"Bionic Finger at the C NOTE, February 10th, 1999: The former Queens of AntiFolk tell of their most memorable show yet" Anti-Matters, March '99, by Nan Turner, Pam Weis, Christine Murray, Alina Moscovitz, and Jon Berger
NAN
First of all, it's not true I made out with the woman who kept screaming "Asshole!", even though she was clearly asking for it when she threw her bra and eventually her entire outfit up on stage.
Under the influence of some mad punk rock adrenalin, we asked a member of the audience to be our slave for the night. The only person who complied was Jon Berger, who seemed excited at the thought of a dominatrix scene, which we were going to do as the prelude to Alina's funked-up version of "You know you like it when I step on you with my boot..."
Well, at the last minute Jon Berger locked himself in the bathroom with Alina's whip, which left us to only one alternative. John Denver Covers. These went off quite well, despite Christine's hissing sneers, "Wife Beater...Rocky Mountain High My Ass..."
After Jon Berger came out of the closet, I mean the loo, he went crazy! He tried to flog us with Alina's whip! Apparently he'd gotten confused and thought HE was supposed to be the dominatrix.
This made Christine so enraged that she threw me on the drum set on her way to pummel Jon Berger. Pam wasn't too thrilled about me knocking over her drums, and she wouldn't let me play them during her song. So I just played one cymbal with my fingernail, determined to keep steady time.
We were all incapacitated with injuries at this point, except for Pam who finished off the night with a lovely a capella version of "Careless Whisper". Not a dry eye in the house.
PAM
I was getting over a cold the night of the C-Note gig, so details are a little bit hazy. I felt like I was moving in a fog for most of the night. But I'd have to say that it went rather well. And my orgasm was fantastic, as usual. I wear a pink strap-on vibrating metronome. I don't normally turn it on for every song, but that night, being sickly, I needed an extra kick so I had it on all night. It really helped to keep me excited and on the beat. I climaxed during "Big Dick" of course, it being the fastest song and the one I bounce the most on. A few songs later I had a nice surprise during Christine's hit, "Come On and Tell Me How You Like to be Whipped, Baby" when I had a second orgasm, although it was interrupted somehow. My memory of it is scattered among some rather odd recollections of Nan being tossed onto my snare drum, and Alina chasing Jon Berger around with a whip. Also, being crowned Queen of the Winter Anti-Folk Festival was truly an honor. I think maybe everyone felt sorry for me because I had the flu. But it was so sweet of the girls to pick me up and carry me around the club so that everyone could kiss my feet. So yeah, it was a good gig. It definitely stands out from the others, despite my devastating illness that night which ended in the emergency room at St. Vincent's. And by the way, it wasn't "Careless Whisper", it was "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go!"
CHRISTINE
The night started out well. The crowd was restless, angry almost. The anticipation was as tight and sharp as barbwire. We began the set with my new song, hard and fast. The response was immediate. The crowd surged toward us. I was ready to start cracking heads with my guitar if they over-ran us but luckily, they never crossed the line. The band was tight. Pam propelled the song along with the bass drum booming and the toms thundering. Nan filled out the bottom slapping the bass with pure fury while bouncing straight up and down in the air. Alina's hand was a blur as she pounded out a doubletime rhythm on her axe while striking guitar god poses. I was anchored behind the mike, my eyes on my guitar neck, wanting to explode but unable to let go. There was nary a twitch of my legs. I was a singing statue. When the songs ended the roar of the crowd washed over me and I finally released. I threw the guitar down, kicked the amp and knocked over the mike stand. I screamed "Fuck" at the top of my lungs and stomped off the stage into the ladies room shaking like a wet dog in the cold. I was overcome. It was too much, the adoration, the blind pure emotion of the crowd. No one from the band came after me. They were used to my outbursts by now. When I came back out of the bathroom Jon Berger was running towards the john with a whip. Apparently he had volunteered to be our slave but had freaked out at the last minute. Then Nan started playing John Denver covers. I can't stand that wife-beating, pseudo-country boy. All of a sudden Berger came screaming out of the bathroom brandishing the whip. I pushed Nan aside and hit Alina in the face with the bass trying to go after him. I managed to wrestle him into a chair and tie him down with the whip. After the beating I'd administered to him my hands hurt so badly I couldn't play. The drums were in total disarray. Nan was making out with this chick who kept demanding we play our song "Asshole." Alina was screaming "My eyes oh god my eyes." Pam had taken center stage. I think I heard a chorus of "Careless Whisper" before I blacked out.
ALINA <5 AM>
Brrrriiing!!!. No. Too Sleepy. If someone died, why rush now. Keeps ringing. Jesus Christ. Fine! Now I'm awake.
"Hello? Who is this? Why would I have a comment on THAT? Of course I'm NOT in a band, especially one with an obscene name that gets arrested! WhyÖ? Pictures? That's impossible. I work for a corporation! I'm a worker ant! I have stock options and a 401K, goddammit! I don't waste my time with that music crap. I didn't go to college to be one of those (snide) 'starving artists', now did I? How many times do I have to tell you, I don't know what you're talking about, I never even go to that sleazy part of town. How am I? Well, I don't know. My head kinda hurts and you're keeping me up, but that's it. So what did they do, anyway? Wow, I almost wish I was there to see that one. Almost. No, it's okay, you probably just have the wrong number. Yeah, good luck with your story."
That was odd. Well, whatever. I'm so tired I could sleep on stale bread rolls. Ahhh. Turning over. Pulling warm comfy blanket up over my chin, closing eyes, counting money and...
Brrrriiiiing!!!
Groan. Why doesn't that guy believe me? I'm not gonna answer it. But what if it's Hank on his cell phone about my presentation this afternoon?
Alright, alright.
"Hello? Can I what? Bail you OUT! Do I know you?"
ADDITIONAL NOTES:
JON BERGER: I don't know what any of these women are talking about. I have never seen Bionic Finger in my life, let alone done a damned thing with their whips, or their bathrooms, or anything else. I, for one, resent the implications that I would be unwilling to take my beating like a man, that I would bawl like a baby at the sight of my own blood, and that I would kick scream and dribble snot just to avoid pain. I deny anything having to do with February 10th. In fact, I was out of town that day. And anyone who claims otherwise better have some pretty severe proof, because that's my story, and I'm sticking by it.