As Bitch and Animal tour the United States for the final time, Chicago got one last chance to revel in the dreadlocks, mohawks and gender ambiguity of the drum-n-fiddle duo.

The Righteous Babe Records act stormed the Subterranean at North and Damen avenues on March 18 with queer-pop-punk trio Super 8 Cum Shot and ’80s fitness guru turned “radical feminist” Susan Powter.

Bitch, the fiddle-wielding femme of the group, played the entire set with one essentially bare boob dangling carelessly out of her shirt, while Animal, clad in a vest of what appeared to be polar bear fur, pounded the djembe .

The first time I ever saw Bitch and Animal play was at Indiana University when they opened for Ani DiFranco. I went into the show with zero expectations and they blew me away. Bitch worked a violin in the hoe-down “Drag King Bar” as well as one imagines Animal works a strap-on when she raps about the “best cock on the block” in “Eternally Hard.”

The packed auditorium at IU got caught up in an electric atmosphere and prayed to the Sparkly Queen Areola as one. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the darkness, maybe it was the crappiness of Powter’s pontifications, but the Subterranean show lacked the same energy.

The opening acts didn’t do much to fill the room with the energy Bitch and Animal would need as a crutch later. Super 8 Cum Shot are about as sophomoric as the name would suggest, spraying Heineken foam and Silly String into the crowd while chanting a seemingly endless chorus of “you make me wanna cum.” The follow-up song was basically the same, except the chorus was “I’m a slut.” Admirable, but that alone is not a tale worth telling, my friend.

Animal, in a lukewarm attempt at being inflammatory, introduced the next to follow by screaming, “Fuck Jesus Christ, I worship Susan Powter!” I’m no Christian, but I doubt if I were that bit of poetry would’ve warmed my heart that chilly night.

The alleged radical feminist still touts diets on her Web site, and the bones of her sternum still jut through her now-tattooed chest. Her discourse, theory, mantra, what-have-you are the man-hating, separatist, overwrought, catchphraseology that modern feminism has all but successfully left behind. But Powter drags it back kicking and screaming, alienating the significant population of men and gender nonspecific folk at the show.

As Bitch and Animal bid us farewell, we heard all the favorites. Including the call-and-response “Pussy Manifesto,” which even Bitch didn’t seem to believe anymore, looking bored as can be.

Bitch and Animal are still a thoroughly talented act, blending folk and funk as well as boy and girl-not to mention, giving lesbians something to do on a Thursday night besides sit at home and watch a well-worn copy of “Gia.”

But the Subterranean show was a halfhearted goodbye.