The last time Arab on Radar was spotted in Phoenix, it was the summer of 1999. The then little-known band had been booked at Modified, a Phoenix club, and a crowd that started out 40 strong had dwindled to about seven by midnight.
The band, whom promoters had expected to arrive hours earlier, was nowhere to be found. The opening bands had finished their sets an hour and a half earlier, and only a few dedicated fans, or perhaps people with nothing better to do, waited in anticipation.
Fortunately, their perseverance would be rewarded.
“It was amazing,” said art student Rick Bahto, 19, via phone from San Francisco. Bahto, who lived in Phoenix at the time, was at that now enigmatic performance.
Much like a monsoon, the band swept in after midnight. Within five minutes, they had set their equipment up. And after 10 minutes, the show was over.
“They were wearing matching Dickies work uniforms and masturbated while they played,” Bahto said.
“They weren’t masturbating,” said Mike Genz, 27, who was also witness to the spectacle in the poorly ventilated Modified. Genz, an employee of Stinkweeds Records in Tempe, described Arab on Radar’s performance as “100 percent sex.” But he insists the band did not engage in actual masturbation.
As for the music, which is truly the matter at hand, Bahto described the band’s songs as “repetitive, noisy (and) short. The singer just squealed a lot about really lewd things. It was great. And then they just left, into the night from whence they came.”
Lucky for us, Arab on Radar will be returning to Modified on Friday. As the entertainment writer assigned to do a story about them, a band that I knew very little about, I determined that ample research would be in order. I knew they had played Phoenix a few years earlier, and thus, I interviewed two people that had been in attendance at that performance.
What you have read so far is the culmination of those interviews. After talking with my sources, and hearing tales of on-stage autoeroticism and irreverence, I was somewhat intrigued. Previously, I had only heard Arab on Radar as background music in the homes of others, and so I borrowed several of their releases from a friend.
Their first album, Queen Hygiene, was released on Rhode Island’s Herapin label, and featured song titles such as “A Kidney Problem” and “St. Patrick’s Gay Parade.” The cover art for “A Rough Day at the Orifice,” Arab on Radar’s follow-up full-length on Op Pop Pop, is a giant anus complete with hemorrhoids.
Their next album’s cover, “Soak the Saddle,” also features an enlarged anus, although this one is a bit more abstract than the previous. This particular anus seems to be emitting an unidentified brown liquid. Although “Soak the Saddle” boasts no song titles, lyrics include: “St. Peter has taught us to spit and not swallow/nice girls know not to use tampons/Judy Garland doesn’t use tampons.” I devoted several minutes to pondering the levels of meaning in that little piece of poetry.
Of particular interest, however, is Arab on Radar’s split 7” with San Diego’s The Locust. This limited-edition vinyl release comes in the shape of a puddle, once available in several different colors — blood red, urine yellow, booger green, stool brown and semen white. I was most impressed by the brown, puddle-shaped record spinning on my turntable.
As for the music, Bahto summed it up best earlier: “Repetitive, noisy, short.” Although Arab on Radar cites Captain Beefheart as their biggest influence, the band’s derivative no-wave sound is undeniable. Their label, Skingraft Records, on which the band’s latest full-length, “Yaweh or the Highway,” is released, calls Arab on Radar “heirs to the kingdom once ruled by Jesus Lizard.”
Speaking of Skingraft Records, that’s whom I contacted about setting up an interview with the band. As I’d done all my research like a good reporter should, the illustrious band interview was all I needed to begin writing my story. I knew the band was already on the road, but I figured a phone interview shouldn’t be too much to ask. And besides, the write-up would undoubtedly bring more people to their upcoming Phoenix show, so why shouldn’t they want to help out? Right?
I sent Skingraft an e-mail requesting to set up a phone interview with Arab on Radar. The label replied with the band’s cell phone number and the words “good luck.”
I procrastinated a few days before contacting the band. Based on their reputation, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would they hang up on me? Antagonize me? Fondle themselves as they spoke to me?
Instead, when I finally got up the nerve to call, I was greeted with a sheepish “Hello?”.
I identified myself as a writer for the State Press Magazine, and asked if there would be a good time to call back for a phone interview. After a few moments of deliberation on the part of Steve, guitarist, it was decided I should interview him on the spot.
Answers to my well-thought out questions went mostly like this: “I don’t want to talk about that,” “I really don’t want to talk about that,” “We’re tired of talking about that,” and “No comment.”
It wasn’t quite the sex-crazed phone assault I had been anticipating, but it was daunting nonetheless. However, the aloof Steve did seem to perk up a bit when I asked him to share with me any interesting tour stories.
“There was some drunken fighting,” he told me.
“Any blood shed or lost teeth?” I asked, relieved to finally get something out of him.
“I can’t really go into it.”
“Oh. OK.” At this point, I accepted my defeat.
“Let’s just put it this way,” he said. “We took care of what needed to be taken care of.”
We can only pray the elusive Arab on Radar will do the same for us Friday night at Modified.
