Crotch: hot, sweaty rock in a hard place

Interview, June, 1994 by David St. Hubbins

I don't know where you get your T-shirts, but I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. The olive drab guy I'm wearing now--it's emblazoned with the word CROTCH, the o a cherry-red target being probed by a dog's very wet-looking nose--was a gift from Jen Sincero and Sara Rotman, sole purveyors of Crotch goods and services.

Crotch, you see, is a band. Sincero and Rotman's band. Their stuff is angry and funny and loud and loaded. Crotch enter your presence like a wild, errant wind, seeking sails to billow and autumn trees to denude; these are clearly women whose mission in life is to leave a path of organized destruction in their wake. In a phrase, "Me likes!"

Jen the guitarist's the tall one, the brave survivor of at least one UFO abduction; Sara the bassist's the tough, dark one, the brave survivor of Detroit, Michigan. (Who has suffered more? Hard to say: not quite as many organ probes are performed in Michigan abductions.) Their songs--including "Power Tool of Love," "Sew Me Up, I've Had Enough," and "Lying Face Down on the Couch"--are about men and women, and no ball is left unbusted. But these are not unhinged rantings; they are firmly hinged, and that's what makes them work. Crotch's rapid descent into the lower depths of the rock industry can be seen in their as-yet-unseen sitcom pilot Rock in a Hard Place. Their dream is six nights at Madison Square Garden supported by Spinal Tap. Beware the sirens of Crotch.