Up until last week, if you’d asked me what the worst live performance I’d ever seen was, I’d probably mention Crisco Kids. It was spring of ’97, my band was playing a gazebo in a city park in Little Rock and they were on the bill. Actually, saying they were “on the bill” is a bit of a stretch. The gazebo was basically fair game to city punks. You just showed up and played whenever you felt like it. There was no promoter, no rules. Crisco Kids were three brothers with devil-locks and Misfits face paint. The youngest brother was the guitarist and vocalist. I’d put his age at around ten. The eldest brother was the drummer. I’d wager he was old enough to drive. Their sound was like The Shaggs fronted by a prepubescent Chris Barnes from Cannibal Corpse. I watched the whole set, minus the occasional moment where I had to excuse myself to laugh hysterically behind a tree.