By Zen Jedi

In the beginning, God created the poontang. Then He created the Tango. But only Big Al, the lead singer for The Moaning Lisas, could have put them together to create "The Poontango." This song is just one of the delicious items on The Moaning Lisas playlist menu.
I had the pleasure of seeing The Moaning Lisas play in Virginia Beach one Friday night, but it turned out I did more than see them play. It actually became an experience. Big Al, the frontman, the "entertainer," does more than sing with enthusiasm. He gets the crowd involved, and, somehow, he even becomes part of the crowd. With a name like Big Al, one would think that would be hard to achieve, but not so. Apparently, bigger IS better, at whatever.
Most bands don't have a way of letting you know they're getting ready to play, but the Sanford and Son theme music let's everyone know The Moaning Lisas are minutes away. Anvil, the modern drummer from Waynesboro, Virginia, sets himself behind the drum kit. Scott "Giutarlisle" Carlisle would normally take his place at the bass, but is now sliding over to the guitar because Gene Temple, the original guitarist, is moving to Charlotesville soon. Gene will be back to play with The Moaning Lisas when he can, so don't write him off, and taking Scott's place at bass is Rick Kuhns from Saint Frank. A special addition to this night's lineup was Luke "Evilweed" on the harmonica. That man, hailing from Maryjane, is able to put his soul into his harmonica. I mean literally, he was blowing so hard, I didn't think he could possibly have anything left in his body, much less air.
There is a lot of history with The Moaning Lisas, and most of it can be found at their website, www.moaninglisas.com. But I'll throw in a little taste for you lazy, nonresearching bastards.
Big Al, the David Allen Coe of Hampton Roads and frontman of The Moaning Lisas is, actually, from Hampton Roads. He grew up in York County, and went to the infamous Tabb High School. He sings all the songs, both the originals and the few covers they do, including Johnny Cash. Why Johnny Cash, you may ask. Because, "He has more stamina than Jim Morrison." Good enough reason for you? Once, at a pre-wedding party, Scott told Big Al he couldn't beat a show with Jell-O and mud wrestling, so Big Al said, "Watch this." He brings the bride-to-be over and begins sucking her toes. Thus began the toe-sucking trend that lasted for quite a while. Unfortunately for all of us, this trend has reached its end and the little toe went wee wee wee all the way home.
Scott Carlisle, the old bassist and new guitarist for The Moaning Lisas, grew up in Jacksonville, Florida and went to high school with Molly Hatchett. He's been playing guitar for about 30 years and has opened for bands such as The Romantics. My favorite printable quote of his is, "I play music for the free beer and the enjoyment of song writing, what a great combination."
Anvil, the man, the myth, the mess, is the modern drummer for The Moaning Lisas and seems to enjoy being in the background. He definitely has a lot to say, but, generally, you have to ask him about it before he'll tell you. He arrived in the Hampton Roads music scene with Tectonics in 1989, and in 1996 he helped form The Moaning Lisas.
Even though Gene is moving, I think he is owed the respect to have a little of his history placed in this article. He was born in Mississippi and raised in Texas. He has played in bands such as Velvet Elvis and The Continentals. This Behemian Country guy got hooked up with The Moaning Lisas through an ad in the Tidewater Musicians Exchange, which Big Al responded to.
For the show they all take their places with the Sanford and Son theme music playing, then they kick it off with "Shotgun," which got the people off their asses. The next song they played, "Lost Weekend," turned out to be a foreshadowing for my future. I remember them playing "Banana Pudding," "Cow Tippin'," "Get Out of the Car," "Happy Boy," and, of course, "Poontango," but they gave me a chore to do, and I don't take my work lightly, nor did I want to let any of them down. That pitcher of beer was hard to watch over and constantly needed refilling, so my work was cut out for me. I apologize to Big Al, Scott, Anvil, Gene, and Rick if I ever slacked off on my duties, but I don't think they'll remember anyway. Oh well, maybe I'll do a better job if I were to catch them when they play at the nudists' colony in West Virginia, but right now I have to go clothes shopping with Mojo Nixon. Just don't tell Aunt B.