Live Review: West Coast Lowdown

The West Coast Lowdown saw the suburb of Inglewood become the hub of giant, hurricane-proof hairstyles, gorgeous tattooed women and bare flesh on Saturday night as the Civic Hotel lent its stage to bawdy burlesque goddess Masuimi Max, Australian psychobilly veterans Fireballs and support acts local boys Creature, Kuillotines and the ever-amusing Bloody Hollys.

Masuimi Max really put the “tit” in titillating and the “ass” in “astounding”. Every feminist bone in my body wants to rebel whenever I see a sister removing their clothes for money, yet I cannot and will not bring myself to say anything disparaging about Masuimi. The woman is an artist and, for all her carnal cavorting, there is nothing distasteful in her craft. During her two performances for the night, Masuimi skipped merrily around the stage, letting it all hang out and jiggle with proud womanly sensuality, with nipple and butt tassels twirling hypnotically. The culmination of her second appearance had Masuimi pouring four litres of milk over her barely-covered flesh to the delighted cheers of the audience, revelling in the sight of the creamy liquid gushing over her perfect posterior. There is both joy and cheeky playfulness in this cheerful celebration of the female form, which left every person in the room, male and female beaming and cheering for more.

With the sickly scent of curdling milk thick in the air, the Fireballs hit the stage in a furious flurry of half-naked, spitting, shouting, drinking, sweating man-flesh. Joey Phantom, wearing nothing but a pair of tight undies, rides his double bass like a rocking horse while slapping it in the manner of a psychobilly jockey who wants his wooden steed to go faster. Eddie Fury, who seems bleary-eyed before the performance even starts, still manages to smash out a blistering tempo on the drums, while singing AND taking frequent swigs of bourbon from his bottle of Jack's. He even braved the milky runway to pour bourbon down the throats of his enthusiastic spectators while they yelled, applauded and encouraged his antics. The crowd let loose during Go Go Go, bouncing to the rhythm and chanting as one. The Fireballs are an über-charismatic, relentless and well-lubricated rock machine, putting on a strangely sexy display of toned bodies and alcohol-fuelled, frenzied fervour. How they had the energy and brain cells to do it all again the next day at the Newport in Fremantle eludes those of us who barely managed to make it home with our bodies and wits intact.