The Cheetah Whores have endured.
The Rochester band has endured the thankless hardship of being in a band. It's endured the senseless murder of one of its members, bassist Shalonda "Pearl" Simpson. And it's endured the Cheetah Whores — its own drunken antics, mania, and onstage volatility.
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Despite the madness, the members of The Cheetah Whores are humble and glib. They're not self-aware or contrived.
It ain't hot put-on. This is the first band I've interviewed while the drummer breastfed the band's tambourine player her infant son. The band pushes out real, tres cool punk energy and briny surf shake with a girl-group sashay and coo — like the Shangri-Las with brass knuckles.
The arrangements are raw and comfortably loose. The songs are catchy rock 'n' roll fishing tits ditties that sound as theporntube home blasting out of a little transistor radio as they do thundering off a stage — where the band's lipstick-smeared sneer and walking-on-a-broken-stiletto-heel-bravado frequently threaten to derail the whole affair.
Now that's entertainment. Archer Jr. The Cheetah Whores have inadvertently wound up on a number of B-grade flick soundtracks starting with the title track for Roger Corman's "Sharktopus" in By its own account, the band has grown up considerably, with a renewed whores on the music it plans on burning to rod for its upcoming second CD, "Whore Amore," to be released sometime in the fall of