they’ll look like these, but without the dots.
PRESS.
______________________________________________________
FROM THE LAS VEGAS CITY LIFE: BEST OF THE VALLEY ISSUE.
Trashiest local band
The Mapes
They’ll never match the debauchery of late trash-master reprobate G.G. Allin, but they’re pointed in that direction. The costumed, oddly good-natured Mapes (half man, half ape) have been a local shock-punk staple for about eight years now, with a devoted and messy discipleship known for showering the band (and being showered in return) with all manner of food and drink products -- all this while the foam-hat sheriff, fez-wearing monkey pimp, boy scout and Mexican wrestler grind out, say, a rollicking, barrel house homage to staircase accident-induced abortion. http://profile.myspace.com/themapes
_________________________________________________________
Thursday, August 28, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury
Kick Out the Jams
The Mapes and the Voodoo Organist at the Cooler Lounge, Aug. 23
There aren’t many venues in Las Vegas where a fat man in a pink foam cowboy hat can share a bill with a pianist gussied up like a polyester Satan without causing an Israelites-out-of-Egypt storm for the exits. The Cooler Lounge, though, persistently defies such myopic logic, welcoming any borderline psycho with a speaker cabinet and a song in his heart. If the crowd can dig it, then bully for everybody. And if somebody feels like buying a pitcher of beer just so he can spit it at the performers, then that’s okay, too. It’s all part of the fun.
In fact, if it weren’t for the Cooler, the Mapes might be confined to gigging in the garage of a sympathetic relative. Swathed in a hodgepodge of low-budget costumes, the Mapes whipped through a dozen-song set of hyperspeed punk originals, including "Brown Eye Kind of Guy," "Voltron" and "Pigs in a Blanket"--a frenetic ditty about the drummer’s one-time threesome with a pair of chunky lady-loves. Neither performance-savvy nor musically competent, the Mapes nevertheless pulled off a rollicking show, getting by on their infectious zeal and self-effacing jibes ("Does anybody want some merchandise? We’ll hook up after the show and maybe you can make us some"). And in the band’s defense, it’s probably hard to play your best when you’re being showered with a constant stream of beer-spittle from the crowd. Still, the Mapes weathered the storm admirably, trudging on even when the spitter mounted the stage and fired his mouth-mortar from point-blank range.
____________________________________________________________ _
From http://punkrockbandreview.blogspot.com/
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The Mapes
One of the contributor’s to this blog is the older brother of the guitarist of the band. You so you better like this band or we’ll have to gang rape your ass!
Sometimes I am fortunate that I live in Las Vegas. Every now and then you have great shows that play here and this Summer has been no different. The past few years Las Vegas has been pretty dry, but lately things have been starting to pick up. Unfortunately the quality of bands here has never really been up to par, and we do have our embarrasements like The Killers and Panic! At The Disco. Although I wouldn’t call those punks, but I had a gay moment so I had to mention them. The Mapes bring a fresh approach to the Las Vegas punk scene having much more fun and less bullshit than another local groups such as the Pecadilloes or Fuck Shit Piss.
The Mapes has been around for over 5 years together. They play a great combo of drums, fast licks, and funny lyrics. In between their sudden quick stops during songs, they’ll sometimes go onto a rant of some kind, but it always ends up going back to the song. Their shows are pretty notorious and probably compete in the drunkeness of the Hatefucks! Whether it’s drinking whiskey or an endless supply of beer, their energy level doesn’t diminish.
You’re almost guaranteed that they’ll talk shit to you at the show and play like a bunch of fools. But the Mapes are one of those bands who have fun on stage and bring that enthusiasm and on stage anticts to their loyal audience. Yes they’ll shock the newcomers but you’ll either end up loving these guys or hate them.
To get a good feel of their shows, think of the Dwarves mixed with the Mentors. These guys are not to be missed wherever they play because once you jump in and have some fun in their, you’ll never want to go back. posted by kamikazekurt
____________________________________________________________ __
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury
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."
____________________________________________________________ _ ..This profile was edited with your big fat drunken mama’s myspace editor™ V2.5
..myspace-286.vo.llnwd.net/01228/68/27/1228617286_l.jpg"..