I didn’t know it, but I’ve been a fan of The Bad Things for years.

The Bad Things played their 11th birthday show last Thursday at the Crocodile. That’s right, ladies and gents, the Bad Things are in fifth grade. They are just over four feet tall and weigh an average of seventy-seven pounds. They’re learning decimals and long division. And, according to this 5th grade curriculum overview, they’re “singing a variety of songs, alone and with others, matching pitch, using proper posture, diction, breathing, and expression”.

But I digress.

I attended the Bad Things show (my first) with a friend. As we walked through Belltown on a balmy, drug-dealy evening (we passed a man exchanging what he was insisting was a $40 watch for $20 worth of probably-not-weed), I described to my friend the band’s involvement with and connection to many Seattle communities, including burlesque, circus, and punk. “I think I might know a lot of people at this show,” I said, as I’ve had the good fortune of running in some of the same circles as the Bad Things for some time. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, we came upon the Crocodile, where four friends were standing in the bar grotto, waving at me from across the street. More friends were in line to buy and pick up tickets. More were milling around the mostly-empty theater (we foolishly arrived at the advertised hour of eight; music was not set to begin until nine). Another was stage managing the evening. Another was documenting via photographs. Another was playing saxophone in the second band up, all of them from different corners of my personal Seattle experience. Basically, I felt quite late, but not unwelcomely so, to a party that had been going on for a while.

Image by John Cornicello, all rights reserved.

In a nutshell, that is what was so special about the evening: the stalwart convoys of dancers, musicians, and ardent fans reconvening for routine fun-time exercises. This was not the first occasion on which a couple-few hundred folks gathered under the Bad Things banner to celebrate bygone times and bottles and cracked, beaming beauty, nor will it be the last, and you could feel that. Though the evening was wall-to-wall strippers, carny preachers, marching bands, and heartfelt entreaties to kill yourself, it was a pretty laid-back affair. Yes, folks screamed and danced and drank, but it felt like the kind of abandon you might have after you’ve already lost a lot, but before you’re ready to give up the rest.

The Bad Things were vastly outnumbered. All told, the dancers and other musicians onstage outnumbered the Bad Things five to one. I was struck by how this enormous cast of more than willing artistic comrades is direct evidence of — something. The quality and integrity of their music, or generosity of spirit, or some other ineffably good thing.

There were titties and contortion and a brass band! Seriously! The women of Sinner Saint Burlesque took their clothes off to various numbers throughout the show, blithely hurling bedazzled articles of lingerie onto musicians a mere arm’s length glove away. Rainbow Fletcher of the Can Can Castaways pretzled herself rather eerily to an equally eerie instrumental number. The brassy bits of Orkestar Zirkonium piled onstage to play their part in a song from the Bad Things’ 2008 record ‘It’ll All Be Over Soon.’

Image by John Cornicello, all rights reserved.

Bakelite 78 killed it. Their frontman, dressed as he was in pinstriped tails and a large top-hat, was surprisingly aloof. He frequently approached the mic and drew in a breath as if to speak, only to seem to think better of it and simply start playing another song. Their sound was like the Squirrel Nut Zippers plus the score of Chicago addled by absinthe. My favorite song of theirs was about Aurora Ave — specifically, looking for a seedy motel to spend a night (or couples of hours) in with a special anyone on the selfsame street with such lyrics as, “I want you on an old vibrating bed/I’ll drop the coin right in the slot/and give you…one more reason to love me”. Miss Mamie Lavona and her White Boy Band brought smokin-hot honky-tonk NOLA-style get-down to the proceedings. Standout lyrical moment, at the bottom of their set: Miss Mamie sings, “I ain’t good lookin, I ain’t built that fine,” as her band of white boys protests, vociferously. She shrugs, sings the line again, the band shakes their heads, the drummer shouts, “Looks okay from back here!” Mamie concludes, to much approval, “But the boys all love me ‘cause I take my time.” Master of ceremonies and bonus white boy Armitage Shanks sat in for a scorching Tom Waits cover. A highlight of the Bad Things’ set was the appearances of former band member Seth “Danny Dead” Witz, whose charmingly sinister interjections put the villain in vaudevillian.

The band played for over two hours. There was no five minute curtain call and no encore. Unless, maybe, you count their next show. In this case, you might do well to, as I have little doubt it will be played to almost the same room of knaves at the same hour of night. Don’t get me wrong, there’s always room for more guests at the Bad Things’ party, and they always leave on a light.