Rosemary's Billygoat
Come, Partake Of The Pizza Of Darkness

{{{DISCLAIMER: If you have no true sense of humor...or if you have a hangup about fundamentalist Christianity...I suggest you go elsewhere right now. Of course, all fundie rants in my inbox shall be read and truly appreciated for what they are. If you really capture my attention, I might see fit to forward your apocalyptic ravings to Rosemary's Billygoat themselves.}}}

I was depressed. I had to get out of the motel room, even if all I did was go with my boyfriend at the time up to his job as the house sound engineer at Anti-Club in Hollywood. Anything but the four walls of our room at The Tahiti Motel in Stanton. I didn't know who was playing, and I didn't care.

I sat in the back area through the first three acts, either reading some Anne Rice, or writing in my journal. To be fair, every time a band would go on, I would walk to the railing surrounding the dance floor and take in their first song. That night, I found no interest in any of the groups, so sequestered myself at a corner table, watching Reine check IDs and sipping on my cinnamon coffee.

Thank God, I thought when the last band began setting up. I wandered to the front be greeted by the sight of a Big Boy in the far corner of the stage. That's right: it was either Kip's or Bob's Big Boy, depending on what part of the country you grew up in, and a full-sized one at that! What the hell...I thought. Gary, the boyfriend, had no insight to this. He told me it was some band he'd never heard of called Rosemary's Billygoat. I shrugged my shoulders, having never heard of them myself.

Photo of Mike Odd ripped tactlessly off their own site (HERE) without any permission whatsoever. I intend to replace it with at least one of my own in the near future, so don't go squealing!

I gotta see what's up with the Big Boy, I thought. I watched as three costumed men came on the stage and took their places, and began to play. There was a movement offstage left, and from the shadows emerged a man who appeared crucified to a huge, furry, pillowy cross! I burst out laughing as he came onstage. I don't think I stopped my laughter until Gary and I were almost home that night.

"Delightfully irreverrent" would be putting it mildly. I don't remember much about that first show back in 1992, but I did remember the band. The sprinkling of glitter on some guy who seated himself at Mike Odd's (then Myko Psycho) feet and worshipped him throughout the set. The cover of Pat Benetar's "Hell Is For Children" and the flaming baby carriage. (They had yet to incorporate the doll.) Mike's many costume changes. The eyes of the Big Boy glowing red through the smoke that poured from his mouth. And, of course, the beloved Pizza of Darkness.

Note: For those who have sadly not yet seen Rosemary's Billygoat, and I pity you, the Pizza of Darkness is a take-out pizza cut into a reverse pentagram, and affixed by (hopefully) non-toxic means into a black pizza box. During the show, said pizza is fed to members of the audience in a pepperoni communion.

It wasn't until Spring of 1997 that I caught their nema in an ad for The Whisky again. Grabbing my friend, Brat, we journeyed up to Hollywood to catch their show. Brat couldn't tear her eyes off the stage the entire time---a very huge compliment. Afterwards, she insisted she had to get a CD. We went up to Mike, who was conversing with people from the stage, and began talking with him when it was our turn. I'd spoken to him briefly five years before, and knew he is an extremely nice man. It seems I cannot reiterrate enough when it comes to this aspect of the business: you can have the greatest show this world has ever seen, but if you are snobbish or an asshole when people come to talk to you, no matter how inane they might sound, you're going to lose potential fans. Part of the reason I remembered Rosemary's Billygoat over the years is quite simply because Mike was nice to me that first time. (Thanks, Mike.)