Like the famed marriage of chocolate and peanut butter, two great tastes do go even
better together. Mountain Mama melds rock and glam with the pulsating sex rhythm of
dance music, creating a hook-laden hybrid for the dancefloor century. From the cascade
of ethereal electronics to the searing rock’n’roll that explodes immediately after, Mountain
Mama pushes their music into high orbit, a pulse-pounding sonic satellite with
laser-guided ass-shakin’ precision. With disco deathrays and guitar anti-gravity, the band
drops bomb after bomb, propelling you into the stratosphere and never looking back.
Formed in 1997 as an experiment in collective liver damage, Mountain Mama consists of
singer Glamchops, guitarist French Lips, and bassist/über-programmer Coco Willie. The
band soon discovered the potential of their unique blend of rock and techno. Early crowds
threw themselves into a frenzy at the band’s first shows, creating near-riots in their
ecstatic crush. The band relocated to Asia, touring the width and breadth of the opium
trail. After a near-fatal incident involving the band’s lead singer Glamchops, three-fifths of
bourbon, a water pipe and an alpaca, the band decided the time had come to return to
North America. Locking themselves in an isolated studio slightly to the north of New
Orleans, they recorded seven millennial classics in two substance-filled days, only to
have the masters destroyed when a freak firestorm enveloped the storage room. “The
music was too good,” Coco Willie said. “God wanted it for himself.” Only one song was
recovered, “Voodoo Lady”, a super-heated anthem with irresistable grooves and melody.
The song has just been released to imminent world-wide acclaim on the internet.
Mountain Mama currently divide their time between Toronto, Copenhagen and a small
shack in central Mississippi.
Chapter 7: MamaMania
(excerpted from Whiskey in the Disco: Mountain Mama and the Rebirth of Rock)
When the plane landed in Jakarta,the boys knew there was going to be trouble. Security
cordons had been set up on the landing strip, but the crowd, hungry to see their idols for
the first time, had broken through the undermanned police lines. Already twenty-five
hundred screaming fans were milling about the tarmac as the stairs drew up to the plane.
“We’re going to try and run you out in the flight crew’s clothes,” Keith Starkey said,
holding up a blue trenchcoat with stripes and insignia on the sleeve.
Coco looked perturbed. “Keith, you’re a great manager and all, but do you really think
that’s going to work?”
“Yeah,” chimed in Lips. “Like he’s in any shape to run,” he said, jerking his thumb back
at Glamchops, passed out two rows behind them. His torso was blanketed by a litter of
tiny Jack Daniels bottles, his head lolling onto his ZZ Top Eliminator t-shirt.
“Well, we gotta get you outta here somehow,” Keith growled, pulling a Saturday Night
Special out of his pocket.
“Hey Keith!”
“Yeah, man, take it easy!”
“Remember Ceylon!”
Groupies ducked for cover as the boys tried to get Keith to put the gun away. Keith
waved the gun around his head before finally slipping it under his waistband in the small
of his back.
“Jesus, Keith,” Lips said. “How’d you even get that on the plane?”
“Easy.” Keith smiled. “I gave the customs guy some of Chops’s candy--”
Keith jerked forward suddenly, hands grasping around his throat. He crumpled against
the seat in front as a newly animated Chops attempted to throttle the life out of him.
“You fucker!” Chops raged, flecks of Jack-spittle flying from his lips. “You stole my
stash. You fucker! How’m I gonna perform tonight? Fucking fuck!”
“I’m afraid you gentlemen are going to have to leave the plane.”
A flight attendant had come back to usher them out. Glamchops dropped Keith in a
heap and stepped over him, putting his hand forward. “Hey there! Glamchops is the
name, rock-god’s my game. You here for the concert?”
She looked at him with disdain. “You’re disturbing the other passengers.”
“What other passengers?” Chops looked around. In the very back sat Elton John, his lips
pursed in disapproval.
“If you boys keep going on like this,” Elton drawled, “you’ll never get a gig with Disney.”
“Oh fuck Disney, you fuckin’ wiggy freak!” Chops started tossing the empty plastic J.D.
bottles at Elton, who crouched back in his seat, his hands jerking protectively in the air.
“Who let him on,” Coco asked out loud.
“And the Diana thing?” Lips called. “Real tasteful, Johnny. You coulda at least written a
new song!”
Coco ripped a pillow in half and lobbed the fluffy white contents at Elton’s spherical
gnome-like head. “Put this on your head, wig-man! At least act your age!”
“That’s ENOUGH!!!”
They all froze at the sound of a gun cocking. The stewardess had snatched the gun from
the still prone Keith and was now pointing it with murderous intent.
“You’re going to get your luggage out of the overhead compartments, get your
messed-up rockstar selves together, and get the fuck off my plane,” she growled. “Now!”
Two minutes later they were whizzing along the tarmac in a baggage car, Keith still
unconscious, strapped in with the suitcases. The police had regrouped and formed a
narrow corridor leading to the main terminal. Coco aimed for the open mouth of the
passage, while Lips tossed frozen salisbury steak into the air as a diversion. The crowd
went wild, diving for the foil-encased plastic trays, chanting “Mountain Mama” again and
again.
“Hoooo-weeeee!” Coco howled.
“Just like shooting wampa-rats back home,” Lips yelled, tossing a fistful of peanut
packets over the heads of the nearest fans.
“Almost there.....” Coco bore down on the accelerator as they neared the open garage
door. A small cluster of fans was attempting to flank the police on the right. A security
guard saw the fans closing, and whirled to throw a switch. The garage door began to
close.
“Faster,” a delirious but now awake Keith yelled, the cords in his neck bulging as he
squirmed against his restraints.
“C’mon, Coco! Move it!”
They all ducked low as the buggy spun out-of-control under the closing door, Coco
slamming on the brakes. The garage door clanged dully against the ground, and they
were safe. They all gasped with explosive relief.
“That is the last time, guys,” Coco said, fuming. “The absolute last time. One of you
guys has gotta learn to drive.”
Chops pulled himself up, dusted his sleeves and pulled a tiny bottle of bourbon from one
of his pockets.
“Still, you gotta admit,” Chops said thoughtfully, throwing his arms around Lips and
Coco. “When she had that gun, she was pretty sexy....”
They drifted away to collect their gear and head to the hotel. An airport security guard let
them out of the garage and into the building, closing the door after. The garage grew
silent, save for the muffled roar of the crowd outside.
“Uh, guys?”
Keith was still strapped to the luggage rack. He twisted wildly, trying to see anyone.
“Guys?!? Come back.........” |
