Betty Blowtorch heats up Ziggy’s
By Aaron Bokros
Old Gold and Black Reviewer

Betty Blowtorch is a part gimmick, part punk, and part raging bitch. The four woman punk band looks and sounds like the love-children offspring of the passionate threesome of George Thorogood, Joey Ramone and Kim Deal. On tour to promote their newest album, Are You Man Enough, the foursome shared the Ziggy’s stage Nov. 14 with perennial redneck favorites Nashville Pussy.

The raw punk sound raging from Marshall stacks would congeal into great punk songs such as “Shut up and F---!”, “My Boyfriend Left Me for the Girl Next Door,” and the anthem “Hell On Wheels.” Betty Blowtorch does seem to have a gimmicky edge to it; all the women claim to be “horny bitches” and say that they “f--- every guy they can,” but I observed at least two members with wedding rings and one definite boyfriend hanging with the band before the show.

Despite their false portrayal of themselves as sluts, the band doesn’t skimp on the punk. Anchored by the bass and vocals of Bianca Butthole, the Blowtorch ripped through a 10-song set in less than 40 minutes. All four women played their instruments well, especially lead guitarist Blare N. Bitch. Rhythm guitarist Sharon Needles and drummer Judy Molish rounded out the hardcore chicks from Los Angeles.

Although the foursome sets forth a rather hokey image, beginning their set with a load of feedback and Butthole screaming “We’re four horny bitches and we’re hell on wheels!” Betty Blowtorch is a great punk band that kicks tunes in the old style of bands like Minor Threat and Biohazard.

In short, they have been around the block before. They even feel confident enough to make fun of themselves; at the end of the show, two large torch fireworks were brought onto the stage and lit, showering sparks and fireballs on the four women and the front row of the audience. Classic, classic, classic!

In addition to seeing a great band that Wednesday evening, I was also able to observe first hand the world of local redneck culture. Lured by the promise of some good Nashville Pussy, every teenager in the Triad owning a Ford Probe convened on Ziggy’s. I arrived early to make sure I got a good view.

The first band to play was The Runarounds. Typical crap.

The next band I was a bit intrigued by, owing mostly to their claim as “the number one band of Winston- Salem.” Floorbored, whose decals I had glimpsed on more than one lowered mag-wheeled Nissan Sentra, was a Limp Bizkit wanna-be band that seemed to have a massive high school following. In between the screamings of the lead singer and the fudged and distorted guitar riffs, the only redeemable quality I could hear was the bass player. He was; they were not.

But I endured, waiting it out between requests for cigarettes and beer from 18-year-old boys with bleached fake-and-bake girlfriends. I could not help but giggle inside. I waited for the band I had come to see, enduring the ear splits and drunken teens. Betty Blowtorch delivered, fueling my thirst for good music with rocking songs with good punk lyrics.

When they were done with their set, I left the bar contented and with a slight ring on my ears. Having fulfilled my duties as a reporter, I was also left with a profound sociological knowledge of a local culture that I had never experienced. I walked to my car amidst the mini-vans of retrieving mothers, got in my car, and returned to my bubble. Good time, good times …