Perhaps, it is the routine tackiness which has crept into everyday life. Possibly, it is the sensory overload caused by repeated exposure to television. Or, it could be that people are simply becoming jaded with being jaded.
Whatever. Edith Massey's performance at the 9:30 Club Saturday night was a ho-hum affair. Dressed in a sequined evening dress (complete with a gleaming zircon pendant) and flashing a snaggle toothed grin, she paraded about the stage spitting out her vocals and taunting the crowd with what appeared to be a natural (as opposed to contrived) grossness.
And the response? Well, the bartenders got more attention than the "star."
Massey, a discovery of director John "Polyester" Waters, took a page from her progenitor's book by attempting to pass off tawdiness as a virtue. Unlike Waters, she lacked the wit and tarnished tastiness to bring it off. Backed by an equally horrendous rock group, The Evidence, she recited (or mumbled) the words to several songs, including "Fever" and a song about "Polyester" girls, while vamping about and casting leering looks. It was boorish, revolting and reprehensible -- and that was the point. But no one seemed to care.
"I'm going nowhere real fast," she gurgled at one point. Truer words were never sung.