Full disclosure: One or two of the Gluey Brothers might have attended my birthday party last year. It's hard to say, really, since the members of the infamous Santa Fe/California band tend to wear alternating layers of sunglasses, checkered suits, coonskin caps and other accouterments of the brat-frat-Beastie-Boys funk they have forced out into the world like a breach baby. You can't tell who's who, really, when the costumes are removed. Or when they're on, for that matter-the members of the Glueys have taken on personas that have become so integral to their true existence, the levels of identity start to melt together.
For those who don't know, the Gluey Brothers began when MCs King Hummus and MC Tahini started
working California coffee shops with just a drum machine and a dream. They slowly gathered bandmates to replace the electronics, then shed them, then gathered more. They met up with some local folks who convinced them to relocate to Santa Fe.
They hit the town like a sweaty, high-octane maelstrom of bad taste and immaculate musicianship. They started small-Warehouse 21, local clubs. Then moved on to a tour-LA, Denver, New Orleans. Somehow they ended up hanging out with Penn and Teller. Somehow they ended up vying for top prize in the 1999 Grammy Showcase, the winner of which was awarded a record contract (the Glueys came in second, just missing out to Save Ferris, whose remake of "C'mon Eileen" was their only hit).
And then they broke up, for no particular reason except they scattered about the country to different locales, and it's tough to keep a band together when members live in different states. Especially Oklahoma.
Along the way, however, the Glueys left behind a legacy of insider lingo, broken hearts (and beer bottles) and-most important-some of the most badass music that Santa Fe has ever seen. Their shows were legendary, in a way that their three albums-
Stiff for the Elders
,
Luncheon Meat of the Giants
and
Live Sleece
-never quite captured (though they are quite good). It was live that the Glueys knocked everyone's socks, and hats, and panties, and soiled, nasty Jockey shorts, off. It's live that songs like "Walk, Belly, Cologne" blasted from the stage with a caustic combo of rap, funk and disco strings. It's live that the Gluey legacy of "sleece" (the band's term for the most sleazy behavior possible) took on legendary proportions. Take a look at the photos on
. See the sweaty masses, the dancing, the debauchery? Can you see the implications that something really naughty might happen if everyone stopped dancing, which is perhaps why the Glueys have to keep playing for so long, lest a rousing bout of group anal sex break out.
Which is not to say, it couldn't anyway. So be careful, kids, when you attend Saturday's Gluey Brothers reunion show at the Paramount (331 Sandoval St., 8 pm, $7).
Why a reunion now, you may ask? "It really felt like a good chance to get together and get sleece again," one band member (who chose to remain anonymous, told me. Maybe we should all remain anonymous Saturday night.
