BELINDA DAVENPORT FOR PRESIDENT.

This is a piece I wrote way back in 2002. It's always been close to my heart. I wonder where dear old Belinda is these days? The band's long since broken up, but I hope she's soldiering on, tearing shit up and positing theories on the universe.

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Belinda Davenport knows all about the aliens. She says, "This civilization can't go on forever. All these flying saucers buzzing us? They're not buzzing us to take over the government, because any alien could take over the government, the planet, like that. An interstellar traveler has the technology to manipulate mass into anything they want. They want more of themselves? They can turn a tree, a rock, a person into themselves like that. Why I think they're buzzing us, they're waiting to find out between good and evil. If evil wins, I think they'll take the planet out. If good wins, then someday they'll make contact. I hope good wins out. I don't want to see the world destroyed."

Apocalypse seems a fitting theme for an evening with Belinda. She is the singer and concept-creator of the Boston band Maggotzoid, a punk-metal hybrid that plays loud and rough. The band advocates immediate, complete reform of all the corruption, hate, and bigotry in the world. Onstage, Belinda wears a black leather bikini, a puffy, curly wig, and stiletto-heeled black leather boots. She paints her face black and white, complete with widow's peak and black-ringed eyes, for shows. Crouched and bouncing slightly, one hand on the grimy floor, legs spread, she chants angrily into the microphone. Her voice is anything but melodic; in fact, it is gratingly Horshack-like, out of tune, and soaked liberally in the most intense of Boston accents.

And yet, Belinda is something of a cacophonous visionary. She is a 43-year-old transgendered philosopher who brings up aliens, galactic revolution, and Eminem in the same breath. She lives with her mother in the projects of Revere, a blue-collar suburb of Boston. The idea that would eventually be the basis for her band has existed since 1974, when at 14 years of age she began conceptualizing the Maggotzoid, a gigantic ship that weighs 600 million mega-tons and is piloted by super-intelligent aliens. When Dan Boucher and John Manson of the art-rock band Neptune approached Belinda about starting a band, she immediately brought up the Maggotzoid concept. The band was formed on the spot.

After Maggotzoid finish their set, I decide to approach Belinda. I'm intimidated by the leather bikini and the way she pushes blindly through the crowd. But later I spot her emerging from the bathroom in a polo shirt, jeans, and a gray military jacket. I pick myself up, walk over, and ask her for an interview. To my surprise, she's very social and very responsive. She agrees enthusiastically.

It's loud in the bar, so I have to lean in very close to Belinda, my little tape recorder whirring between us. I ask her to give a synopsis of her philosophy, which I heard partially when she was onstage, but couldn't quite absorb fully. She moves closer, undeterred by my proximity, and starts right in, her eyes shifting between my face and the recorder constantly.

Many of Belinda's hypotheses come down to good versus evil, and the eventual showdown between them that will either result in the end of the world or the validation of compassion and kindness. It's part of evolution, she says: "You had Neanderthal Man and you've got Cro-Magnon Man. Evolution is gonna create something better. And that something better is going to be Galactic Man or something like that. And Galactic Man wants to build an intergalactic civilization. He ain't gonna be able to do that with Cro-Magnon Man shovin' airplanes through skyscrapers, the whole goddamn bit, snipers, crime, bigots. Galactic Man will wipe out Cro-Magnon Man just like that."

Belinda's rants may sound juvenile, bizarre, or both, but in person she is serious, impassioned, and genuine. She has thought long and hard about her role in the world. In conversation, she is thoughtful and earnest; she adds a confrontational element to the mix onstage. Though admittedly powerless in the world at large, she influences her surroundings through performance. Maggotzoid's actual music seems less the point than the message she transmits; she uses music as her medium because it's immediate, it's accessible, and it draws rapt crowds. She uses it above all to discourage evil and encourage good. "It ain't gonna be the cops or the government or whatever that's gonna make your life better. It's up to you or me. It's how you act," she says.

Belinda tells me she's built to last. I believe it: she biked 20 miles to the show that night, played a set, and was about to get on her bike to head another 20 miles home to Revere. She hopes that Maggotzoid will be able to play more frequently; their previous show was in May, six months ago. She's ready to take on all of the depravity in the world. She just needs a venue.

"I wish I could have done this 25 years ago, but I was emaciated with health problems. Were you around in 1974?," she asks.

"No," I say, sheepishly.

"Well, so you're lucky. Instead of missing me in 1974, you're seeing me in 2002."

Lucky indeed. Safe travels, Belinda.