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Call Him Mr. Right

Mickey Avalon. At Velvet Jones, Wednesday, April 4.


In a city where it’s hard to find food past 10 p.m. and impossible to catch a movie after the sun goes down, Mickey Avalon righteously delivered a much-needed dosage of debauchery to our clean streets. Escorted by his two fine mistresses-bodies of perfection and with Carmen Electra’s striptease moves to boot-the loaded lush, surprisingly shorter than I imagined, seemed to two-step sway onto the stage.

Those who had moved to the front of the stage and folded themselves cleverly over the barricades had practiced their Mickey Avalon favorites and accompanied his every song with their screams. The third jam of the night, “Mr. Right,” with classic O.G. hip-hop rhythms, inspired everyone in the crowd to throw a hand in the air and, of course, wave it like he or she simply didn’t care. The choreographed dance by the “two cheap hookers” made the decadence of Avalon’s performance even more exciting.

Fans of Avalon know that what he stands for is not musical mastery; but if a filthy-mouthed dirty boy with a knack for writing insidious hooks is your thing, Mickey’s your man. The arrogance of the City of Angels, in both its glamour and corruption, is the beat that Avalon moves to, and enveloped in his witty lyrics are stories of this sort of behind-the-scenes degeneration. Avalon embodied this duality when, at multiple points throughout the night, the room was filled with kick-back from the microphone and the amp, causing a tantrum-like reaction from the usually polished hipster.

Nonetheless, Avalon played all the renegade anthems from his self-titled album with a few guest stars-Cisco Adler and other Cobra Snake personalities-helping him out. By the end of the night, it was not just these So Cal beauties, but locals as well who crowded the stage in a sort of free-for-all hoedown during “Jane Fonda.” This unexpected closing was the cherry on top of the sundae of guilty pleasures that is Mickey Avalon.

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