(April 10, 2015; THE PAGEANT, Saint Louis MO)
Not exactly knowing what to expect from a band called Here Come the Mummies, I packed up the ol’ sarcophagus and lumbered across the mighty Mississippi (our very own version of the Nile) to see what the archaeologists had dug up down in Nashville (that is in Egypt, isn’t it?). I found myself rather surprised that the Mummies’ acolytes were a more… mature crowd than I had anticipated for a group with such a moniker. That didn’t mean that they were any less vociferous than the youngsters… I mean, there was rump-bumpin’ aplenty and the audience participation was unparallelled in the annals of the ancients. But… I proceed myself; let’s back things up to the beginning (of the show… not Genesis; just wanna be clear on that), shall we?
The comedic duo of Corey Goodman and Christopher Eilers – better known as Superfun Yeah Yeah Rocketship – took the stage, flanked by cardboard cut-outs of Fabio and a herd of hot dogs (a fourth wiener, Franklin, is missing and – though there have been no ransom demands – presumed to be held hostage) and, thus, a totally improbable evening of rock, pop, disco, ska and, yes, the funk of five thousand years was upon us. Between their familial in-joke bantering, local boys Corey and Christopher delivered some truly danceable and utterly outlandish doses of rock and roll, including “Throwin’ Up,” “Randy Savage,” and a stunningly obtuse cover of Tommy James and the Shondells’ “I Think We’re Alone Now.” Eilers delivered sheets of metallic riffing as Goodman’s apoplectic shenanigans and not-so-sly wink-and-a-nod lyrics virtually bulldozed the crowd into joining the frenzied frolic of the Rocketship’s forty minute flight… as if they weren’t already hyped in the extreme for what was yet to come. Superfun Yeah Yeah Rocketship proudly wave their influential flags high: Comic books (“Magneato,” “I Like Marvel, You Like DC”), professional wrestling (“Randy Savage,” “The Undertaker Joins the Avengers”), cheesy ’80s teen movies (“Totally Awesome,” “Throwin’ Up”). Yeah, they may an acquired taste but, like your Mom used to say when she wanted you to eat your Brussels sprouts, “How do you know you don’t like ’em if you don’t try ’em?” You can take Superfun Yeah Yeah Rocketship out for a test drive at their Bandcamp page, but… you gotta be quick, as their furious dance moves and hard-rocking tune-age may soon be swept up in an undercover vice raid!
After a surprisingly short intermission, the houselights dimmed and a martial drum coda permeated the electric crowd. This being my introduction to live Mummies (yes… I realize the dichotomy of that phrase), I assumed it was a recorded intro before the band took the stage; shortly, however, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, as the group entered from the back of the venue like the percussion section of a marching band. The crowd erupted as the eight rotting players took to the boards, stage right, before ripping into one of the coolest intro tunes ever, “Carnal Carnival,” a funky New Orleans celebration of lust and death. Percussionist and head instigator Java, playing the demented ringmaster, stalked the stage, leering like a serial killer on a bloody bender. All I could think was, “This is even better than I thought it would be! Play that funky music, dead boy!” For the next 90 minutes, Here Come the Mummies had the Saint Louis faithful roiling and stewing in their own libidinous juices, with crowd favorites like the Mexican banda vibe of “Ra Ra Ra,” the hard rocking funk of “Single Double Triple,” the lonely-loin lament of “Everything But,” the barely disguised double entendre groove of “Booty” and “Attack of the Wiener Man,” and, of course, the Mummies’ mission statement and national anthem, “Freak Flag.”
The music of Here Come the Mummies, like that of His Purple Majesty, is littered with sexual innuendo and sweaty crotch-thrusting that borders on the misogynistic. If I had to describe them in one sentence, I would say, “Imagine George Clinton and James Brown had a bunch of 5,000 year old funky dead babies.” While the music is awesome, it takes a back seat to the stage show, with its manic pace and Motown-on-crack choreography coupled with a brilliant use of lighting and smoke effects. Guitarist and primary vocalist, Mummy Cass, gets the funk out with Princely rhythm work and, while he may not be the reincarnation of Eddie Hazel, he definitely embodies the equally late and great Gary Shider. In other words, the ol’ carcass can PLAY! The horn section (BB Queen on trumpet, The Flu handling the baritone sax and Mummy Rah blowing tenor sax and shaking that trunk-fulla-junk that Mama Mummy gave him) is loose and funky at times, tight as a military corner at others; the soloing is soulful, highlighting the individual player’s creativity and obvious (if unstated) musical pedigree. And… did we mention the dance moves? Most mummies I know can’t move like that!
The rhythm section displayed some pretty nice moves themselves. We already introduced you to vocalist, percussionist and maker-of-mischief, Java; when he’s not out front, inciting the crowd, or leading his fellow Mummies in another syncopated dance routine, he handles a variety of percussion instruments that aren’t part of a standard drum kit, including – naturally – the cowbell; at one point, he strapped a mallet and cowbell to his waist, showing his… uh… musical acumen via a series of pelvic thrusts. Eddie Mummy is the powerhouse that keeps time, never missing a back-beat or a vocal part; Eddie’s drumming is the epitome of jazzy precision and funky hard rock fills. The Pole, whose deep-in-the-pocket groove is in monstrous lockstep with Eddie, stalks the stage, letting his sonorous Bootsy-like bass “trombipulation” do his talking for him. Keyboard player Spaz fills every conceivable sonic void with everything from a classic piano or organ sound to varying blips and bloops and synthesizer noodles; he earns bonus points for not looking like a Jonathan Cain-type idjit when he joins the others at the front of the stage with keytar in hand.
Obviously, this is a group who, while having honed their craft to a razor’s edge, don’t take anything too seriously. Except the funk and grind and, of course, delivering a butt-shakin’ good time every time they take the stage. As I mentioned in the intro, this is my first Here Come the Mummies experience… it will not be my last!
