In attempting to explain to nonjournalistic friends the significance of Tina Brown’s move to the New Yorker, I suggested that it was a little like Pigtail Dick taking over the helm of the CSO. The metaphor is nonjudgmental; both Brown, the magician of the revivified Vanity Fair, and Dick, blithe frontman of the fabulous New Duncan Imperials, reign firmly in their own particular worlds–the questiono is how they would function outside of it. The Imperials are a three-man novelty outfit with roots in country thrash and the remarkable hook-filled clarity of Dick’s songwriting. This foundation supports a structure–rickety, to be sure–of silly string, funny hats, dumb jokes, rocket-fire drumming, lots of volume, and a willingness to do anything but be boring. The band marks nearly four years of rude entertainment this weekend with a two-day fan convention. Besides shows tonight and tomorrow at Lounge Ax, there’s a wienie roast and softball game at Addison adn the lakefront in Lincoln Park on Saturday at 2 PM. The band promises name tags for convention attendees, tours of the group’s rather aromatic van, even a wall of memorabilia at the club. Do NDI deserve such adulation? I dunno. Will Tina Brown eat at the Algonquin? Tonight and Saturday, Lounge Ax, 2438 N. Lincoln; 525-6620.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Marty Perez.