January 29, 1998

My first Southern Culture on the Skids experience was at Sleazefest, 1996, in their hometown of Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Out of the twenty-one national garage bands we saw, hillbilly rockers SCOTS was definitely the life of the three-day party. So on Saturday night I couldn't wait to watch them turn the usually mainstream House of Blues in "Downtown Disney" into a backyard barbecue at a trailer park.

Orlando local Band Weedeater and The Exotics from Milwaukee opened the show. The Exotics supplied good, clean surf and a great cover of "A Taste of Honey". And the turquoise long-horn bass and matching two-tone creepers added nice visual touches. The club was filling up, and by the time SCOTS took the stage, it was packed with devoted fans who had driven the 30 miles from downtown and unsuspecting tourists who just happened to walk in and who weren't going to know what hit them. Unless it was a fried chicken leg.

Singer-guitarist Rick Miller, wearing his trusty baseball cap, bassist Mary Huff, in a white bubble wig and matching vinyl skirt and boots, bespeckled drummer Dave Hartman (who plays standing up) sporting a cowboy hat behind his green and red-flaming drumkit, and giant keyboard player Chris "Cousin Crispy" Bess, stepped out and immediately transformed the HOB into a crazy, sweaty, squaredance. Miller's guitar-playing is always a treat, combining surf and country like peas and carrots, and before we knew it, women were onstage dancing to "Eight Piece Box," being hand-fed SCOTS' trademark fried chicken by "Cousin Crispy" himself. Meanwhile on the other end of the stage, Mary rubbed banana pudding all over the chest of a chubby guy who had jumped up during, "Banana Puddin'," a song off their new album, Plastic Seat Sweat. It was Chapel Hill all over again. In Downtown Disney. Leave it to Southern Culture.

The new keyboard player was a fun surprise. As Hate Bombs bassist Scott Sugiuchi put it, the talented Chris Bess was a perfect "backwoods Chris Farley" complete with great big overalls and a mean maraca-smashing tamborine dance during "Biscuit Eater." I've never seen a man so big shake it so fast. Miller kept the party going with his traditional down-home humor between songs. He, too, seemed puzzled by the touristy surroundings and at one point asked the crowd, "What is this place called? Disney City or something?" Yeah, Rick, we've all been wondering the same thing. The show continued with classic SCOTS songs: "Too Much Pork for Just One Fork," "Daddy was a Preacher but Mama was a Go Go Girl," and brand new ditties like, "40 Miles to Vegas," and "Shotgun."

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Mary's voice, dramatically improved since I'd last seen them, rang out over the HOB like a seasoned soprano on "Nitty Gritty." But my personal favorite was their terrific cover of Link Wray's "Jack the Ripper." Impossible to stand still for that one. Unfortunately, it was all over before we knew it.

For those of you who haven't had the pure, trashy, pleasure of seeing this band, throw a couple of Hank Williams Sr. 45's on a portable record player, followed by the Cramps and Jeannie C. Riley, fry up some chicken, dance your overalls off, and you've got the one and only Southern Culture on the Skids. The proof is in the banana puddin'.

Top photo by Mary Robinson. Lower photo by Troy Stoppel. Both pictures on loan from The SCOTS homepage. Thanks guys!

Carol Benanti I wrote kids books for years. I'm a script coordinator for Nickelodeon, and I'm a frustrated Hate Bombs/housewife. I'm especially fond of rockabilly, surf-punk, and dancing. Other Articles I've Written