The Trucks Roll Over the Croc
It's Sunday night at the Crocodile Café, and the place is humming—but are people here for opener The Trucks, The Pink Mountaintops who pulled a last minute no-show, or Deadboy & The Elephantmen? The bobbing heads and sing-alongs accompanying "Introduction," The Trucks' first song, are evidence that the Bellingham girl-tet has drawn a good chunk of this Seattle crowd. And until tonight—CD release party!—they'd only issued a handful of streaming songs and a three-track demo disc.
"You like it, you love it. You like it, you love it." It's the chorus of "Introduction," sandwiched ironically between brutally honest/playfully false verses about each of the two high-registered, twenty-ish singers. ("I turn into a bitch when I'm hungry." "I wear my panties a few days too long.") Their harmony brings to mind Renee Zellwegger's pitch—minus the irritating nasal quality. And that squint.
The Trucks' look and energy jive with their quirky lyrics. One singer wears a red, sorta-ratty but nonetheless flattering cocktail dress and red nylons, her short hair bleached and tweaked. The other is a flamingo in yellow leggings, pink mini-shorts, and a funky, transparent blouse. A single blacked-out tooth adds a touch of anti-class. Filling in the aural gaps are a Meg White-like guitarist and blonde, no-nonsense drummer who anchor either end of the stage while the other girls flutter between its edge and the business ends of two keyboards and a xylophone.
"We really want you to dance!" Cocktail encourages from center stage a few more pseudo-awkward songs into the 50-or-so minute set. "That would be rad." (Or something like that.) To spur us on, she gracefully cuts a rug, delighting a tall guy up front with a bird's-eye view of her chest. Flamingo follows suit and gets down spastic-style. The two even rap and throw their hands around for a spell, to rock-hop thrown down with gusto by their cohorts.
The set is heavy on the keyboards and xylophone. It's a weird and not unpleasant Casio & Fisher Price sound, woven seamlessly around guitar licks and pounded skins. And the lyrics consistently come through loud and clear: "What makes you think that we can fuck/just because you put your tongue in my mouth/and you twisted my titties, baby?" This during "Titties," of course. Late in the set, Cocktail says her parents and brother are in the house. We wonder how the fam feels about their daughter singing about sex—and suddenly feel creepy.
It's this innocent/lewd combo, though, that lends The Trucks their appeal. They sound juvenile and musically mature at the same time. They're silly and dirty and pretend to be tough–-and it's charming. Although they seem fixated on boy troubles, some verses surprise. Cheery xylophone paired with sweetly sung spite like, "I use my hands because I like it/guns aren't bad, they're just not quiet" make them a fun, fuzzy reincarnation of Babes in Toyland. The crowd digs it. Feet tap. Faces smile. People dance.
And why not? When pretty girls sing "Why the fuck won't you go down on me?" and rock the xylophone, it's a pretty good time. We liked it. Some, who were eye-level with titties, loved it. We bought a CD and took off, along with a couple dozen others, leaving Echo and the Bunnymen (or whoever they were) to try and entertain those who stuck around.
