RADAR #6: August 1998
THRASHER September 1996

la vida local:
Loudmouths Covered Wagon Saloon Jan. 3

If all the world's a stage and so on and so forth, the rock trio falls somewhere between the high-wire unicycle act and the silly twit who sticks his mug into the lion's maw. The classic guitar-bass-drum setup is vastly different when the band adds a second guitar, or keyboards, or a name-your-favorite-woodwind-here, because, well, the trio has fewer structures to work with. While we are firm believers that less is more, the problem is that there's no safety net to catch a trio when things go wrong, no one to rush in and fill the unintentional void. And so it was with great post-holiday glee that we ferried our way to the Covered Wagon Saloon and the one-two rabbit punch of scene vets the Loudmouths and the Jack Saints. The crowd was in full lethargy mode, the room's energy having been sucked dry and belched out onto Folsom Street by the opening band. While the vital signs for a promising night were still there (stale and too warm inside; Stinky's Peepshow offering the fine Honey Bee and her killer Ds in the back room for a buck; relatively cold PBR), but only a serious reclamation project could pull this one out of the shitter. With that in mind, and wasting little time, the Loudmouths set up, plugged in, harangued the crowd, and busted straight into a hissy fit called "Saki." Within two minutes a revitalized crowd began filling up the area in front of the stage; the night seemed a whole lot rosier. Bassist B.B. Loudmouth, resplendent in motorcycle boots, extra short skirt, and a couple sleeves of tats, made sure to drop a few more jokes before the band was off and running again, jamming another hunk of primitive punk through the grater. Guitarist-vocalist Dulce Loudmouth (who also happens to be a mild-mannered Bay Guardian sales schlepp by day) sprayed the room with a throaty growl, fractured minimalist rhythm, and short, jagged solos that weren't around long enough to make an artistic statement. "Aim for the Head" got a group howl from the kids. "Feelin' Alright" answered the question of what the Runaways would've sounded like if they'd been a hardcore band (assuming you ask questions like that). By the time they delivered "No Guts," somebody had remembered to turn the spotlight on the band. The boys liked the Loudmouths' noise fine, but it was the gals in the room who really seemed caught up in the moment. And the moment went pretty much like this: heckle the crowd, launch another rocket or two, towel off, heckle the crowd, and do it all over again. Like the Wilson sisters with cheap dye jobs and a serious hair across their ass, the night was all tight, muscular, compact 2/4 bashing and wailing dedicated to rough sex, Roller Derby, binge drinking, hating people, finger fucking, and deciding whether to spit or swallow. B.B. dropped the low end in a bucket and the f-word every chance she got, and even though you were in love, you couldn't take her home to meet Mom for fear of what she'd do to Dad's liquor cabinet. The band crashed the Customs' "Long Gone" on "Come and Go," ground along on the metal stripper theme "Pay the Price," and did a gruesome cover of the Action Swingers' "Big Mouth." Forty-five minutes and 16 songs later, the night was officially saved. We could stand firm in our belief in the power trio. God bless the three-piece. God save us from the Loudmouths. (John O'Neill)

January 24, 2001


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The Loudmouths
"Get Lit!"
Dedicated to the legendary Wendy O. Williams, this record would do her proud. Here's 22 minutes of straight up punk. Real punk belted out by a real woman. I dream of seeing this band beat Blink 182 over the head with their guitars. Once they've conquered 'em I bet the singer would wear their balls on a chain around her neck. –Juice, Feb/Mar 2000

Oh yeah, oh fuckin' yeah, this is balls-out-fast-garagey-punk-rock with female vocals. Cross the vocals of the Creamers, a Betty Page look-alike, the sounds of the New Bomb Turks and you got the Loudmouths. This is what punk rock is supposed to be about: loud, raw, power-packed, and snotty, and they don't fuckin' let up. -- Dan, Ten Things Jesus Wants You To Know #13, Seattle, Washington, '96

Raunchy and raucous two chord punk rock is what the Loudmouths are all about - in the most obnoxious sense of the word. Maybe if Teengenrate were fronted by a she-brat, they'd sound like the Loudmouths. It was co-produced by Jon von of Rip Off fame, if that helps clarify things. -- Rational Inquirer #6, May '96