The Coathangers

Daytrotter Session - Jul 22, 2011

The Coathangers – Daytrotter Session – Jul 22, 2011
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  1. Welcome to Daytrotter
  2. Hurricane
  3. Shake Shake
  4. Johnny
  5. Pussywillow

The Coathangers have their little come-ons. They have those sweet nothings that they flaunt, that they place out as bait, right in the middle of their dangerous steel-jawed traps. It’s the honey that’s attractive to a very select number of people: those with sleeves of tattoos, sleepy eyes, fiery bellies and plenty of discontent. Maybe shit for brains too. They pull you in, as if they’ve roped you around the ankles and they’re dragging you across the ground, collecting plenty of burns, cuts and even a chipped tooth or two. You feel as if the punishment is part of the charm, the hissing of the locusts is the siren call that you never knew you wanted. You look down at your arms and you realize that you’re lacking in overall skin coverage. You’re in need of more ink and you’re in need of a little more discontent, but you’ve got the sleepy eyes and you’re game for whatever they’re going to throw at you. You’re sure that they’re going to throw things at you. You’re sure that they’re going to smash some breakables, slash some tires, call you a pussy, throw someone through a screen door and maybe kick someone in the balls. It could just be — if you’re lucky enough — that you’ll be the one to have his nuts cracked. You throw all caution to the wind when you fall under the spell of the Coathangers. When Julia Kugel sings, “Nestle in my boobies/It’s so comfortable…Show the titties love,” you say to yourself, “Don’t mind if I do. Anything to help the self-esteem of a set of titties.” It’s so forward and progressive, but it’s a trap. The four Atlanta, Georgia, ladies — Kugel, drummer Stephanie Luke, keyboardist Candice Jones and bassist Meredith Franco — join their voices to make a melange of piercing and penetrating grievances. If they’re unimpressed with your attitude, the way you’re carrying your prissy little self, they’re going to tell you. They’re going to make a song about your stupidness and your idiocy. They’re going to call you out for the asshole you are. They’re going to remind you — in partial unison — that you’re going to go to hell for the kind of shit you just pulled. They’ll ask that you never nestle in their boobies, ever fucking again.

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