The Coathangers from Mars invade Atlanta to celebrate Scramble

April 4, 2009, at the Earl

By Beverly Bryan
Published: April 6th, 2009 | 12:15am

Even the bartenders were wearing sparkly gold pom-pom antennae for the Coathangers’ album release show on Saturday at the Earl. The venue was transformed to celebrate the April 7 arrival of the Atlanta band’s sophomore album Scramble (Suicide Squeeze). Day-glo planets and stars hung everywhere, reflecting the glow of black lights, a mall Christmas village–sized model of Atlanta stood in one corner. A person-sized and anthropomorphized beer can stood in another, beside what could only be interpreted as a joint of the same height, and balloons and wads of cloud-like stuffing lay thick on the ground beside cardboard moon rocks. It looked like the set of a Saturday-morning kids’ show: one that would not have been green-lighted even in the ’70s.

Atlanta’s Predator warmed up the crowd with its doomy and spot-on mid-’80s west coast hardcore — the reverb on the vocals gave it a woozy feel. Next, with its squealing Mötorhead worship, Chopper heaved the “party” into “album release party” like a TV set off an overpass. The winged skull on the band’s spray-painted bed sheet banner was either on fire or had a red Mohawk.

The crowd was ready by the time the Coathangers took the stage in their school-play extraterrestrial outfits. Against a matching and cleverly backlit intergalactic backdrop, the effect was a little bit Ziggy Stardust–meets–the Slits.

Their shrieking vocals quickly summoned a dancing one-eyed space monster who was so stoked he could barely keep his bulbous, pickle-shaped head on. Since the release of their self-titled debut in 2007, the Coathangers have really perfected what they do: taking the harshest sounds they can make and arranging them into to super-catchy, danceable songs — kind of like a middle-school slumber party getting way out of hand to the strains of Devo. The band shares vocals for maximum chaos and all four members have the feral, strep-throat scream down to a science. There were times when it seemed keyboardist Candice Jones had her Casio set to “car alarm.”

The new material is simultaneously noisier and more sophisticated, but also as varied as the songs on the first album. The set included a charming girl-group send-up and even one gentle, winding melody gilded by guitarist Julia Kugel’s surprisingly sweet singing voice. The second it ended, drummer Stephanie Luke blurted, “I can’t play slow songs.” But most of the set sounded like a jet crash laced with a bluesy three-chord hook.

Of course, they front-loaded the set with new stuff, but did manage to get through fan favorite “Nestle in My Boobies” before, well, not so much ending the set as asking to take a puke break. Predator led a chant to get the ladies to return before they “got into their spaceship.” In a minute, they were back to oblige with “Haterade,” “Tonya Harding,” and “Don’t Touch My Shit.” Kugel screamed some of the final words of the encore to a troll doll that fell into her clutches. Some of the Coathangers’ and Predator’s parents and family were in the room and Jones apologized to her folks for all the foul language flying around. “They didn’t raise me like that,” she said. They must all be so proud.

For more photos from this show visit Venus Zine’s Flickr page
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Review of the Coathangers’ self-titled album
The Coathangers feature
Check out Record Shopping With … the Coathangers, in the spring 2009 issue of Venus Zine, in stores now