There she was fronting the Wicked Wisdom, an otherwise all-male group of menace-rockers. Smith takes pains to present the band as a collective, but make no mistake, the actress-singer-wife commanded the attention. In fact, the audience of young men — few nancy-boys among them — were slightly taken aback by the sight of her.
Her eyes bulged like Jack Nicholson. A black muscle shirt revealed formidable triceps, which were taut like the rest of her. She did the devil-horn thing with her fingers, and her demonic tongue-waving would trouble even Linda Blair. Here could be the distressed, bastard hate-child of Henry Rollins and Diana Ross, I kid you not.
In the words of Paul Shaffer, â€œYeah!â€