Silly rabbits

Parents, lock up your children and, in case they get out, stock up on penicillin. Punk Bunny’s MySpace page says they sound like The Jonas Brothers, which would be true if you replaced the promise rings with cock rings and the teeny-bopper trio sang about tea bagging, pillow biting and golden showers.

Press rewind to junior high, when Luigi Sandoval—inspired by such artists as Madonna, Blondie and The Go-Go’s—came into his own.

“I started wearing my sister’s fuckin’ bracelets and my mom’s blazers and just got all joto’d out,” he recalls. Joto, of course, is Spanish for “queer” or “fag.”

“That’s when the doors opened, and my legs, too,” he said. He started practicing in his living room, banging on old copies of TV Guide that doubled as snare drums while his sister, “Back Alley” Sally, would freestyle into a ghetto blaster. Mom put the kibosh on that when the noise started interrupting her precious telenovela time and moved their operation to the garage, where Punk Bunny was spawned.

Now, sans sister (“She settled down, had a kid and is kinda over it”), Sandoval’s mission is clear: To spread his message of sleaze through a brazen mix of electro filth and sex-tronica and lyrics that would make 2 Live Crew blush—and, while at it, push as many buttons along the way and leave spectators feeling bewildered, bi-curious, and making a beeline for the nearest free clinic.

CityBeat: What was your first gig like?

Sandoval: Our first performance was a really seedy leather bar in Silver Lake called The Gauntlet. I didn’t have many friends back then, so my sister invited all her straight posse. The place was playing fisting porn on their TVs, and they were all shocked. That night has a sweet spot in my heart, because that’s where my first glory-hole experience, which later inspired a song, took place.

During a show a few years back in Hollywood, you had a wheelchair-bound hula-hooper and a transvestite with multiple sclerosis as dancers. How would you describe your live performance?

It’s actually polio. Her name is Goddess Bunny. She still dances for me. She’s sort of a Hollywood staple and an underground cult icon. The show consists of shoddy lyrics and dance beats paired with crazy outfits and crazier people laughing—hopefully with us and not at us, but who cares? As long as they’re laughing, I’m fine.

Do you get any booking requests around Easter from people not familiar with your sound?

Actually, that happened to us in Iowa. I’m not even kidding. We walked in and there were all these 9- and 10-year-old kids. I thought they were gonna shut the school down at night, have the adults come out and watch us perform, but this lady with really big pageant-hair came out and said, ‘Oh no, the children are here for you. Do you want some Sunny D?’ We slowly backed away, got in the van and skipped town.

You’re holding an open casting call through your website (www.punkbunnymusic.com) for backup dancers. What makes for a good candidate?

Sluttiness for one. It also helps to be a good Catholic boy or girl that knows how to take orders and get down on their knees.

Where do your smutty lyrics like “Bedroom sex, why be like the rest? / Bathroom sex, yeah, that’s the best” come from?

Doctor Ruth, she’s the one to blame for the madness.

Not Doctor Phil?

Fuck Doctor Phil, he’s ugly. His mustache is cool, though.

What’s up with the return of the mustache? Do you consider yourself a pioneer?

It’s funny how it’s now big in the electro scene. Mine is fake, ’cause I can’t grow one. I wear it to hide the stretch marks.

On your lips?

Oh yeah, I’ve been around the block more times than I care to count.

Any words of advice for people checking you out live for the first time?

Be prepared to call in sick the next day. Also, bring some lube and several towels, because it’s gonna get sloppy.    

Punk Bunny play at “Club Purple” at The Radio Room on Thursday, March 26. www.myspace.com/punkbunnymusic.