Bloodhounds Sniff Out Both Yuks and Yucks

Let’s put it this way: If Al Gore wins the presidential election, the BloodhoundGang will not be invited to perform at the inaugural ball. What, after all, would Tipper think about the Pennsylvania quintet’s troll through the adolescent id, with songs about porn stars, oral sex, death wish fantasies and the like? The Bloodhound Gang sounds like the kind of band that might have been hatched in high school detention by chronic class clowns. Its songs are really just crude pranks--the aural equivalent of a well-administered wedgie.

The Bloodhound Gang’s performance at the Palace on Tuesday was like a rowdy frat party gone haywire. Like so many contemporary bands that lace testosterone with men’s-room graffiti scrawl, these merry pranksters favor the aggressive charge of metal-rap--they closely resemble Limp Bizkit, but without that band’s furrowed-brow menace. Frontman Jimmy Pop was the designated instigator. He cajoled an audience member to expose his genitalia, had another one regurgitate on him, then convinced bassist Evil Jared to stage-dive around the perimeter of the theater, the balcony and all--surely a first for the Palace.

Alas, like so many bad R-rated comedy acts, the Bloodhound Gang’s Molotov cocktail of sex and yuks was just a big dud that fizzled out quickly.