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Review: The Christeene Machine ****

Lorna Irvine matches expletives in her enthusiastic look at a selection from this year's Behaviour Festival.

And lo! Marilyn Manson and Britney Spears didst get tanked up on gasoline, liquor and Sunny D and didst conceive a babe-child against the dumpster. And they named her Christeene, an' shit.

An' she sure 'nuff done brought some color balloons from an unexpected place to all the bee-yatches an' hoes of Glasgow's Arches, y'all.

From the booty bass rumble of ‘Fix My Dick’ to the slow jam of sensitive ballad ‘Tears From My Pussy’, this gender-bending Southern skank reaches places others wouldn't dream to go, with an industrial clang of metal and hip-hop shakes that expose Snoop Dogg for the P funk rip-off jerk-off he is. Say Goddam.

And the hoop lantern dresses, Gothic posturing, an' zombie voguing from her buff boyz, all lubed up with taboo-baiting banter, provides a theatricality which at times confounds the crowd--some expectin' performance art, others wantin' an all-out gig.

Alas, motherfucker, the sound ain't on my homegal's side tonight during the songs...shame, as the filthy pan-sexual lyrics are hilarious. Can only make out an occasional "poontang" or "shee-it". An intimate cabaret setting would be more apposite, but she sure some sweeeet piece of deep-fried ass.

Can I get a fuck, yeah!

Christeene - Tears From My Pussy:

Tags: events music

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