The Daddies drive an eclectic funny car of funk, punk, ska, blues, metal and be-bop tunes, all fueled by a frenetic jazz-swing sensibility. This is Cab Calloway-meets-Johnny Rotten, or the Duke Ellington Orchestra pumped up on steroids and caffeine. Joining the Daddies will be a host of local favorites: Waterman's Hollow, Ball of Destruction, and the reunited Big Feeling.

The Daddies recall a day when live music was more than three fat guys dressed in their underwear, sporting dreadlocks, and sweating over their Fender guitars, amps turned up to 11. They recall a day when the audience actually danced, jitter-bugged, and fox-trotted, rather than standing mute with heads bobbing in unison like a scene from Orwell's 1984.

When most bands today are content to rehash old punk sounds or steal riffs from Led Zeppelin. The Daddies prefer to flip the calendar back to when big-bands ruled the dance floor. Their music is a manic celebration of the days when alternative music was heard in gin-soaked, beer-stained, smoke-filled jazz halls adjoining brothels in the red-light district.

Atop the swing of the band's jazz you can hear strains of Parliament Funkadelic, crumbs of barrelhouse rhythm and blues, snippets of ska, and huge whiffs of in-your-face punk rock, resulting in a truly original and fresh sound that is sure to get any music fan foaming at the mouth.

The band is the brainchild of Steve Perry, singer, songwriter and musical visionary. On stage, Perry becomes MC Large Drink, an over-the-top hyperkinetic performer prone to appear in a variety of wild costumes and to leap around the stage with the energy of a pre-Ritalin addled four-year-old. On the phone, however, Perry is pensive, articulate, and intelligent. Today he is concerned about the attention his band is getting from major labels, concerned because he fears the band being pigeon-holed. "We won't move to a major label if we have to give up some of our vision, if we have to compromise the way we do songs the way we want to do them," he says from his home in Eugene, Ore.

It's no wonder that Perry fears being asked to compromise. Virtually since the band's inception in 1989, it has been surrounded by controversy and efforts to squelch the band's vision. In their notoriously politically-correct hometown, their full name -- The Cherry Poppin' Daddies -- has led to boycotts, protests and threats.

"Our name was created as a reference to our swing roots," he explains unashamedly. "For us, it had a swinging old New Orleans dirty jazz connotation. It also refers to a coming of age, the whole Holden Caulfield thing. The controversy has actually endeared us to the name: we are much more loyal and committed to it than before. Now we've thought about it so much that it has a multi-layered, prismatic stigma."

Passions run high when the Daddies play. People either love or hate the band. But that doesn't bother Perry too much. "If you just liked us when you first heard us, you'd probably be indifferent to us now. The only way you can be loved by someone is to pose a question to them first, sow a seed of doubt in the way they see the world, make them dig deeper. I do that in my songs, on the stage."

But the controversy has left him disappointed as well. "We worked hard at creating these pristine nuggets of meaning, but no one appreciated it. I think I overestimated the intelligence of people. They reacted to us in black-and-white terms, with no room for gray area. No appreciation for the ambiguities in real life.

"My songs are often narrative, but people forget that the narrator may be unreliable."

One of the songs that Perry was criticized for was "Drunk Daddy" which contained the lyric "Smashed my sister," regarded by many to promote violence against women. But the whole song is actually a tough and poignant look at child abuse at the hands of a drunk stepfather: "Drunk daddy broke my fingers/Drunk daddy done kicked my head/Drunk daddy smashed my sister/Turned my world blood red."

The songs acquires an even deeper meaning when explicated by Perry. "It's not a cut and dry soap opera situation: he's a victim, but he's also whining too much, refusing to deal with the situation in a proactive way."

The Daddies' vocalist fell in love with swing as a child when he hung out in a coffee shop that had a jukebox with many old swing songs. Following the breakup of his band St. Huck, Perry wanted to create a band that caused people to react viscerally rather than passively. He wrote a play based on characters from his childhood coffeehouse.

"Each character had a different musical style associated with him. I had to get together a horn section to do the swing and jazz songs." The play never materialized, but the band debuted with the horns and the swing, and the reaction was tremendous -- no one had heard anything quite like it before.

The Daddies have released a number of singles and one CD, Ferociously Stoned, on the SubPar label (a satire on Sub Pop). The CD was a huge success, and still enjoys brisk sales. They have a new CD, Rapid City Muscle Car coming out soon, again on their own label (no renamed Space Age Bachelor Pad Records). Their shows are multimedia, visual, sweaty extravaganzas that could please your Cab Calloway loving grandfather (as long as he doesn't understand too many of the lyrics), your disco-queen Aunt and your headbanging little brother. Whether you decide to hate or to love the Daddies, I dare you to do one thing: stop tapping your feet.

Preceding the Daddies at the Met Friday are a spate of local bands receiving votes in the Inlander's Best of the Inland Northwest Readers' Poll for Best Rock Band: Waterman's Hollow, Ball of Destruction, and Big Feeling.

Waterman's Hollow play a quirky, hard pop with ringing guitars, obtuse lyrics, and floating melodies. Someday soon you may be saying "I saw those guys way back when..." as you hear their songs on the radio. They have matured into one of Spokane's most popular and solid bands, and their live show, featuring the panther-like stage prowling and growling of singer Todd, is always energetic.

Ball of Destruction also follows in the guitar driven pop-rock groove, and boasts some of the best songwriting in the Inland Northwest.

Remember the days of the Dream Syndicate, the Replacements, and Rain Parade? The tunes are powerful and memorable, the execution strong. Big Feeling evokes the same feelings as they return to the stage following a seven month hiatus to showcase their Celtic-tinged rock songs and violin-driven melodies. Some have called it Death Folk, others Van Morrison fronting the Clash. Whatever you call it, it starts at 8 p.m. sharp. So be there.