By Jena Ardell
By Jon Campbell
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Tessa Stuart
By Roy Edroso
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
By Zachary D. Roberts
JUKE JOINT wasn't the only place last weekend to break that Yuletide vibe. But with Rat Bastard playing punk, it was the best place for hiding out from your Brady-like family on Christmas. By midnight, the two-room joint was noisy, dark, smoky and so crowded that crawling on the floor was the fastest way to move through the gridlock of some very tattooed patrons. Rat Bastard, which had set up in the back room, blocked the entrance to the women's bathroom. That meant no line for lead signer Dave Jemmott.
And he needed to use the facilities. The vocalist was in the middle of the first song when he made a beeline for the john. Luckily, the bathroom was next to the drummer. With the bathroom light on and the door wide open, patrons looked on as Dave bowed over the bowl. Not that this interrupted the tunes. The band played on while one of the musicians announced, "Dave's really sick. He's got a 107." Within seconds, the Porcelain God was back on stage. His "666" T-shirt was still clean. To clear his throat, he took a swig of beer.
That set the pattern: Drinking, puking and singingpractically simultaneously. And jumping like a pogo stick to the music. And springing at the crowd like a jack-in-the-box. And holding up a two-foot-high cross with Jesus on it.
Before Dave put the cross away, he told the crowd: "It's the second coming."
JUKE JOINT 213 Bedford Ave, Bellmore, 516-783-5979.