POP MUSIC REVIEW : SCOTS Rock Well Beyond Novelty Tag

As Southern Culture on the Skids played at the Galaxy Concert Theatre on Saturday night, I could have sworn that I’d been transported back to a Sigma Pi party in Berkeley. Wasn’t that fried chicken being tossed from the stage by a musician, into the pit where minutes earlier people had been dancing the limbo?

Actually, as singer-guitarist Rick Miller explained it: “Y’all are experiencing a Saturday night in the good ol’ South.”

Indeed. With songs about biscuits, toupees, race tracks and flies, Southern Culture on the Skids (a.k.a. SCOTS) easily might be dismissed as a kitschy novelty act.

Forget it.

Over 10 years, the North Carolina trio has released three independent recordings and this year’s “Dirt Track Date,” a major label (Geffen) debut that testifies to the band’s staying power. Throw in a touring schedule of about 250 dates a year, and you’ve got a band with more to offer than just chicken drumsticks.

SCOTS is a geeky looking band--attire included overalls, fishnet stockings and a fedora--but is one capable of some very meaty instrumental chops and smooth harmonies. Miller, bassist Mary Huff and drummer Dave Hartman overcame a tepid opening--a shortened version of the usually terrific “Camel Walk” and a rather pedestrian rendering of “Daddy Was a Preacher But Momma Was a Go-Go Girl”--to serve up 90 minutes of catchy, free-flowing and frenetic swamp rock.

The rubber started burnin’ when Huff and Hartman laid down a pulsating, hypnotic undercurrent to Miller’s aching guitar licks for the bluesy “Voodoo Cadillac.” Miller also excelled as he kicked out some thicker, jagged notes during “Biscuit Eater” and a quirky instrumental called “Skull Bucket.”

Meanwhile, Huff’s country-tinged vocals on “Nitty Gritty” and her frequent B-52’s-like yelps and squeals added variety and color to the mix. On the ballad “For Lovers Only,” her sensual cooing transformed it into something that would have been a perfect addition to the “Twin Peaks” soundtrack.

It’s Miller, though, who is behind the wheel of this band. His guitar solos soared, dipped and slashed, especially during “Soul City” as his John Fogerty-meets-Dick Dale sound coalesced into something magical and illuminating.

But not one to get too serious, he let his lighter side prevail just as often. Wearing a mop-top wig to hammer home “Nashville Toupee,” and dedicating a country-grunge song to Conway Twitty and Kurt Cobain, he delighted in playing up his white-trash persona.

Sure, it’s an act, but it certainly is a lot more fun than Springsteen’s latest downer.

In a recent interview, Miller said bands “should give people a break from their problems, not make them want to take sedatives.”

True enough. The ‘90s are a time full of government shutdowns and bankruptcy, rape and murder, and our dirt-track date with SCOTS at the Galaxy offered a carefree diversion.

The night even returned at least one of us to fraternity row.