We toured for 3 years around the U.S. with brief stints in Canada and Europe. We gave our fans a genuine high-energy punk-rock/soul experience every time we stepped on stage. We have no regrets and absolutely no doubts that our music, and the shows we gave, will burn permanently in the hearts and minds of the many who saw and heard.
God bless PC and the fans who loved them. peace, mjm PLEASURE CLUB BIO Leave through the back door and into the back alley, nodding at the wink behind the dark glasses. Breathe deep the night sky, leftover lightning, stars like spurs, spit-shined in hard rain. Perched at alley’s end, a long black limousine, beaded and gleaming, violet neon burning across the hood. A siren wails blocks away, a cop, an ambulance.
Harley roars drown the siren. Records play. Her favorite song. Watch your heart.
Watch your wallet. Watch your balance. Behind you stiletto heels click an unsteady rhythm through a velvet mist. A whiff of perfume, wisps of girlish laughter, cigarette smoke.
It’s blood, sex and secrets, downtown on a Saturday night, on the side streets away from the light. It’s a celebration for the uninvited - a stroll through the Pleasure Club. Alchemized in 2000 by four singular souls, vocalist/guitarist James Hall, bass player Grant Curry, drummer Michael Jerome and guitarist Marc Hutner, Pleasure Club is a quartet that functions as one, the inseparable hands and feet that make a champion prize fighter. Moving, breathing, pursuing, hitting.
Power and grace. Beauty and savagery. Style and substance. Not a band to turn your back on.
Born in Houston, New Orleanian by choice, worldly and wise by experience, James Hall is more than a singer. Through the stereo speakers, Hall is a wailer and a whisperer, a shouter, a seducer and all things in between. On stage he is a revelation - part blacksheep archangel, part slick-suited voodoo conjurer hell-bent on raising the ghosts and hopes of the human heart. Grant Curry, Hall’s partner in exorcism for over ten years, is a Big Easy soul as well.
His rolling, winding bass uncoils through the music like Eden’s serpent. On stage and on record, Curry, along with Michael Jerome, forms Pleasure Club’s locomotive engine. Jerome hails from that other LA, Los Angeles. Well schooled in the studio and the road, Jerome is the mountain prophet of rhythm, a commander of the pulse who calls the tribe to the ceremony and then possesses the hips of the faithful.
With the cauldron simmering, one last element remained to make the magic. From the shadows a mysterious stranger, Marc Hutner, cuts and burns, caresses and bruises, a jack of musical trades wielding a bottomless trick bag of sonic imagination. In the spring of 2001, all the elements locked in place, the fires stoked by songwriting excursions and several live dates, Pleasure Club convened in a Nashville studio with producer Jay Joyce. The result is the startling independent release titled Here Comes the Trick, eleven barely contained explosions that revitalize the beautifully dangerous blood of rock n’ roll.
Pleasure Club then took to the road, a deft pugilist taking on all comers, a charging savior winning converts by the score. By 2002, the band was a street-lethal live machine. That spring recording for a live release began with a triumphant show at New Orleans’ historic Howlin’ Wolf. The remainder of the year saw several treks though the South and West of America and a string of European dates in December.
2003 finds the band completing the live record, polishing a vibrant catalogue of new songs and touring extensively throughout the U.S. and Europe. In only two years, Pleasure Club has wrought its own manifesto of vital, soul pounding rock n’ roll. As they mine the jeweled vein of their song writing and further unchain the monster that is their live show, the best of Pleasure Club is yet to be revealed.
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