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October 4th 2007 Las Vegas Weekly review @ The Revolution Lounge

...In the booth next to me, a reed-thin, long-faced boy sips hot tea and concentrates on perfecting his blank stare. At midnight on the dot, a new band—including a few Collectif members—starts up the first notes of "Break on Through (To the Other Side)." The boy saunters up to the microphone like he's about to hit on it, but instead grabs it purposefully and opens his mouth to reveal a voice suitably screechy for Mojo Risin's lead singer. In leather pants and jacket, a loose, frilly pirate shirt and a shock of black, side-parted hair in a decidedly '70s 'do, he wails.

Over his shoulder, a girl in a psychedelic shift dress go-gos her boots off, making her way—as a good groupie should—from band member to band member, teasing and touching their instruments. Where the stage spills out into the gathering crowd, the rest of his entourage in similarly planned outfits straight out of Almost Famous or Dazed and Confused play the part of the screaming, frenzied female fans, pawing at each other, clawing at their hair and straining in their reach toward the skinny faux-Morrison as he peels off the leather jacket and gets intimate with the microphone. Like a trained model, he finds the best red lighting and stands in it, emulating Morrison's herky-jerky pee-pee dance during "You Make Me Real."

"Everybody feel all right?" he asks all gravely. We yell back as he goes into "Alabama Song."

"I had an alcoholic art teacher who used to play this in his office all the time," my non-sequitur-spouting friend Martin chimes in. The girls mock-cry—at least I hope they're faking—going gaga as is their directive during an almost indecipherable "Summer's Almost Gone."

"I wanna see some action out there," he says, suitably monotone, as if he'd been sipping peyote instead of tea. "I wanna see some fun, some love come." He then goes into the final stretch with all the requisite hits: "Touch Me," "People Are Strange." A lighter goes up during "Light My Fire," and some girls start kicking their shoes off. At 1 a.m. he grabs his coat and saunters offstage, presumably to his next happening or his next orgiastic psychedelic experience. I follow suit, but only insofar as grabbing my coat, and trip over the pile of shoes. During his impassioned "LA Woman" encore, I decide that the sound system is just a skoch too loud for the low-ceilinged venue, but I can just imagine the Lizard King himself smirking from the other side at my very square, unhip decision.

Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at xania@thecircuitlv.com and visit thecircuitlv.com to sign up for Xania's free weekly newsletter.

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