Nasty Boys : Music: Rugburns bring zany antics and demented humor to Old Town performances.

The Rugburns--Steve Poltz and Robert Driscoll--are sweating up a storm on the tiny stage inside Kelly’s Old Town Pub. It’s Friday, about 10 p.m., and the Rugburns have been playing their demented brand of acoustic rock for about 30 minutes. They’re both ready for a drink.

Poltz shouts in the general direction of the bar: “Could we get a pitcher of Guinness up here?”

“Two!” Driscoll interjects.

“Make it two pitchers!” Poltz said. No response. “Who’s behind the bar tonight? Sue? We got Sue? Sue, you sure are a beautiful woman. Could we get seven pitchers of Guinness up here? Sue?”

Sue and two other bartenders are busy helping customers, so Poltz and Driscoll lay into a torrid version of “Suburbia,” a Rugburns original about the seedy underbelly of suburban life. The standing-room-only crowd at Kelly’s knows the words to this thumping parody and sings along:

Dancing naked on my street, in my neighborhood,

I just lost my job last week , and I’m not feeling good.

Think I’ll go to Hiram’s Guns & Liquor just for fun,

Pick me up some whiskey and a shiny, new black gun.

Go down the road to K-mart for the blue-light special hour,

Put the barrel to my head, it gives me special power

In Suburbia.

As the song ends, both Rugburns remain beer-less, so Poltz takes matters into his own hands. The lanky, boyish 32-year-old unstraps his guitar, steps down off the stage, walks into the crowd and drinks deep from any pitcher he can put his hands on. Poltz doesn’t bother to ask the patrons if he can “borrow” their beer--he simply quenches his thirst, smiles, and walks back to the stage to perform another tune.

No one is offended by the behavior--indeed, just the opposite--everyone expects the Rugburns to be outrageous. And rarely is an audience let down.

Zany, cerebral and extremely talented, the Rugburns have become a Friday night fixture at Kelly’s. For the past year, the free concerts have drawn consistently big crowds to the cozy pub, creating a growing legion of committed fans.

“It’s the best entertainment value in San Diego,” said John Finley, a 23-year-old San Diego State University student and Rugburns regular. “It’s always different every time you see them. Steve’s always doing something stupid up there that’s hilarious. It beats the hell out of going to some disco and dancing to Mariah Carey.”

The Rugburns appeal to a college-age to mid-30s, David Letterman sort of crowd. Poltz’s between-song banter is laced with oblique references to “The Brady Bunch,” “Wayne’s World,” Bob Dylan’s embarrassing performance at the Grammys or whatever else he saw on TV that week. Irony and wit propel the songs forward; drinking and laughing are at the crux of every performance.

Original tunes populate the Rugburns set: “White Trash on Parade” is a fast-paced rocker about abusive, beer-swilling redneck husbands; “Gold’s Gym Guy” laments over a girl who only falls for muscle-bound guys; “Kilkenny Man” is a tribute to Irish folk songs, and “Burritos and Doritos” deals with a down-and-out dude who drowns his sorrows in convenience store cuisine.

The lyrics are hilarious, the music melodious and well-crafted, and the atmosphere at Kelly’s is always outrageous. After a recent blistering and excessive performance, Poltz and Driscoll discussed the group’s history and growing popularity.

“I feel like we’ve made it,” Poltz said. “We’re getting paid fairly well, we’re playing our own music, and people come to see us. I’m happy, but I still can’t believe people come in to see us every week. It blows my mind.”

The Rugburns have worked hard at building a reputation. The group began as a trio nearly 10 years ago when Driscoll, Poltz and departed guitarist Gerald McMullin met while attending the University of San Diego. After playing in a college talent show, the Rugburns realized they had something special to offer and set about finding a regular gig.

“We started playing downtown at a place which is now the Blarney Stone III,” Driscoll, 29, said. “It was a total dive--the kind of place we prefer to play. When the Blarney Stone people bought the other owners out, the new owners knew we brought in people, so they kept us.”

The new arrangement didn’t last, however. The incoming management tried to tone down the Rugburns’ antics--such as their performing on the bar, pouring beer on one another mid-song--so Poltz and Driscoll decided to find an open-minded venue with a more accepting style of management.

“They tried to change us so we would be preferred by yuppies,” Driscoll said. “They didn’t understand.”

Shortly thereafter, Kelly’s Old Town Pub owner Nick Kelly, hearing that the Rugburns were looking for a place to play, rang up Poltz and cut a deal. Kelly is an unabashed Rugburns fan--he enjoys the music and humor, and he doesn’t mind the tunes being played at the bar cash register either.

“I’ve had a lot of groups in here before, but they never did as well as these guys,” he said. “I tried jazz concerts and (they) drew people into the bar, but I never did as well at the register. The Rugburns crowd is a big drinking crowd. I do about twice as well at the bar when they’re playing than I do on other nights.”

At this recent show, Poltz and Driscoll were obviously drunk and enjoying themselves. While performing a cover of the Violent Femmes’ “Please Do Not Go,” Poltz announced: “I have the perfect buzz right now. You know that buzz where you can’t feel anything in your head and you can’t really play the right chords on your guitar? That’s how I feel.”

Then, mid-song, Poltz laid down in a fetal position in the middle of the stage, closed his eyes and left Driscoll to finish the number. After a few minutes of napping, Poltz bounced to his feet, drained a half-pitcher of Guinness in one slurp and announced: “I’m the designated driver tonight. Who’s with me?”

Poltz was kidding, of course.

“I never, ever drive home after one of our shows,” he said later. “Usually, I’m the guy telling people who’ve had too much to drink to take a cab. I understand that drunk driving is a very serious problem, but the way I bring light to issues is by making fun of them. That’s my sick, twisted sense of humor.”

Indeed, many Rugburns songs and comments are intended as jokes, although occasionally, listeners misinterpret the message. The lyrics to “White Trash on Parade,” for instance, might lead one to believe that Poltz and Driscoll condone abusive behavior toward women.

“Sweep up the kitchen, hurry and do the dishes

Bring me a beer, maybe I’ll let you go out with your other (friends)

Sweep up the kitchen, could you turn off the goddamn light?

Fetch me the remote control, we got football tonight.”

Poltz sings “White Trash” in the first person, but says he doesn’t share the song’s views. He claims to be decrying a disgusting, and all-too common, macho-man attitude.

“Rather than be preachy, saying, ‘It sucks that men are abusing women and ordering them around and the world should change,’ I like to shove the issue right in people’s faces,” he said.

“When people think I’m serious about drinking and driving or a song like ‘White Trash,’ I let them know they missed the point.”

A Rugburns show is really a show. Poltz does crazy things, like crawl on tables and steal drinks and hug men and women he doesn’t know--within the safety of a performance arena. The audience approves of the antics because, for a few hours a week, Poltz doesn’t seem to have to follow society’s inhibiting mores. Audiences keep coming back for the vicarious thrill of watching him break the rules.

Still, Poltz and Driscoll recently found out that there are limits.

“A month ago I got naked on stage and wore a little tutu and cowboy boots, and we made it Stevie Nicks night,” Poltz said. “A few days later, Nick the owner called Rob, and told him that I couldn’t get naked on stage anymore. Of course, Nick never mentioned the curtains we ripped down or the glasses that got thrown and smashed all over the stage.”

Despite the punk rock, anti-Establishment attitude, Poltz and Driscoll are seemingly respectable citizens. Driscoll teaches at Oceanside High School, and Poltz works for a plastics manufacturer. Both are classically trained musicians. You might even say that they are borderline yuppies themselves.

“No. We’re their alter-egos,” Poltz explained with his trademark manic smile. “We’re their evil side, like that time Captain Kirk fought his other self on Star Trek.”

Poltz is a talker, a guy who loves the spotlight and is the unquestioned center of attention during the live performances. Driscoll, subdued by comparison, has focused his attention on reproducing the Rugburns’ sound in the studio. He has engineered four Rugburns cassettes, including its latest, “The Real World.” “I’ve developed this hobby, and people have bought our tapes, and it’s worked out really well for us,” Driscoll said. “Now people come to our shows, I think, to hear these songs they play at home and already know.”

Neither Poltz nor Driscoll have any sense of what lies ahead for the band. Both musicians like the idea of quitting their day jobs and touring the country, but neither seems prepared to make it happen.

“It would be cool to tour, but we never plan anything,” Driscoll said. “It’s one of our saving graces. Everything we’ve ever done has worked out really well. It’s sort of a Zen thing.”

As usual, Poltz chimes in with the last word.

“I was made to entertain people. I really was. I know I’ll eventually quit my job, and I will go out and play all the time. I don’t know if Rob will come with me, but I’ll do it someday. I have to.”

* The Rugburns perform at 9 p.m. every Friday in April at Kelly’s Old Town Pub, 2222 San Diego Ave. For information, call 543-9767. This Saturday at 8 p.m., they will open for Buddy Blue at the Spirit Club, 1130 Buenos Ave., 276-3993. On April 16 at 9 p.m. they will open for Ed’s Redeeming Qualities at the Casbah, 2812 Kettner Blvd., 294-9033