MC Trachiotomy | Theater Critic's Choice | Chicago Reader

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MC Trachiotomy

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If you're not interested in feeling anything but confused, New Orleans's MC Trachiotomy will rock your world. On ...W/Love From Tahiti (Bulb) his sound collages are so crude you can practically hear the Scotch tape holding together his splices of drippy fox-trot music, hilariously lame slow-jam beats, and samples from The Jerk. The "melodies" are seven-second loops that he stretches out over multiple minutes and the lyrics are seriously dain bramaged. On one of the several bonus tracks, he growls about chillin' at the Bimbo Hotel, where he discovers bloodstains on both sides of the mattress and semen on the phone. He buys some PCP off the lady at the front desk, and after the smoove background organ music fades into a broken music box melody, he sings in the voice of a delirious R & B crooner, "I'm in the back of a police car kickin', screamin' at the pterodactyl." But you've got to see him onstage to fully appreciate his homegrown surrealism. He usually performs in a giant Afro and tight leisure suit, with gold chains piled around his neck and a pinkie ring on every finger. Usually there's at least one strange individual helping him smoke a joint; I've seen him with a posse of "Flatuladies" shaking their giant prosthetic rears and with a sidekick named Pizza Clown who sported a lit-up purple Afro and exposed his pubic hair. Here he opens for fellow Ninth Warders Quintron and Miss Pussycat, and there's no telling what they've cooked up. Stereo Total headlines. Saturday, November 23, 10 PM, Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western; 773-276-3600. He opens for La Machine on Sunday, November 24, 9 PM, Prodigal Son Bar & Grill, 2626 N. Halsted; 773-248-3093.

Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Jim Newberry.

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