It wasn't a huge crowd, but I was still impressed with the hundred or so who braved the outdoor suction to catch the Cheetah Whores with Velvet Elvis at The Club at Water Street Wednesday night. "I'm here to support the Whores," I overheard a girl say as she handed her ticket over at the door. "You gotta love the Whores." And I do. I mean, who doesn't? This band is a beautiful disaster that prevails in spite of itself. To watch the band play is to see it teeter on various precipices. And the direction the band is taking lately has seen it switch from a soul train to a lowrider. The sound seethes with a primal, psycho-sexual beat. It reminds me a bit of The Cramps. The lap steel is a nice touch, especially when wielded as a theremin. The vocals are a nice touch when wielded as a come-on. The drums are a nice touch when wielded like a tantrum.