Hagfish held weekly rock-and-roll revivals, packing young, mostly male fans into the Galaxy Club, the Orbit Room and Trees, inciting mosh pits close to the stage and middle fingers from the front to back at the bar. The crowds knew every word of their sexy and (kinda) sexist songs, sometimes drowning out singer George Reagan and his shiny, old-school microphone. They were sweaty, passionate affairs (almost duplicated on the albums Buick Men and Rocks Your Lame Ass), but the quartet onstage never seemed to break a sweat in their swank suits and ties. Some fans worship elsewhere--quiet bars, at home with their kids, with grown-up jobs--but the rest will be rocking their lame asses this weekend like it's 1994.
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Shannon Sutlief