Hot Dogs for Dinner

Getting to the bottom of Les Georges Leningrad—or trying to.

If Montreal's Les Georges Leningrad's Deux Hot Dogs Moutarde Chou (Alien8) came with a lyric sheet, it would read like the garbled text of spam e-mail that sneaks in through loopholes to sell you psychotropic party drugs. Photos of their live shows hint at twisted gore-porn cabaret, the titular "George" is reportedly channeled from the great beyond, and their limited press encounters can be characterized as absurd. They shroud themselves in gender-fucking '80s gear and otherwise obscure their identity so that you're never quite sure which member is which, and the music is so insanely alien that asking them to talk about it seems asinine. Deux Hot Dogs Moutarde Chou creeps crookedly into your earphones like a donkey walking on stilts, points a pistol at your cerebellum, whispers some pretty nonsense about electrocution and art punk, and fires. Naturally, they took my questions via e-mail.

Seattle Weekly: First of all, who exactly are you and did you, as it seems, come out of nowhere?

Les Georges Leningrad: Yes, we are ultramodern, and we are born in the middle of the Black Sea, on the smallest island on Earth—no parrots, no sirens, no nothing. We were very primitive. We were four heads screwed on a crab body. Now we are three creatures. The hunger was insupportable. Then, we got picked up like dead fishes by a petrochemical ironclad. Our rough and tough education started there.

Were any of you in other bands before, or do you have performance-art backgrounds?

Those nice and mocking sailors who picked us up permitted us to express ourselves on their machines. The mechanics of the ironclad were all ready-made for our creative overflowing. We were very happy. Our first compositions were made with the power of rage and happiness. The tension was released like a ton of crap in a creek. We discovered art and sensuality there.

You've toured Europe and America with Le Tigre and Erase Errata, and I'm sure that at dance parties all over the globe, your songs mix in famously with hipster electroclash. On the other hand, the garage-rock dudes (and I do mean "dudes") from the Web zine BlankGeneration.com went ape shit for you, too. What do you make of your ability to cross over?

Oh yes, we don't understand anything of it, but that's true. We hang out with lesbians and stupid wood jocks, monsters and elderly. You can see it at our shows. We want to see the total rottenness of the pineapple on the table. Push the limits and eat the biscuits.

What about your half-French, half- English lyrics about Gucci watches and bitch dogs?

Encore une fois, tu as raison. Tu es perspicace et très sensible. Nous sommes, avec les derniers cajuns de la Louisiane, le hameau gaulois de l'Amérique. When we compose the music, ça sort tout seul in English or in French. By the way, our French is very different than the French of France. We kept the old French of 1534.

What can we expect from your live show? Will your face-numbing beats be played live or from a can? How do you get the now-wave keyboard clang of the record into the club?

The ironclad work is always different than the live performances. Our songs have many cooks to lay them down on the plate with sauce or not. The beats are taken directly from the charcoal storeroom. The fire crackles. The machine stops but it's all right. Our machines are made with flesh and they need our blood to obey.

If Les Georges Leningrad could invite four people over for dinner, who would they be, what would you serve, and whose record would you play over cocktails?

Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and Rachmaninov; hot dogs for dinner and the Locust in the background. All seated on wood chairs, in front of the firebox.

Your live shows include costumes and makeup; your "interviews" are hardly ever just that. What do you value about mystery and disguise? What is sacrificed and gained?

We take everything we have to do the most beautiful pottery in town. We laugh in our sleep. We sacrifice nothing for a quick access to the bottom of the sea. Hiding is charming.

lcassidy@seattleweekly.com

Les Georges Leningrad play Chop Suey at 8 p.m. with Trans Am and Movies. Mon., May 31. $10 adv.

 
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