Galactic Federation of Love

with Electroshockbox, Naim Amor and The Sweat Band

Club Congress, Wednesday, Jan. 12

Those lovable maniacs in Galactic Federation of Love are churning out new material faster than a cat can lick its ass, and thus there was occasion for another CD release party by Tucson's best conspiracy-mongers. Per usual, they put on the type of show that's the antithesis of boring. More bands should follow this example. We're all here to have fun, right?

The GFL set was followed by the under-appreciated Electroshockbox, the nom de rock of John Sweeden. His disco breakbeats and silly rhymes ("titties on my back, y'all") were enough to get people moving, and he obviously got the memo about how this shit is 'posed to be fun.

Naim Amor turned in a great solo set of French pop as the GFL was amassing their props before their subsequent performance. Somebody say "Oui!" Somebody say "Enfer Oui!"

Stage-warming detail was assigned to The Sweat Band, a fairly new local band that this reviewer was seeing for the first time. They didn't seem particularly sweaty, nor did they engage in the booty-slapping funk perfected by Bootsy Collins and Maceo Park under the Sweat Band moniker in the '70s. So the name, for now at least, leaves me a bit nonplussed.

But no matter; their performance was so raw and real that they could call themselves something retarded like "Ned's Atomic Dustbin" and no one would care. Except for Ned.

A three-piece, The Sweat Band consists of your standard drums/bass/guitar configuration, with two young women out front and the dude in the group laying down a steady backbeat. Their set was an exciting blend of punk rawness and Zep-influenced howling blues, filtered through their singer's powerful belting and bad-ass guitar playing. They also seem to have already perfected the build, wherein the songs lull you at first, setting you up for a cacophonous, cataclysmic payoff at the end.

It was obvious two songs into their set that The Sweat Band has massive talent. I envisioned the pitch meeting at a major label: "They're like the White Stripes crossed with the Donnas!" Yes, this is the stuff of which A&R wet dreams are made--young, raw and marketable. Remember us when you hit the big time, The Sweat Band.

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