Music

Suzy Wong & the Honkeys

With the (Mother-Fuckin') Struttin' Cocks. Saturday, January 12, at Now That's Class.

By Justin F. Farrar 

Albany, New York, is a lot like Cleveland: dilapidated, stained with rust, and covered in snow during the winter. Of course, the little burg hasn't produced the kind of earthshaking music C-Town has, but over the years it has had its share of underground weirdos. The four punks in Suzy Wong & the Honkeys lurk just outside Albany's city limits. We have no clue why their moniker pairs a fictional Hong Kong hooker and a circa-1973 pejorative for white folks; it probably has something to do with their we-don't-give-a-flying-crap nihilism. According to the band, somebody is "always bleeding, intoxicated, or has a bench warrant against them."

But that's just posturing. The band is stable enough to have released a download-only album on New Disorder Records. And aside from singer Nicole Christ's throat-scraping screams and sneer, the Honkeys bust a snarling but ultimately peppy brand of pop punk that falls somewhere between the Avengers and the Australian X. It's not terribly original, but the angst is awfully convincing.

Opening for these saucy upstate New Yorkers are Cleveland's Mother-Fuckin' Struttin' Cocks, who also sport a pretty awesome moniker. Unlike Suzy Wong, the Cocks don't mess around with classic Brit-punk; they're all about the trashy glam of the New York Dolls. But since they're from the Rust Belt, it's filtered through the meat-and-potatoes, punch-the-clock cock-rock favored by the Stones, Faces, and Thin Lizzy. Ten bucks says somebody in one of these bands will spit beer on the audience.