Edited By Mike Breen

Fudgie and Fufu: I want breasts, yes!

· Local food-throwing favorites Fudgie and Fufu put on a rare reunion performance July 27 at Buzz Coffeeshop. The duo enjoyed a brief stint of local notoriety in the mid-'90s playing regularly at Sudsy's and the like and releasing one album, Hot Karl, but split up when Fudgie left town. Following three opening bands, the duo appeared in coordinating jump suits and upside-down-funnel hats. After stashing the props towards the back of the stage, they flipped on the pre-recorded synthesized music and took their places in front of their stars-and-stripes littered backdrop, hand-lettered with the words to their closer, "Hymnal." The show, an onslaught of physical and mental assaults, featured all of the patented attention-getters: costume changes, audience participation and wacky songs sang, er, rapped, er, performed in unison. They played the hits including "I Want Breasts," "She's Farty" and "Toast in My Butt," and worked in a cover of Toto's "Africa." After telling the crowd they had worked extra special hard on this number, it became apparent they only knew the first line and chorus. No matter, they pressed on until the end of the song. Further into the show, the jump suits were torn off revealing women's clothing, which eventually came off too. A fundamental part of the show is the throwing of food products. Overheard before the show, Fufu was determining if some old bagels Buzz offered him to throw were too hard, knowing that the bagels would be thrown back at him. I'm not sure if they ended up using them, but I did see chocolate cupcakes, doughnuts and slices of bread. The sacrifice of several stuffed animals also provided soft throwing materials. Not long after they had stripped down to their skivvies, they launched their closer, which requires bringing the bulk of the audience onstage to pledge their undying devotion to Fudgie and Fufu. The audience joined them in singing: "Thou shalt honor your Fudgie and Fufu. Why? Just because, just because." (Rebecca Lomax)

· If you missed The Roots' sold-out Aug. 15 show at Bogart's, you missed the elevator. The last stop on a summer-long tour, Cincinnati turned out to turn it out with The Roots crew. Ironically, the scene could've just as easily been a taping for an episode of MTV's Beach Party or a frat house kegger. But this time out, the white kids mingled with the nappy heads, who rocked with the few Jazz Festival extras, and it was all love. The crowd was hype and ripe for The Roots.

The first tune was performed in total darkness with the light show sneaking in like a cat burglar. We wouldn't have known that Black Thought had the flu if he hadn't stripped to his boxers and bitched out the crowd hemmed in on the floor for smoking too much. Thought shouted, "Y'all motherfuckas tryin' to kill a nigga up here with all that fuckin' cigarette smoke! Damn! It's like one, big, motherfuckin' continuous, long, chain smoke up in this shit! It's rough up here under these lights, and I got the flu but I'm a still rip it for y'all."

And he did. See, The Roots have proven themselves to be (and have grown up to be) more than just some cats who rap over some jazzy tracks. They're the forefathers holding court in the lyrics lounge. Thought slyly bowed out late in the second set from exhaustion and a raw throat. (According to Napoleon Maddox from opening act Iswhat?!, Thought came streaking through backstage yelling, "Where's out? Where's out?")

Each musician held it down, taking turns leading the capacity throng through an award tour of Hip Hop. Drummer ?uestlove took an amazing 40-minute drum solo augmented by musical chairs with the guitarist, who sat down behind the kit and played skins just as well as he plays his axe. Then he returned to the guitar to play a scorching medley that included Ozzy Osbourne and Nirvana tunes. Then it was Hip-Hop 101 as the keyboardist jammed to cuts old and new, and the audience provided the vocals in a funky campfire sing-along. Anyone who demonizes Hip Hop need only come to a Roots show to get lifted. (Kathy Y. Wilson)

· There's nothing like getting a light frisking from a male stranger in public. Of course, that type of behavior is usually reserved for gay clubs, often conducted by drunken revelers. But security made sure to give all in attendance a quick once over at The Crystal Method show at Bogart's on Aug. 22.

"Make sure to empty your pockets," the doorman would occasionally yell. It made for a tiresome wait into the venue as the watchers at the gate took their sweet time patting down concert-goers and checking purses, cigarette packs and any other potential hiding places. Such a "cautious" searching for drugs was definitely a first-time experience in my 15-plus years of concert-going. And, believe me, I've been to some drug-riddled shows -- Black Crowes and Tom Petty, to name a couple.

The humor of the situation, however, was just how insufficient this war on drugs truly was. The search and destroy mission, aside from being a time-consuming nightmare, was an exercise in ineptitude. By the time The Crystal Method hit the stage, Bogart's had turned into one giant lovefest. Maybe it was some doses of meth or hits of X or even a little Mary Jane, but I highly doubt that this universal camaraderie solely stemmed from a common love for the music. Not since the heyday of Lollapalooza have I seen such a happy-happy-joy-joy vibe wash over the audience.

The Techno beats and strobe light effects of The Crystal Method gave way to a series of funked-out dance moves with elements of breakdancing, swing dancing, gyrating and some good-old booty-shaking. The crowd cheered on the glow-stick acrobatics performed by a select few. And conversations were struck up by those who had never met. Clearly, no strangers here.

Only the security was at a complete loss. Serving as a constant presence throughout the evening, they acted like Wile E. Coyote continually trying and failing to catch the elusive Road Runner -- in this case, being drugs. Their lone success, as far as I was able to note, proved to be a rather violent young man who dragged two big, burley security guys through a row of people on his way to be ejected from Bogart's. Evidently, he didn't partake in happy drugs that evening. He should have taken a cue from the other concert-goers who were all about peace, love and happiness. (Brandon Brady)

E-mail Mike Breen

Spill It (August 23, 2001)
Locals Only (August 23, 2001)
Short Takes (August 16, 2001)
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