NIGHT LIFE : THE CLUB SCENE : Rocky Horror : Expectations of good music may pale with The Cramps, who look like the house band for death.

You probably think being a rock music critic is pretty glamorous, right? Sure, there are the records, the concerts, the backstage passes, and of course, The Big Bucks. But there’s also goon-squad bouncers that hate your face and interviews with bands that are stuck for an answer when you say hello. There are lines to the bathroom so long, you could waste your few good years waiting to get in. And how about all those BMWs--Basic Monotonous Waits--that come between each and every band? That’s when you actually have to talk to your date.

And the “music”? Now that’s another story. I’ve seen a lot of bands that make a cat fight in a machine shop sound good.

And then there are those four little words that can bum a critic more than a 3 a.m. conversation with the cops. Would you please hold? This line is closed? Beer costs how much? You’re in my way? Nope, none of the above. The party-ender for critics is none other than the synopsis for Humility 101, “Not on the list.”

And I’ve got a paper cut on my finger from opening a box of records. This is a tough business.

And what about those rock gods who are supposed to call for an interview and never do? What am I supposed to do except get them a watch for Christmas? Make it up, that’s what. Which brings us to The Cramps, who didn’t call but allegedly will play The Ventura Theatre on Tuesday night.

The Cramps, a quartet who look like the house band for death, are so pale, they should come with sunglasses. The only known Californians not to have a tan, The Cramps look like they haven’t seen the sun since ‘74, and then it was probably an overcast day. You can bet all the little weirdos in black will be there for the show.

The Cramps, apparently, have seen too many horror flicks; in fact, their shows are not unlike horror flicks--with a beat. They all wear black, in outfits that make them look like they’re ready for a sock hop at Dracula’s house.

Frontman Lux Interior moans and groans, shimmies and shakes and basically crawls on his belly like a reptile, while his babe, Poison Ivy, pounds out some serious guitar licks--making for some rockin’ swamp rock, psychobilly rave-up songs that’ll doubtless have the crowd jumping around like Freddy Kreuger had just asked them to dance.

It should be noted that Ivy usually wears considerably less black than Interior, usually black underwear and not even a smile. Nick Knox beats out the rhythm on the drums, and Candy Del Mar is the current bass player--about the 10 zillionth since the band formed more than 10 years ago.

The band’s current album is called “Stay Sick!” Some of the titles include “All Women Are Bad,” “Journey to the Center of a Girl,” “Bikini Girls With Machine Guns” and “The Black Leather Lagoon.” Getting the idea? The Cramps are also famous for their renditions of bizarre and obscure covers. The latest album features a mostly reverential reworking of The Fendermen’s classic “Muleskinner Blues.”

No synthesizers, no slow ones, no Taylor Dayne covers--The Cramps offer beat-you-over-the-head-with-it rock that’ll melt every Bad English album within a 12-block radius.