Los Wünder Twins Del Rap are like the Tenacious D of old-school rhyme-spitting: supposed brothers, goofball raconteurs, big eaters, crass sex-talkers. Effect, 23, and D-Tension (a/k/a “D-Tiddy”), 35, don’t confront soul-eating demons like Jack and Kyle do. Instead, they battle earthly villains like frat boys who “attack with a stack of Dave Matthews” and “preppy dudes with shitty attitudes,” whom they fight with Amstel Light and “MySpace Bitches” (the title of their first official single). But by far, the biggest challenge facing these pseudo-super-hero emcees is the bar-lined downtown impasse in their Lowell hometown. Green Day walks the Boulevard of Broken Dreams; Los Wünder Twins Del Rap are trapped inside the “Cul de Sac of Shattered Hopes.”
That’s where Los Wünder Twins led me on a bar crawl last Thursday night. Considering that the un-released track describes this “dead-end street where the people meet” as being located “past the crack whores looking for coke,” I expected our meeting place, the Old Court, to be a total dive. But it’s pretty average, like any other drinking joint in this state: Irish bartender, Red Sox on television, hammered lady sitting at the bar slurring into her pocketbook.
9:22 pm. Los Wünder Twins arrive, looking frustrated. Something about a DVD player. The plan is to hit a few bars along the infamous cul-de-sac before Los Wünder Twins play a three-song set — 11 pm sharp! — at a place called Major’s Pub. Effect sips a rum-and-Coke. D-Tension double-fists a light beer and a shot of Jameson and explains, “We typically don’t perform drunk, but we’re doing it special for you.”
9:38 pm. D-Tension, who also deejays weekends on FNX, excuses himself to field a call. “I had no idea what the Wonder Twins [the boy-girl superheroes created for the ’70s cartoon the Super Friends] were,” says Effect. “No idea. I go over my friend’s house — at that point, we have three songs recorded and I play him a song — and he’s like, ‘This is awesome. What’s the group called?’ I’m like, ‘Los Wünder Twins Del Rap.’ And he was like, ‘Which one’s the girl?’ ” Effect looks embarrassed. “I called [D-Tension] and I’m like, ‘What the fuck?’ And he’s like, ‘Yeah, we’re the most lamest superheroes of rap.’ ”
10:05 pm. The most lamest superheroes of rap face a dilemma. It’s that DVD player again. Part of tonight’s schedule included showing their new video, a silly joint called “Ten Minutes,” on a wide-screen TV after their set. We’re in the bar at Fortunato’s, an Italian restaurant, and D-Tension pokes his cell phone, dialing people who are supposed to fix the television. Effect sighs, “Two DVD players and a roomful of fuckin’ guys. Sounds simple. Not in Low-ell.” Still not working.
10:35 pm. We’ve moved on to Sangria’s, a bar overrun with college-age kids. Tanned twentysomethings scream over Def Leppard. A guy recognizes D-Tension, as do people everywhere we go. He orders a third rum-and-Coke for his co-conspirator, a fifth and sixth drink for himself, and a Red Bull for me, which comes in a glass that smells as if it was rinsed in vomit. We drink quickly.
