The Reverend Horton Heat + Nekromantix – Wonder Ballroom (Portland, OR; Jul. 9, 2009)

Heading out to the Wonder Ballroom on a Thursday night seemed a bit out of character for me. Especially since, from what I recall, church services are typically held on Sundays. But, I figured what the hell; The Reverend Horton Heat can make up whatever rules he likes. Besides, I think I was ready to be revived after nearly ten years of both punk and public worship abstinence. This floundering soul was ready to hear a powerful and uplifting sermon from a reputable and persuasive member of the clergy.

Outside the church doors stood groups of men and women wearing their Sunday (or Thursday) best: glistening-greased hair, tattoos, Betty Page bangs, cherry-speckled vintage dresses and black spiked heels, glimmering studded belts, and skinny black jeans punctuated by shiny wallet chains. Swaths of cigarettes criss-crossed from conversation to conversation and smoke rose in giant (heavenly!) clouds from red-lipsticked lips as the congregation settled in before the service.

Once inside the sanctuary, I had a moment to mingle with members of the community some of who seemed genuinely devoted to The Reverend and surprisingly cheerful despite their gloomy, black-dominated manner of dress. Many rushed to the front of the stage where, oddly, the pews were removed and everyone was expected to stand. I learned later that the pews were reserved only for those drinking holy water and other blessed beverages in the balcony area.

A charming Danish choir group deeming themselves The Nekromantix (I’ll have to look that one up in my Oxford Dictionary of Biblical Terms) appeared on stage first to play some somewhat unconventional opening hymns. Accompanied by a pearly-red drum set, a black coffin shaped contrabass (with crosses placed in a triangle pattern on both the neck and body), and a guitar, The Nekromantix belted out rowdy punk rockabilly gospels for nearly an hour. Several followers in the audience sang along with gusto—even without a hymnal!

Then appeared The Reverend; adorned in a stunning red suit jacket with shimmering grey flames creeping up the sides, delivering his sermon mostly in song-form but pausing occasionally to share inspirational anecdotes about his life on the path of righteousness. At one point during the sermon just before breaking into a song called “The Baddest of the Bad” (which is of course a lesson on purging your sins), he offered some insight on his personal dogma and refined manners. He pardons himself to get a drink and says, “I’m a pretty civilized guy, so I’m not gonna throw my cup [into the audience]. You know, because the first thing they teach you in kindergarten is don’t throw stuff, and the first thing they teach you in college is don’t waste beer.”

I was smitten. Just like the bible, his words were cryptic and full of metaphor. I took his words to heart and vowed never to waste “beer” or “throw stuff” before the eyes of God again. I was on my way to salvation already.

But just as I blinked the glaze from my eyes, I realized a fight had broken out between two large men right in front of me. This must be some sort of ecstatic ritual. Alas, my revelation slipped away as I scurried up the stairs to the balcony in hopes of avoiding a potential stab wound. This was a strange church service indeed. 

After it all settled down, The Reverend continued his set with some songs that he had recorded in the early nineties. During “My Fucked Up Ford,” it dawned on me that I was not at a religious convention at all. I was at a psychobilly concert with hoards of music fans who I assume were quite content with not attending church regularly. The songs from then on pleased the crowd substantially, especially during “Cant’ Surf,” where the stand-up bassist balanced his instrument on its left side and briefly used it as a surfboard. I was convinced at that point that, contrary to the title, he could, in fact, surf. I was also convinced that psychobilly concerts, like churchgoing, are fun to drop in on once in a while—say hi, soak up the culture, enjoy yourself, and maybe return again if you’re summoned to write an article about it.

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