I was half right — the band put on a damned funny show. I wish I could say the same for the music, or for their schtick. The more they played, the more RevCo seemed to be more a Revolting Cocks cover band — or even a latter-day Ministry ripoff — than what I’d heard on record. The feeling behind songs like “Cousins,” “Robo Bandidos,” and set-ender “I’m Not Gay” seemed to fall flat. . . . the type of industrial punk they were pawning, infused with a cheap strip-joint aesthetic is more worn out, old and embarrassing than the strippers one might find at said strip-joint.