Butthole Surfers 

Fond high school memories typically include touchdowns scored, dancing the night away "Under the Sea," and/or that first kiss or smoke down in the boiler room (I couldn't handle the boiler room). However, my fondest high school memory involves skipping class, driving to Portland, and getting to see a naked woman dance on stage with a circular saw as doll heads tumbled inside a commercial washing machine and vocalist Gibby Haynes torched the ceiling with a cymbal of fire. Thank you, Butthole Surfers, for that priapic, life-altering moment.

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We're not in high school anymore. Butthole hasn't released an album in 10 years. Nudity ain't what it used to be. So what in the name of George Clooney's buns can we expect from these aging, punk-a-delic, nattering noisemakers with a penchant for illicit drug use and deviant album titles (Hairway to Steven and Rembrandt Pussyhorse come to mind)?

A cursory glance at setlists posted online shows us that BH is sticking with the classics: "Sweat Loaf," "Goofy's Concern," "Pepper," et al. For BH the performance is more important than the songs. Don't miss this show. It's better to regret something you have done than to regret something you haven't done.

Butthole Surfers plays the Wilma Tuesday, September 6, at 8 PM with 400 Blows. $30/$25 advance at Rockin Rudy's and porterhouseproductions.com.

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