The Mapes: Idiots rule

The Mapes put the pun back in punk

By Newt Briggs

The Mapes will be the first to tell you that they are not a good band. They almost never practice, and on a recent night at the Huntridge Tavern, they struggle to recall the lyrics to their own songs, of which there are 23. In almost five years together, the Mapes have released only one album--a homemade cassette that ended with an accidental recording of 50 Cent. They never book their own shows, frequently go months without performing and have only recently posted a barebones website on MySpace.com. It hardly matters, though, because the Mapes throw rotten meat and let their fans spit beer in their faces.

It might not qualify as performance art, but it's definitely a spectacle--as are the Mapes themselves. Guitarist Sheriff Turlet--yokel slang for "toilet"--favors a nouveau-Western getup topped off by a jumbo foam cowboy hat, while drummer Captain Whiskey sports a Mexican wrestling mask and bassist Baron von Ding Dong opts for a skull mask and a crusty fur coat called the "yakket." It's fitting attire for a band that dubbed itself not after the once-famous, now-imploded Reno hotel (which they were not familiar with), but after a composite of the words "man" and "apes."

The name dovetails nicely with Mankeys--that is, man monkeys--the term affectionately reserved for hardcore Mapes fans. At last count, there were three official Mankeys: Pollo, Lanky Mankey and Rotund Mankey (although rumor has it that Rotund Mankey recently had a heart attack and may be out of commission for some time). His presence will be missed, say the Mapes, not only because of his undying support but because he always bought Del Taco for the band after shows. Such thoughts are indicative of the Mapes' limited worldview, which tends to revolve more around food and drink than anything else save the female genitalia.

For the most part, Mapes songs are notable for their absurd titles and not their musical merits. Among the best are "I've Got a Rocket in my Pocket and It's Headed for Uranus," "Brown Eye Kind of Guy" and "Pigs in a Blanket"--a rip-snorting little ditty about a ménage a trois with a pair of chunky gal-pals. The Mapes also occasionally pull off clever couplets like, "Fiddlin' in the middle of the night/ My diddlin' made you piddle in your tights." And then there are songs like "C.U.N.T."

"C.U.N.T. is actually an acronym for `See You Next Tuesday,'" Captain Whiskey insists. "It's a very poor acronym."

No doubt the highlight of a Mapes show is the performance itself. As Captain Whiskey notes, "If you see a band with makeup and masks and shit on, you have a responsibility to abuse that band." To facilitate such abuse, the Mapes lay out a smorgasbord of processed meats and pastries--from hot dogs and bologna to Twinkies and Ding-Dongs--at their shows. The goal, says Captain Whiskey, is to instigate a "rock 'n' roll food fight." The Mapes have also experimented with bags of flour and expired cow's liver--both with disastrous results.

In fact, the Mapes' food-related monkeyshines usually backfire on the band. At a recent "vegan" show at Balcony Lights, Sheriff Turlet slipped on some mashed bananas and broke Baron von Ding Dong's $600 guitar. A few months before that, Baron von Ding Dong nearly choked on a handful of meat he stuffed inside his mask. And Captain Whiskey still grimaces when he recalls being pelted in the groin with a large hog's foot. He's also been knocked silly by a piñata full of meat.

"We were playing an acoustic set, and I was calling everyone a pussy for not hitting me with anything," Captain Whiskey says. "Then someone belted me in the face with the fucking piñata, and I fell off the drums."

While not a banner moment for the band, it was hardly its most disgraceful. That distinction belongs to back-to-back shows the Mapes played at a house party and then at the Sahara Ice Palace. By the start of the first gig, Captain Whiskey and the Baron were three sheets to the wind, and Sheriff Turlet got so fed up with their pie-eyed bumbling that he refused to play the subsequent show at the ice rink. The soused pair resolved to play anyway--an error from the get-go.

"They set us up in the middle of the ice with families skating around us," says Baron von Ding Dong. "We were slipping and falling all over ourselves and cussing over the P.A. And our buddy from Tucson was running all around without any clothes on."

The Mapes were eventually escorted from the premises. "There were small children there," says Captain Whiskey. "It was a real shame."