According to the latest analysis by insiders who frequent the exclusive music scene down in Tucson, Sidewinders' home base, Slutes should be a centimeter away from death at Chuy's. Every lock of his sandy-blond hair should be pulled out, each scrap of his dusty Western clothes torn off, and his face covered with toxic amounts of heart-shaped lipstick imprints.

The cynical word down in Granolaville is that major label RCA Records inked Sidewinders last year to a fat cat eight disc deal for a reported six figures-in-advance bonus money all because of beefcake singer David Slutes. Some black-wearing Old Pueblo scene-makers think that any one of three other cool Tucson bands could've been signed as easily as the 'Winders, but that major labels have dismissed them because their singers are either too chubby, overly quirky or just plain fruit -loopy.

And even though Slutes throws back his wave of hair and laughs off this analysis backstage at Chuy's, there's evidence that the record world has been cooing mover over his mega-cute boyish mug than his often-thoughtful lyrics and throaty garage rumble of a singing voice.

Why just the other day, a peon from RCA's international division sashayed up to Slutes in some fluorescent lighted hall and peppered him with a few helpful tips on becoming a rock star. She didn't tell him how to make a hit record-the band's debut, Witchdoctor, is already showing faint signs of becoming just that-but she did suggest another strategy, that of Bruce Springsteennegger:

"Dave, you're the front man of a rock n' roll band. You look great. Start pumping the iron a bit. Start pumping the iron a bit."

If you've heard Sidewinders gigging, you know this is irony you usually have to pick up an Enquirer for. Of all the topflight bands working the hep underground circuit in Arizona's second biggest city, the 'Winders would be the last you'd expect to be surrounded by record business hype. Sidewinders are a no-manure allowed group of three amigos and one amiga who pride themselves on being to Tucson what the tough guy Replacements are to Minneapolis.

It's easy to come up with the formula for their aural attitudinalizing. If you've been running around the desert in 100 degree heat all day scrambling for gigs, setting up rehearsal time and losing more body fluid than even a dozen Big Gulps can replenish, you're not going to waste precious energy overdubbing synth flourishes, writing songs in bizarre time signatures and warbling in a British accent. And chances are, your tunes are going to borrow liberally from old Tucson pseudo cow-rock legends like Naked Prey and Green on Red. Slutes and guitarist Rich Hopkins write three-chord, face full of dust and grit pop songs littered with nods to those groups. You know, gritty new takes on the old verse-chorus-verse thing.

"I think the Sidewinders can do for Tucson what R.E.M did for Athens, Georgia." - RCA publicist Sheryl Ingber

"Scary, scary statement." - Rich Hopkins

Hype? Tucson's best band ever? Postmodern guitar rock living legends? Oui, oui, oui. Sidewinders rule dude.

Someone at RCA obviously told the promotion staff to get clever on the Sidewinders project. The PR whizzes at the label have given away free chips and salsa, free rubber snakes and free Sidewinders yo-yo's to glom attention for the band.

"I don't have control of the band as much as I used to," Hopkins chortles.

"I'm expecting to come into a town and there's gonna be Dave Slutes action dolls," quips the singer, smugly invoking the third person.

Actually, there is an explanation for at least one of the promotions. Hopkins and bass players Mark Perrodin "like to play with yo-yo's during soundcheck," reports drummer Diane Padilla.

At Chuy's, there is no soundcheck. Hopkins had held a yard sale earlier in the day, and he and Slutes had to haul ass up I-10 from Tucson to get to Phoenix by 8.

When Sidewinders begin their set, Hopkins plays the opening notes, the ringing riff to "Bad, Crazy Sun." Slutes, looking more like a model in a Chaps cologne ad than perhaps he'd care to admit, hunches over the mike and growls, responsibly about illegal aliens meeting their demise in the desert. A beauty king with brains, musical skill and...a conscience? Perhaps.

Slutes, in these short months of being RCA's sex symbol, has already found a way to combine the all-man image and his music. When Sidewinders warned up for pinup boy Charlie Sexton on a recent mini tour, Slutes would say, "This is the title track off our record, and it is on MTV."

As if it's any surprise, Slutes found himself besieged by autograph seekers of the completely opposite sex on those occasions.

Slutes is getting more serious at Chuy's. He's getting down. Looking remotely like sometime Tucson resident Paul McCartney, the future Teen Beat pinup thrashes at his left handed acoustic guitar through a couple more chips and salsa, ranch flavored ravers.

It is not until the fourth song, Sidewinders' totally serious, barroom remake of Neil Diamond's "Solitary Man," that Slutes lets loose with a seductive grin that seems epic-like in the smoky haze. By the end of the fifth song, a preachy Sidewinders original called "Cigarette," Slutes owns the room. Midway through the song, he's run his hand seriously and sensuously through his hair.