Apparently it’s not such a great idea to walk through a major downtown area singing Flesh For Lulu at the top of your lungs. Loud and off-key Postcards From Paradise (and I’m assuming anything else off of the Long Live The New Flesh album) is action guaranteed to bring angry, baleful stares and threats. All right, I wasn’t necessarily threatened, but a random collection of businessmen in suits and ties, swinging chains and tossing paper clips like they were Chinese throwing stars isn’t cool.
This shit may fly in Toledo, but apparently Seattle is more of a Gene Loves Jezebel kind of town.
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