The Cramps are the John Waters of rock n' roll. Just like the eccentric director, the veteran band proves unequivocally that trash and glamour can be sinfully synonymous. Equal parts grubby sexuality, campy menace and balls-out (or breasts-out, to be fair) American rock, The Cramps are the reason the term "psychobilly" is part of our musical consciousness. Heavy on style (think leopard print meets S&M Bela Lugosi) and substance (imagine Screamin' Jay Hawkins with a chunky punk penchant), vocalist Lux Interior and lead guitarist Poison Ivy Rorschach first turned heads back in the halcyon days of CBGB's, and throughout the last three decades--and despite a Fall-esque revolving door at bass--they've cemented themselves as a formidable live act and true American originals. Sure, you won't be rubbing shoulders Saturday evening with Tom Verlaine or David Byrne like back in the day, but The Cramps' visuals in tandem with coarse classics like "Primitive" and "Human Fly" guarantee your own personal "I was there when..." moments.
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