Rock 'n' roll is music meant to piss off your parents. From Elvis' gyrating hips to KISS' alleged service to Satan, rock has sustained itself simply by getting people up in arms. Rock is rebellion. Every generation redefines it, pushing one step forward and challenging the mainstream. With a skip, jump and leap into limelight come Mindless Self Indulgence, the next act guaranteed to piss off anyone that catches the smallest dose of them.

Elektra, a label notorious for dropping success-bound signees (try Destiny's Child, Moby, Prodigy), and the coed quartet from New York have already parted ways due to the group's refusal to compromise quality of their less than pop friendly presentation for quantity of records sold.

Although their last trip to Detroit, opening for Korn and Soulfly, landed frontman Urine (known to his closer comrades as little jimmy) in jail for indecent exposure, the weekend spent behind bars did not dampen his or the rest of the band's attitude toward Michigan. Urine, Steve Righ, Kitty and Lyn braved the date in the state with the highest performance-to-arrestation ratio to bring their offensive and interactive performance to a sold-out crowd of unsuspecting System of a Down fans at the State Theater in Detroit.

Leading the spectacle that is known as their stage show, frontman Urine, who describes Mindless Self Indulgence's set as "time that we waste trying to postpone when we get off the stage" arrived for the occasion formally dressed in a black wrap skirt, black trenchcoat (the back reading "Full of Shit" in stenciled white letters) and a half of a tie. The time that Mindless Self Indulgence fritter mixing garage rock with an "urban jungle pussy beat" is certainly wasted, if not entertaining the audience, then entertaining itself.

Without so much as a strand of his red mohawkesque hair style out of place and not giving the confused audience a second to absorb his unusual (at best) visual appearance, Urine immediately started the show rhyming offensive words. Putting together verses in a fashion that challenges only the best of MCs, Urine made his own case as the poster-child for Ritalin, certainly not harming his reputation as one of the most intense up-and-coming front men as he paced, hopped and danced about the stage.

The rest of the band, who also appeared as if they took the Frankenstein fork on the Candyland road, seemed limited by the presence of their instruments. But they exerted an enthusiasm that matched little jimmy urine, who preoccupied himself shoving paparazzi out of the way of his direct verbal assault on the audience. Unable to settle down or stand in one position for more than a single syllable, the singer weaved his way around stage while Lyn and Steve convincingly demonstrated that guitars have a greater entertainment value when played with an intense and amusing approach rather than the simple stand, strum and pick technique favoured by the more boring bands of TRL land. As for Kitty, with the help of her simpler, downsized kit, she proved that a girl drummer plays more than a minimal role in being "eye-candy."

After a half an hour of offending just about everyone with his onstage antics, reciting lyrics like "I hate Jimmy Page/Get that faggot off the stage," ripping off his shirt while requesting "all the 15 year-old girls in the crowd scream like they are watching N'SYNC" and launching small stuffed animals into the audience, Urine decided he had enough of performing and in turn launched himself into the crowd.

Surfing away from the security guards, and desperately trying to avoid the girls attempting to rip out locks of the MC with the "punk rawk good looks" hair, Urine made his way to the back of the State Theater and exited via a side door. Following lil' jimmy's lead, Lyn dove into the pit behind him. Unfortunately not getting as much air as her band mate, she met the barricade headfirst. Seeing the error of their playmates' ways and the potential for danger, Kitty and Steve Righ abandoned their positions in the more traditional, safer method of exit stage left.

The audience, still gawking at the blur of lyrics and rock that had transpired from such an odd source, took a minute to gather their wits, and attempted to absorb the rock show that had just occurred. As the confused looks diminished and focus returned to their faces, Clutch and in turn System of a Down received the name chanting and moshing the temporarily distracted crowd had came to Detroit to give.