swamivisions:

Mac Blackout sneered and shook his way through a twenty minute set, sweating through two layers of clothing until he ended up shirtless and bellowing like a bat-shit crazy, young Belushi. Whereas the frontman of Chicago degenerates, Mickey, sounds like a snotty, but thoughtful dreamer on wax - on stage he seems way more like the type to break your nose before stealing your chick (and probably your car). 

                (photo)                                  (photo)                                  (photo)

Following a lead like Blackout, you’d think the rest of Mickey would be out of sight and out of mind. Luckily for the audience attending the Layabout’s 4th of July party, this was not the fucking case. And it wasn’t because the five piece were caged in an area that was literally half the size of a teenager’s bedroom. No, the other four synced their chords in perfectly-timed sleaze, playing up glam-trodden dramatics so immediate they’d be impossible to rehearse. 

Mickey is a band not to be missed, if not for their live antics, for their initial get-up alone. Dressed like mismatched street kids from varying Walter Hill flicks, the band is a hodgepodge of metal, punk, glam and trash that would probably be a running joke if they didn’t back this look with a strong enough testament to make any naysayer eat his words. And if someone in the audience happened to hear such a remark on a night like this, you could probably also count on his teeth.