In attempting to explain to nonjournalistic friends the significance of Tina Brown's move to the New Yorker, I suggested that it was a little like Pigtail Dick taking over the helm of the CSO. The metaphor is nonjudgmental; both Brown, the magician of the revivified Vanity Fair, and Dick, blithe frontman of the fabulous New Duncan Imperials, reign firmly in their own particular worlds--the questiono is how they would function outside of it. The Imperials are a three-man novelty outfit with roots in country thrash and the remarkable hook-filled clarity of Dick's songwriting. This foundation supports a structure--rickety, to be sure--of silly string, funny hats, dumb jokes, rocket-fire drumming, lots of volume, and a willingness to do anything but be boring. The band marks nearly four years of rude entertainment this weekend with a two-day fan convention. Besides shows tonight and tomorrow at Lounge Ax, there's a wienie roast and softball game at Addison adn the lakefront in Lincoln Park on Saturday at 2 PM. The band promises name tags for convention attendees, tours of the group's rather aromatic van, even a wall of memorabilia at the club. Do NDI deserve such adulation? I dunno. Will Tina Brown eat at the Algonquin? Tonight and Saturday, Lounge Ax, 2438 N. Lincoln; 525-6620.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Marty Perez.