Sally Fingerett, the only remaining member of the original group, also serves as spokesperson, granting interviews just days after her second wedding ceremony, which joined two adults and three teenagers. If nothing else, the woman is brave.
She and her cohorts sing about what they know, trying to find the humor in their lives through music. "We are all moms, we are all wives, some of us were ex-wives, and now I'm a wife again," she explains. Since they live in four separate cities, they don't get much practice time, but they're able to pull it off, harmonizing behind one another as they take turns soloing during the show. "When we get together, it's pretty much a pajama party on stage," Fingerett says. "It's a musical revue, life according to Four Bitchin' Babes. We do our own hair and makeup." As far as she's concerned, they get to hang out, talk trash, and get paid for it.
Songs range from satires to ballads, some with a country or folksy twang. The dichotomy lies between what they see in the mirror and who they really are. With song topics ranging from ditties about men who do dishes to having compassion for gays and lesbians, they hardly qualify as progressive. The material, frankly, is dated, without the added dimension of being retro. Or maybe that is the fun of it. Penning and performing songs using words like groovy and getting pissed off about being called "honey" in 2003 and seeing yourself as a groundbreaker does have its charm. Fingerett uses the term "cutting-edge." It's hard not to smile.
Audiences seem to respond to them, at least according to Fingerett. "When women leave a Babes show, they feel that they've just had lunch with their girlfriends. For the men, they feel that they've had a peek at their wives in the kitchen when they couldn't get up from football." They'll let us peek on Sunday night.