NOT SO NEAT

Why this bunch of Boston-based, biker-bar blues-rockers call themselves the Neats is beyond anyone’s comprehension. After viewing the quartet’s performance Saturday at the Lingerie, why anyone would even take the time to ponder that question, however, is equally beyond comprehension.

Working within a limited palette, the Neats, which came in with two indie LPs and a fistful of whiskey-soaked reviews under its belt, does what it can musically, but without a commanding vocalist, a vivid image, a rudimentary sense of showmanship or an ounce of sex appeal--not to mention a general tunelessness--it’s no wonder half the crowd, who were there primarily to see over-rated locals Divine Weeks, decided to turn in early. Like the graffiti in the women’s restroom reportedly reads, “Give me Jeff Beck any day.”