rock EpitaphSummer Nationals to gay muscle-boy Roxy Saturdays, but it has never, ever, been anything less than brutally expensive. For this reason, wannabe attendees to Absolut Latino must RSVP to 718-824-0866 and make sure that there’s still room before they show up. And gentlemen, you need to be 25 with ID. (Women, you can probably be 16 with ID, but the flier says you must be 21.)
The bill at Absolut Latino is stocked with 90s veterans from an alternate universe–the world of "merenhouse," the Latin Grammys and Sony Discos records. Huey Dunbar, former frontman for club/dance act Dark Latin Groove, performs in support of his solo debut Yo Si Me Enamore with a powerful, feminine voice and backing salsa. He’s joined by merengue phenomenon Toño Rosario and Cuban pop group Bamboleo.
Is there free booze? Yes, so watch it–open vodka bars are a prescription for vomit. The "hosted Absolut products" will be out from 8-9 p.m., which means you should get to Roxy around 7:30 to negotiate the club’s always-thorough door checks. Remember, if you bring a significant other, you’re likely to get separated from him/her as you’re split into lines by gender, so bring cellphones for a clean rendezvous once you’re inside.
...Across the city on the same Wednesday Satanicide, perhaps the most non-Latin band on the planet, continues its confusing climb into the mainstream with a gig at Bowery Ballroom (6 Delancey St., at Bowery, 533-2111). When we last met them, the boys were pushing their hair-metal joke act under the guidance of leader (and photographer-by-day) Devlin Mayhem. Now they’ve caught absolute fire with New York hipsters and seem destined for something better than their vibrant four-song demo. (I knew things were getting out of hand when John Waters’ companion at the final Don Hill’s Squeezebox party arrived in a Satanicide t-shirt.)
The band’s rise to the top of, well, the New York rock crap heap has been assisted by numerous spots in Time Out New York, the Village Voice and this column, because Satanicide is so hard not to root for. Everything the band does is note-perfect: from its devil skull graphics to its hilarious names (the bassist is "Baron Klaus von Goaten") to its thoroughly entertaining website (www.satanicide.com), 80s metal and rock in general have rarely been spoofed so well. The icing on the cake is that everyone in the band can play, and they deliver the goods live. "We Rock" and "Jersey Nights" could’ve been hits for Warrant, Ratt or Bon Jovi. Hell, they could still be hits for Bon Jovi.
Satanicide takes the stage at 9:30; doors open at 8 p.m. and the cover is $12. Look for surprisingly young and cute girls and boys.
...More cuties–some of the same ones, probably–will be in to dance at Baktun (418 W. 14th St., betw. 9th Ave. & Washington St., 206-1590) this Thursday from 10 p.m. on. That’s when the weekly "Bongo Bongo" night of Afro rhythms brings Alex Attias of Beatless and the two-man group Interfearance in from Europe to manipulate turntables and make people move in a rhythmic manner.
Both acts are on the roster of 11-year-old club label Ubiquity Records. They’re DJs in the limey-worshippers-of-American-black-music vein; their specialty is taking funk beats and warping them into modern dance tracks, which Interfearance claims is an homage to Sly and the Family Stone. Sly, a cokehead recluse since his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1993, is probably happy as long as he’s being paid. And he’s probably not being paid.
Baktun is just happy to be back open–the lack of a cabaret license had held them in check for some time–which means you can expect drink specials and a reasonable door policy. The Thursday-night festivities last until at 4 a.m. and cost $10 ($7 if you can track down a flier).
...None of the aforementioned Baktun/ Satanicide cuties will be around (hopefully) when roots revivalist group, the Reid Paley Trio, comes to CBGB (315 Bowery at Bleecker St., 982-4052) this Saturday. A Brooklyn resident, Reid Paley sings just like Tom Waits circa Nighthawks at the Diner, and has a string of tunes about drinking and loss that would do Tom proud (or arouse his lawyers, depending). But don’t tell him that.
"I am in the toilet that I am right now because I’m not a guy who’s trying to sound like other people," Paley explains, sounding like Denis Leary doing Christopher Walken. "And in this world of utter clone-iness and crap, nobody goes out and jumps on the Murder City Devils for sounding like the Stooges–exactly. Nobody jumps on Green Day for sounding like a million other punk bands. Just because I’m not a fucking soprano, doesn’t mean I sound like [Tom Waits]. Nobody likes to be pigeonholed like that."
Paley’s so full of vitriol that I tell him he ought do some spoken-word someday.
"What, like Henry Rollins? Who goes to see Henry Rollins? People who don’t read books. And people who don’t pay attention to the fact that nobody ever publishes this guy, except for himself, which he did for a tax write-off. And then he named his book after his birthday; how feminine and narcissistic is that?"
Paley can even rant on boy bands, the world’s easiest target, and make himself seem insightful:
"They’re not boys. They’re not bands. They don’t play instruments, and they don’t even sing. All they do is pushups. I think they should be out on the street hustling, you know? I mean, they were picked from auditions of zillions of kids. They have more in common with the people in Rent than a fucking rock band."
Reid Paley got his debut record, Lucky’s Tune, produced by Frank Black, and he’s toured with Black all over North America and Europe. So there’s your punk cred. His band’s latest CD, Revival, is handled by PJ Harvey/Captain Beefheart producer Eric Drew Feldman and it holds up on repeated listens, mostly due to the lyrics: "You used to think that it would never end/How can it be?/It’s not as if it’s anybody good/It’s only me."
Reid Paley looks like Steve Buscemi, spits onstage, plays a ’55 Gretsch and is backed by a bass and "trap kit"–"It’s a minimal drum kit and a jazz thing." Anybody who likes his rock crusty and scrungy should be at CBGB Saturday at 10 p.m. and should bring $9 so as not to anger the large doorman.
