By Adam Lovinus
By Lilledeshan Bose
By Gabriel San Roman
By Rachel Mattice
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Daniel Kohn
By Nate Jackson
By Mike Seeley
You can't talk about Zeke without using the word "fucking." Observe: "Zeke fucking rock"; "Zeke are fucking loud"; "Zeke played with fucking Pearl Jam?" And yeah, the words "goddamn" and occasionally "Motörhead" may also be used at your discretion, but "fucking" is hard-wired right into the guts of every trashed-out, cranked-up, gasoline-and-bad-acid anthem these guys ever puked forth. There are other words, too—the Zeke hit list includes to-the-point, no-time-to-catch-your-breath napalm bombs like "Drunk," "Liar," "Hate" and "Wanna Fuck," and could we ever forget their fucking demonic cover of Fleetwood Mac's "Rhiannon"? Not without years of therapy, we couldn't! But "fucking" is what they're gonna sound like (what you'll hear from a typical concertgoer: "Fucking fast!" "Fucking crazy!" and "Fucking shit!"). That something like this could come roaring out of Seattle and evade capture or rehab for eight long and ugly years is testament to the unholy power of rock & roll. So you, you poor, quivering, pulpy, gas-station-jacket-sportin' poser? You're fucked. Yeah, they played with Pearl Jam—and then they killed them and ate them. You're next. And if they were the only band playing, you'd die exhausted, delirious and happy.
But this show's gonna kill you twice: opening for Zeke is San Francisco's Black Kali Ma, a boozy blues—sorry, blooze—rock monster steeped in bitter, bloody imagery and desperate punk disillusionment, fronted by ex-Dick Gary Floyd. You know the Dicks? The seminal Texas punk band that hated the police and put out an album expressing said sentiment? Well, Mr. Floyd and a new posse of not-Dicks are now testifying as Black Kali Ma—Kali being that skull-festooned Hindu goddess of destruction and rebirth—and hammering out the soundtrack for a beat-up pickup-truck ride through hell. They're mean, they're creepy and they know things man was not meant to know—croons Floyd, "We boys love our
mother!" So what if they're subtler than Zeke? The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is subtler than Zeke, and less bloody. Black Kali's got a black-hearted apocalyptic charm, and just when you think you're safe, they'll pop your skull right out of the top of your pimply head.
So, it's gonna be an awesome show thinks us dirtballs down here. We're hopin' for fire. We're hopin' for hard liquor. We're hopin' for bad tattoos, even-worse taste in clothing and so much loud and ugly fun it'll leave scars. You know, rock & roll—rock & fucking roll.
ZEKE AND BLACK KALI MA PERFORM WITH THE BLACK HALOS AND HONKY AT CLUB MESA, 843 W. 19TH ST., COSTA MESA, (949) 642-8448. WED., 9 P.M. $8. 21+.