Toilet Boys - Living Like A Millionaire (R.A.F.R., 1999)

Gender-bending (lead singer Guy is...a guy), glam-infused rock 'n' roll that I'd love to witness with those foxy practitioners of similarly styled (if not as over-the-top) '70s sounds, namely The Donnas. "Another Day In The Life," with its double-headed Andy Scott-ish guitar swirls (think "Fox On The Run" or "Lies In Your Eyes") will keep you good company the next time you and your Neon cruise down Desolation Blvd. "Go Go Boy" comes across as an axe-wielding clinic conducted by Mr. Scott with special guest instructor Rick Nielsen (why can't people of this caliber show off their chops at in-stores instead of wanker fucks like the guy from Mr. Big?). "Electric" finds Miss Jayne County joining Scott and Nielsen in a shocking, toilet-love threesome.

The Loudmouths - Get Lit! (702, 1998)

Word of caution to all new-generation grits of Tidewater: This is not the crappy AOR, FM-99 band Loudmouth, which has become the darlings of Bay Area wimpsters Metallica. Despite being from the same location as the Masters Of Muppets, The Loudmouths have enough brain cells (albeit alcohol-soaked) to realize that the Ramones are not an Italian family living in Ocean View. Now a three-piece (unless they got a new guitar player since recording this album -- miss you, Jay!), Dulcinea, Beth and Pete continue their crunch on this second effort. "Fast Service," "Aim For The Head," "Go To Hell" and "Black Heart" deliver the goods (Rob Halford -- R.I.P.) like well-oiled skates fresh from doing laps with eight-wheeled competitors such as The Mud City Manglers and The Valentine Killers.

The Dead End Cruisers - Deep Six Holiday (TKO, 1999)

Pretty authentic sounding Brit-style punk from the limey hotbed of Austin, TX. Leans more on the melodic side of The Clash's fence (i.e., Give 'Em Enough Rope) that's topped off with a Hanoi Rocks undercoating. Dimestore Haloes fans will eat this up like fish and chips at Long John Silver's. The chorus of "Most Likely" reminds me of a certain Shelley/Diggle number, but I can't recall which one. Too many memories of Newcastle Brown Ale hangovers, perhaps.

WAFFLE HOUSE (Indian River Rd., Virginia Beach, VA)

Positioned at a right angle from Regent University (where Pat "In The Name Of Jesus" Robertson answers "Bring It On" questions during tapings of "The 700 Club"), this bread-box-sized restaurant has long served breakfast to truckers and similar sorts who are greasier than the meals they ingest. Before this overcast Tuesday morning, it had been at least six years since I'd eaten one of the 'House's Frisbee-shaped creations. What follows is an account of my latest visit.

My mother and Ryan (the adorable two-year-old she watches for a sizable paycheck) picked me up on Kempsville Road as I was making not-so-labored footsteps toward the library. Although I had crunched the contents of two GRRREAT big bowls of Frosted Flakes, the tiger in me growled for something more carnivorous. McDonald's was McUsual. Shoney's seemed Shopacked. IHOP was ISKIPPED. Thus, we opted for the remaining eatery in the general vicinity serving A.M. grub.

As the three of us were seated by a toothless hag who doesn't Shower To Shower each day, I was reminded why the odor of overpricing had kept me away. $2.30 for a goddamn (sorry, Pat!) waffle? $1.90 for wafer-thin sausage patties? $1.25 for OJ in a sippy cup? Of course, since everyone in the world lights up like a chimney on Christmas morn, we had to contend with expelled tar 'n' nicotine from a two-pack-a-day long-hauler awaiting his runny eggs and toast. Mom ain't smoker-friendly in the least bit, so we switched booths in what was assumed to be a non-smoking section. Big mistake. Not only was an ashtray at every table, but there was also another lit-up scruff who had to make conversation with my mother. "Hey, he looks just like you!" "How old is your little boy?" "I'm sure he's a handful." It must be tough being the most beautiful woman in the world (Mom could easily pass for my sister. I'm guessing the majority of folks think that we're married and Ryan is our son.), but my mother has long been tired of explaining the truth to complete strangers. More often than not, she'll just play along and respond with terse replies -- "Yeah." "Two." "Yep, he is." The milky-white lies were told on this day as well.

NOYB chatter concluded, Medusa finally arrived with our orders. The amount of food placed in front of me couldn't have filled a prescription bottle, much less a big boy (sorry, Shoney's!) like myself. Mom's choice had more variety (omelet, toast, and grits), but sharing was out of the question. I've always hated eggs. Had my mother offered, I would've rather eaten the plate on which they were placed. With a little syrup, thank you. The waffle and sausages were alright, though I would've been just as happy with McD's hotcakes. Grudgingly, Mom also gave her spread a passing grade. Points were accrued for the bottomless coffee, but those were squandered with the words from our waitress ("Sorry, we only accept cash."). Hey, Waffle House -- get with the 1980's already! Then again, with the absolution of smoking in many public places, WH probably considers its attitude towards the nasty habit progressive in nature.

Six on a ten-point scale (that's a passing "D" at Tidewater Community College). $2 tip.

The Pretty Things - The EP Collection...Plus (See For Miles Records Ltd, 1997)

A must-have, twenty-six song collection from these once-chums of The Rolling Stones. Covering their years on the Fontana label 1964-66, The Pretty Things are required listening for anyone interested in dissecting the roots of garage punk. David Bowie thought enough of this band to include both "Rosalyn" and "Don't Bring Me Down" on his Pin-Ups all-covers album. More recently, garage acts like Teengenerate ("Midnight To Six Man"), The Nomads ("LSD"), and The M-80's ("Rosalyn") have given their respective nods with rockin' takes of Pretty Things classics. All songs previously mentioned appear on The EP Collection...Plus in their original form. If getting drunk with the R & B rock stylings of the Stones/Yardbirds/Who is your thing, "Get A Buzz" with The Pretty Things.

THE BITCH

One of the most eccentric pianists to grace the pop charts since Mozart, The Bitch has won many admirers during her long career, with an inimitable brand of contemporary piano-punk. With a closely cropped butch haircut, glasses that cost more than an actual pair of eyes, Tweedy-Bird yellow suits, and eleven-foot-tall platform stilts, The Bitch has maintained her true D.I.Y. spirit over the course of 155 albums.

Born with just the name The, Bitch was later added after her mother's second marriage. The stepfather had spent time in jail, hence the moniker. Being called simply "The" all of her six-year-old life, she had trouble adjusting to the Bitch appendix at first. In third grade, however, The saw Little Richard play with his ding-a-ling, as well as a percussion instrument commonly known as a piano. The Bitch soon became fascinated with both and received two special gifts one snowy Christmas morn. One was a Giant Monster Cock that would remain nestled between her sticky alabaster thighs, until her sister misplaced it during a scholastic show-and-tell. The other was an Amway (before they stopped making musical instruments) baby grand. With the toy cock missing, The Bitch spent nearly all of her waking hours learning cherished classics such as "Ba Ba Black Sheep," "Georgie Porgie Pudding Pie," and "Tutti Fruitti." By the time she was 13, The Bitch knew how to play every song that had ever been recorded, with her delicate tickling of the ivories. The problem was when The Bitch tried to write lyrics for her own growing body of musical compositions, not a single word was put to paper.

Enter Bernie, who was named by parents who couldn't decide which "Sesame Street" character they liked best. The Bitch didn't follow the antics of Big Bird and company, thus she'd never learn how to read and write. With Bernie in tow from this point forward as The Bitch's permanent songwriter, however, her illiteracy was a minor concern. The Bitch/Bernie partnership had some early successes in winning piano competitions all over England. Word of her ability reached American shores via publications like Rolling Stone, Playgirl, etc. In 1974, The Bitch accepted an invitation to appear on "The Gong Show," a popular variety television program. Amongst the standard jugglers and bad ventriloquists was an exceptionally talented black fellow named Stevland Morris, who would later be known as Stevie Wonder. The wannabe circus performers and Howdy Doodys were quickly dismissed, and the two gifted pianists earned their places in the final. The heightened tension rivaled that of a prime Bobby Fisher/Boris Spassky chess match. Though neither competitor had actually heard the thud of the gong, Stevland was declared the winner, due to an obscure "criteria #6 tiebreaker" (which is a fancy way of saying Stevland won due to his blindness). The Bitch suffered her first (and what would prove to be her last) loss in head-to-head piano dueling. She avoided "criteria #6" for good, by wearing exotic eyewear with extremely dark lenses that intentionally dimmed her vision. Soon, Stevland and other would-be-heirs to The Bitch's throne vanished. The Bitch/Bernie duo immediately began working on their first of what would be 460 Top-Ten recordings.

Although it would take many more pages to describe all of them, several songs do stand out from the bunch. "Bennie And The Jets" discusses The Bitch manager's love affair with the pantyhose-wearing, pre-Flex All using, New York Jets quarterback Joe Namath. Despite her misspelling and mispronunciation of Bernie's name, it remains a true Bitch classic. "Rocket Man" examines the pitfalls of Virginia Cavalier star/Houston Rockets bust Ralph Sampson. "And I think it's gonna be a long, long time..." It was -- Houston finally won an NBA title in the '93-94 season. "Nikita" is a touching look at The Bitch's own want of National Wrestling Alliance superstar Nikita Koloff. "Nikita, I need you so/Nikita, you'll never know." Koloff didn't know, because his English was limited to "OH, MAGNUM T.A., YOU GO...DOWN!" "I'm Still Standing" is perhaps The Bitch's most-bizarre number, since she has neither played a concert nor been photographed standing up. This is all the more odd, considering The Bitch always wears her eleven-foot tall stilts on stage. "I'm still standing?" No. No. No. "I'm still sitting?" Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

The Riverdales - Storm The Streets (Honest Don's, 1997)

I've seen these guys dogged too many times in zines for "sounding too much like the Ramones." Wow! What an observation. Maybe it has something to do with Ben Foster (AKA Weasel) fronting this three-piece. I'm largely unaware of all the bullshit surrounding Mr. Weasel, and frankly, I don't care to know. The Riverdales lay all the cards on the table, by listing in their thank-you section, "...and, of course, the Ramones." Note that Ben's former band, Screeching Weasel, covered the entire self-titled Ramones album. All things understood, Storm The Streets is a near-replica of the sounds from the Bowery Boys' glory years ('76-79). With songs about boys in plastic bubbles, cementheads, mental retards, and, of course, the mandatory "Wanna" number ("I Don't Wanna Go To The Party"), you'll be "Gabba Gabba Hey!"-ing in no time flat. One of the best Ramones albums not recorded by the Ramones.