The lust killers.

Right down the Street from the mag is a very Los Angeles-looking rock club called The Pound. Back in the day. The Pound was some sort of good eats place which featured an amateur stripper or lingerie show or somethin' at lunch time. Seems that lots of folks from the general area would head on over at the sound of the air raid siren (SF's noon wake-up call and daily reminder that we're sitting on top of some of the most radioactive real estate in the free world) for a quick bite and a sneak peak. Now I don't recall much talk of rock at the old Pound-before-the-Pound, but if there were a sound system, The Lust Killers would have been the house band. So I'm not too big on this whole glamy/trashy revival thing, but when you get some cats together who can channel the Blank Generation through a noise that's so much bigger and faster than what came before, I'm all about it. The Killers rise from the ashes of SF's now-defunct American Heartbreak, with the addition of Greg McEntee from the Swingin' Utters on the skins and Chuck Worthy of Belligerents fame (if you were a girlie who frequented the NorCal foothills in the mid-'90s, you remember) on bass. Think Iggy and Lemmy and some blazing harmonical guitar solos for good measure, brother. I'll tell you to check 'em out, which you will because you're all into this rock thing. And leather vests. And pins and aviator glasses.