After just barely getting to New Dodge Lounge in time to see the end of the Meltdowns, I got to catch Dan DeMaggio of his City Chicken Orchestra before he went onstage. Dan, quite rightly, gave me a hard time about the description I used of his group in the paper ("Boozy spoken-word blowhard Dan DeMaggio hurls his song-poems at the audience to gentle musical accompaniment.").
According to DeMaggio, what irritated him wasn't that it was inaccurate. He conceded his blowhardosity and booziness. “But, ‘song-poems’? Who the hell wants to go see ‘song-poems’? Especially when they're being hurled at you?"
Well, the good news is that plenty of people stayed to hear them. Not exactly a packed house, but, with the exception of those of use who love DeMaggio's ravings, the taste for DeMaggio is an acquired one. All went well enough, at least until Dan announced he would read "East Side," a piece he read a few years ago at Motor City Brewing Works' This Week in Art series. Soon, local trapsman Charlie McCutcheon was standing there in disbelief, finally sitting down on the stage. A woman stood in front of DeMaggio, looking ready to throw a drink in his face before leaving, flipping the bird as she walked by the bar's window. Hell, even the New Dodge shut down his spotlight a few times before he finished up with a rousing rendition of a song by Roxy Music. Maybe not the most distinguished night of entertainment in Hamtramck this past weekend, but DeMaggio deserves props for risking shame, insults and the occasional drink in the face for his art, and for our entertainment.
Dan DeMaggio introduces "East Side."
Perhaps an irate East Sider? She appeared to be flipping Dan DeMaggio the bird as she left.
Charlie McCutcheon looks on in disbelief as DeMaggio reads more of "East Side."
Clearly still on a performance high, DeMaggio poses with MT scribe Corey Hall.
DeMaggio basks in the glory while Jennie Knaggs sings an impromptu song about "chili fries" at the Campau Tower, a fitting end to Blowout.
Holy shit, I love the Blowout. I may have only just arrived home (at what I thought was 2 a.m. but what my computer clock is telling me is 3 a.m. – damn) and therefore still be enjoying the memories that are very fresh in my mind, but I think that this year's Blowout is the best festival ever put on anywhere in the world. Ever. Frankly, you can stick your Woodstock up your ass.
Having lived in London for 10 years and traveled extensively, I'm fairly sure that this is a festival that could only happen in Detroit. In London, New York or L.A., the venues wouldn't pull together in this manner and there wouldn't be enough decent local bands to make the thing work. As an Englishman who chose to live here 14 months ago, I truly believe that this is the greatest city in the world, and the Blowout highlights the fact.
As for the Saturday bands, there was too much great stuff going on for my mind and body to compute so, like Thursday, I wound up dashing from venue to venue and seeing 10 minutes of many acts. I did it for you, dear readers, in order to give you as good an overview of the whole evening as is humanly possible. I'll summarise:
The Displays – Refreshingly full of youthful vigor and a scary amount of talent. Nice and noisy, they perhaps herald the return of quality garage rock to the city.
The Ruiners – Like the New York Dolls with a girl backing singer. And the singer lit his pants on fire!
The Sisters Lucas – Angelic voices and a pop / Americana sound. A left-turn in style for the festival, but a welcome one.
Gardens – Like Elvis Costello singing for the Rezillos, only not as good.
They Never Sleep – Psycho punk – singer Mike Hard looks like he wants to kill everyone in the audience. Awesome.
Lighting Love – Bless 'em. The Belmont was full to capacity for their set of songs that wouldn't sound out of place on the Juno soundtrack. Singer Leah Diehl told me that she thinks I'm to blame for the large attendance because of my feature on them in this weeks Metro Times, but she's just being modest.
Magic Shop – Detroit mods.
Gorevette – Nikki Corvette and Amy Gore collide, hence the name. Can you see what they did there? God, I loved their rockabilly covers.
Decibilt – Former members of Forge summon the spirits of Anvil, the Scorpions and Quiet Riot with their metal riffs, catchy choruses and extended guitar solos. Great fun.
Pinkeye with John Sinclair – By this time in the evening, I was pretty much brain dead. Hence, I could appreciate the talent of the individual members of Pinkeye and I could enjoy John Sinclair's poetry, but my mind couldn't handle the stretched out jazz space-jams.
Bluesong – Stoner rock with a '70s kick. Like Bad Company jamming with Kyuss.
The Detroit Cobras – What can I say? They were the Cobras. Great choice of material well played. The ultimate party band and the perfect finale for the festival.
And with that, it was all over. Next year's festival can't come soon enough..though I'll probably be sleeping until then.
Laura: We started off day three of Blowout right with pierogies at Polish Village.
D'Anne: Those were some good pierogies. Definitely not on my diet.
L: Diets are for housewives. Only a fool would go to a multi-day event in Hamtramck and NOT partake in good Polish food.
D: I know. When in Rome, do the Romans and all that...
L: Um, yes. That's exactly the expression. So after pierogie time, we made our way to Kelly's to see Elle & the Fonts.
D: Elle was looking very fetching, rocking the tights and the mini skirt. Like a femme Joan Jett.
L: Yes. Though I distinctly remember cookies being promised. I'll let the lack of said baked goods slide, seeing as she greeted us enthusiastically by name as we walked in.
D: That was a nice way to start the night. She has a very charming stage demeanor. She should totally play lesbian bars — she'd be a shoe-in for groupies.
L: Yes — but wouldn't that make her a v-jay tease? You shouldn't mess with lesbian hearts; those ladies are crazy.
D: True. There was a really good turnout for Elle's set.
L: Indeed — save for a couple drunken assholes who I suspect are Kelly's regulars, the crowd was great.
D: After Elle, we got back in the car because you're too lazy to walk. Then we drove to the Painted Lady, aka the smoke coffin. I am pretty sure I got cancer from going there two nights in a row.
L: Very possible. But Allen James and the Cold Wave were worth it.
D: True. I didn't know Ryan Allen was in that band.
L: I don't think he is, but he was playing with them that night. But he seemed so into it and knew the songs so well, you'd think he was an official member.
D: Exactly. The sound wasn't great so it was hard to get a feel for Alan James' vocals.
L: Even when he said the name of the songs I had a hard time understanding him — but I'm pretty sure one of his songs was called “Popcorn Scissors.”
D: No doubt. He kind of sounded like a less whiny Adam Duritz but without the fake dreads. Or a younger Tom Petty. Without the fake dreads.
L: I can see that... I got a bit of a Buffalo Tom vibe. Maybe some of the Walkmen. It was a really good set overall.
D: We saw I, Crime next.
L: Yes — They've been on my “to see” list for a long time now.
D: It was super crowded there — we couldn't get very close to the stage. I usually like to get a band's sweat on me the first time I see them, so that was a letdown.
L: Yes, the Belmont isn't my favorite place to be when it's filled to capacity. And it was filled to capacity. When we were leaving, there was a line to get in.
D: I want to know about their name — is “crime” being used as a verb or a noun?
L: I don't know. I'm sure there's a Schoolhouse Rocks episode you can watch that will help you with that. Because of the sardine can-like conditions, we didn't stay long, but they sounded really tight. I liked their third song — when the girl sang lead -- the best.
D: Onto Paycheck's for Wildcatting. I didn't know that they didn't have any words in their songs.
L: They're exceptionally good at what they do. I've seen them a couple times, and this was probably my favorite set by them.
D: I'll bet they are the only band who does a freestyle kazoo jam during Blowout.
L: Quite possible — but there's still tonight, so you could lose that bed. I predict the Detroit Cobras have that same trick up their sleeve.
D: I like that they gave out free CDs.
L: Yes. And then you gave away my free CD.
D: Well, I didn't give it away — I traded it!
L: It doesn't matter — it's just another example of your complete lack of concern for my feelings.
D: The Wildcatting CD had really cool cover art. It's a shame you don't have one.
L: Shut up. Well, there's one more night of Blowout left!
D: Yes. Who knows? Maybe I'll trade your car for a Wildcatting CD.
L: Awesome.
Man, I felt exhausted going into Blowout after putting all the editorial stuff together. and, today, finally, I'm an absolute zombie. But I figured I'd better scribble down a few random thoughts from these last three nights of my second-ever Blowout, which Brian Bowe once described to me on the phone as "Detroit's South by Southwest." Well, not quite, exactly... although the weather last night made it pretty damn close, at least in terms of atmosphere. So before I forget everything, as my throat gets sorer and my head begins to ache even more, here goes:
Day 1: It doesn't really matter who plays the Pre-Party, I've figured out... and in a couple of cases, it really didn't matter who was playing this year's party, and I mean that literally. It seemed like I spent a little too much time earlier in the evening trying to find melody (and I don't mean Baetens... although I think I did see her but there were a lot of people I thought I recognized across a room that night but wasn't quite sure; it was that kind of an evening). But the Pre-Party is really less about the music than it is about the socializing (it's actually all about the socializing), and it was nice to run into a lot of current and old friends -- Bootsey X, Kevin Knapp and John Sinclair, among the latter -- a few of whom I haven't seen since last year's Blowout. Visiting was nice, even if the dude in the KISS makeup with the gray beard onstage at the Magic Stick kinda scared me, as generally do big, burly guys wearing Viking helmets and playing heavy metal. The Gepetto Files' Brown Streaks routine was kinda amusing, though, I guess.
When I later walked back into the same room, I was greeted by what sounded like a wonderful, white soul/R&B cover band, sorta like early J. Geils Band or the Rationals, complete with a Hammond organ, courtesy of a former Sight, being played by one of the strangest-looking bands I've seen it all these years of seeing bands. When one guy stands 12 feet tall and the other two are shorter in stature, the tall dude should probably be standing on one of the far ends of the stage and not between the short guys, symmetrically and aesthetically speaking. But that's just my opinion.Meanwhile, the singer of the Wrong Numbers had this absolutely terrific soulful voice but still made me think of It's Pat! from Saturday Night Live, thanks to the shtick. Well, I think it was shtick. At least they didn't scare me...
Appreciated Octopus's energy, although I once again couldn't find melody (Baetens or otherwise) there, either. The hooks didn't grab me the way I thought they would, based on the hype, although the sound in the room wasn't great. Nevertheless, the drummer still played like a multi-armed octopus and was quite impressive overall. Would like to see them elsewhere sometime. But Silverghost totally managed to bring it home; damn, Marcie is a striking performer and personality... and the duo was probably the most exciting thing I experienced the whole night. Outrageous Cherry delivered as well, though their sound was also pretty sucky...and it's a shame that Eve's well-planned and thought-out time schedule was already off, as Silverghost started before Matt and crew took the stage (it was supposed to be just the opposite), but the crowd had increased by the end of their set. Matt's an underrated guitar player. I think that every single time I see him play.
The Meatmen have been saying they suck for decades, probably since the first time I saw them in the early '80s at Club Doobee in East Lansing... and I guess I suck as well because I decided to split early in their set.
Day 2: Started the night at Paycheck's, which is awfully underrated as a venue in this city. The sound there is always terrific, the sight lines are great, and there's always space to move your arms and stuff (unlike a few other places this week). But I also felt it was my journalistic obligation and responsibility to check out Last Tourist, especially since one of their members has been one of my biggest fans and supporters since my return to Michigan, making me feel right back at home with his occasional glowing comments and diatribes. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to experience, as some of the things I'd read compared the group to Radiohead and Jeff Buckley... and while I'm an admirer of both, to an extent, I also found myself wondering if Detroit, of all places, really requires a Radiohead/Jeff Buckley hybrid (although in a national music scene that seems to take something like A Flock of Seagulls "seriously," that's probably a moot point). But I walked in right as they were finishing their first song -- and the second tune, "Up in Spades," killed with pop glory and hooks galore. One of the dudes onstage was wearing a Wilco shirt, and while I'm showing my prejudice here, I found myself thinking that although I'm not sure if Detroit needs a Radiohead/Buckley band, we can certainly get behind one who likes Wilco (who's mistakenly, at least imho, been referred to as "the American Radiohead"), right? At any rate, I guess I may have heard those aforementioned influences in the band's final song, which must be their "hit" as far as their fans are concerned, judging from the reaction and recognition. But what wasn't too like? The singer is pretty damn good, a lot of the material is radio-ready (whatever that means in 2009), and the band is tight, including my friend. Every part of me enjoyed it. Even my credentialed old man prostate.
Headed over to Atlas Bar to catch Billy Grogan's Goat 'cause I'm half-Irish and 'cause I liked the CD they sent me. Was surprised upon my arrival to find two of my fave MTers, Megan O'Neil and Bernadette Brown, working the door, which, symbolically at least, added to the Irish spirit and made me think the planets must be aligned. Also bumped into another of my biggest local blogger fans who suddenly wanted (kinda demanded even) me to tell him that I love him... even though I don't think I told the last two women I slept with that I love them and they'd never written vicious lies about me on the Internets... so whatever. Anyway, the Goat band was good and rowdy -- playing punk-ish versions of (mostly) Irish folk tunes. Their new CD sounds a lot more polished than they did live. But then, there are no soundchecks at Blowout, and methinks you could do a lot worse on St. Pat's Day than catching a show by these guys in their natural habitat. I was watching them with my back pressed to a wall, when some dude started talking to some chick at the bar and seemed to think I was actually part of that wall (or at least invisible) as he leaned practically on top of me. I was just about to say, "I wasn't aware that you owned this wall," when I thought better of it (and was later glad I didn't when I discovered the dude did own the wall and the building that housed it, literally). I decided I was probably due back on planet Earth by this point and so I split the place.
The KofC tends to suck you in once you get there, you do lose all sense of time and space, despite everything sounding so bad in both rooms. My friend Kevin managed to drag me away temporarily to catch Mick Bassett & the Marthas (featuring the leader of the JSB Squad on bass for this particular gig) at Small's; Bassett sounds a lot less like Dylan (not that there's anything remotely wrong with that) when he has a band behind him...this one (shades of "Rainy Day Women") including a female trombone player. Regardless of what influences might be there, though, the guy is great on both a songwriting and performing (not to mention a "rock star") level. Back at the KofC, though, Deastro failed to impress with a band behind him (although his online fans are blaming the sound, and I can believe that); "Joy Division," I thought to myself after two songs... before Kevin said, "Ian Curtis for a new doomed generation." I was bummed the schedule in the lounge was running on time. The Atlas had been at least 20 minutes behind schedule, so I'd gambled, betting every place would be behind, and just missed seeing Daniel Johnson. But if his sound wasn't much better than Zoos of Berlin's was, it's probably best to catch Daniel elsewhere later on anyway. And the Silent Years' thing this year was far too ambitious to achieve without a soundcheck. It would be akin to, say, Brian Wilson's current band playing without one. Good idea; good band; bad sound and acoustics. And yet, I had lotsa fun Thursday night. So go figure.
Day 3: If any name will stand out from Blowout 12, it'll certainly be Matt Jones, who delivered a stunning, early 9:20 p.m. set. The Atlas Bar's 61 capacity had to be double that by the time the Ypsilanti troubadour -- who almost looks like a comic strip character, sort of this big goofy kid -- took the stage (I later joked to Eve that the next time MT calls someone the "must-see" of the weekend, we should book him into an even smaller club). But being uncomfortable aside, the music presented by Jones -- who was accompanied by violin and cello -- was gorgeous, exquisite... the superlatives could go on and on (although I'm always baffled when one-third of a crowd wants to yak and yak despite some stark, beautiful music being played right in front of them). Although part of the Ann Arbor folk-rock revival, Jones's music transcends merely one genre, and sometimes might better be described as baroque or orchestral pop. His guitar work is superb; his idiosyncratic voice -- sometimes reminiscent of young Steve Forbert and a slew of other historical antecedents (a few "new Dylan"s among them) -- rich and warm; his stage persona's engaging; his songcraft extraordinary. (I discovered this afternoon that his new CD's a perfect companion to a rainy and dark day.) I asked him afterwards if he was playing South by Southwest this year and he said he wasn't; that he didn't "have the right connections." Connections? Damn. This guy should have connections throughout the musical universe. He could be very big, whatever that means today -- he's certainly that good and deserving of all the hype. Since he reportedly loves Springsteen so much (perhaps in the same way someone like Badly Drawn Boy reveres the Boss), I thought it might be cool to end with a silly nod to Jon Landau and say I've seen the future of folk-pop and its name is Matt Jones.
Stuck around for Battling Sikis in the same club (my favorite early Stones album, Out Of Our Heads, blasting from the sound system was enticement enough to stick around) and was amply rewarded by Scott Harrison's whiskey-soaked voice backed by a thunderous band that included a new bass player, as well as rock 'n' roll star Eddie Baranek (who, unlike so many before him, actually keeps playing when he's doing those groovy little rock star dances) and drummer Dave Knepp (aka Mr. Eve), who's a mofo on the kit. One of the best I've seen in Detroit, and that's saying a lot.
Then it was onto the packed Kof C (which really missed that food stand this year, btw!), where I once again got sucked into the vortex and never even found the people I went there to find. The Dirtbombs actually sounded good in the room, as good as they did when I saw them in L.A. (once with the Cobras), but, believe it or not, the sound in Hollywood's Knitting Factory was never that good, either.
Saturday still looms and the scary thing (though not the same kind of scary as big men wearing Viking hats in 2009) is there are more bands I want to see tonight than any of the previous three. Guess I'll just have to flip a coin and hope for the best, although I may have to slightly favor Spitting Nickels, if only for a little while, 'cause they sent me an e-mail this afternoon with a photo of Mamie Eisenhower in it, and, hell, Mamie Eisenhower is always funny. In fact, I'm heading out the door just as soon as the Boy Howdy! T-shirt is finished drying and the second side of Cat Scratch Fever is done playing...
By the way, if you're coming to this blog for the first time, please go back and read some of the postings that have been written here since opening night. Excellent and frequently hilarious reporting from the likes of Daniel Johnson, the Wonder Twins, Brett Callwood, Chris Handyside, and others. The best commentary you'll find anywhere about Blowout this week, as well it should be since it's our festival. Have fun tonight...
Started out by checking out the amazing guitar heavy pop of Citizen Smile at Small's. Reminiscent of early Teenage Fanclub and bass player Adam Padden is arguably the Paul McCartney of Detroit. Besides, any band with a singer named James Brown is cool with me.
Keeping the ridiculously good guitar pop alive at Small's was Eric Weir's new band Solitary States which did a killer version of "Ever Fallen In Love" by the Buzzcocks. Both bands have an album in the works. I can't wait.
One of the things I love about Blowout is when you get to see a heavily hyped band and they wind up being all that. Case in point: Millions of Brazilians, who are easily one of the most high-energy acts in Detroit. Consider me a big fan.
Went to the Painted Lady to catch the Pizazz who practice a more lo-fi yet psychedelic form of pop. They just finished recording a new album with the Go's frontman Bobby Harlow. Can't wait to hear that one, either.
Ran back to Small's to catch Mick Bassett & the Marthas. I don't understand why Mick isn't bigger. He's one of the best songwriters in Detroit, backed up by one the D's best bands.
Finished the evening at the Belmont catching Timmy's Organism...which is what happens you strip Human Eye of its (awesome) punk and performance art aspects. What's left? A balls out full-throttle rock band.
All the high-volume indoor energy aside for a moment, it is Hamtramck's dense urban grid that is the real winner in the Blowout story. It's in this space, built for people - - simply put -- where all kinds of community life is possible. It's here, man, to paraphrase Dennis Hopper's crazed photojournalist in Apocalypse Now, it's really here.
I've been in this wondrously over-stimulated space through every official Blowout, 12 and counting. And I was here to see the Clash roll into Lili's in 1980, saw something special in a red-leather clad haircut band called the Romantics in a now-demolished Jos. Campau bar called the Misty Inn before that (1975-77). Saw the legendary Mutants in the same location at the same time ... and I'll stop there before I date myself too horribly.
Now, I look down on the street (thank you for that, Stooges) from my second floor window and see rock 'n' roll girls and boys on the sidewalk below, walking and talking on their way to, you name it, K of C, Small's, the Belmont, THC, Whiskey in the Jar, Painted Lady...all within spitting distance (thank you, Sex Pistols) of my house.
Kids on the move, on foot (where else can we perform this natural human action, well, shit, so naturally?) right outside Paycheck's (more memories from the early 1980s: the Gun Club, Sex Gang Children, seeing John Cale stumble out of his limo, incoherent and limping, during his sad post-Velvets years). They move up and down Caniff, Conant and back to the concentration of stages on Jos. Campau between Evaline and Trowbridge. You see the kids (of all ages) ducking into Detroit Threads and Record Graveyard, where club clothing and vinyl still rules over all, and into Cafe 1923 and Design 99 --all playing a part this weekend and part of the fabric that helps hold this town together the year round.
Dammit, this urban space is the mutha-effin' place! How many other ways can I say it? It's my party (and yours) and I'll stay happy (thank you, Matthew Smith, my neighbor) here if I want to. And I do, dear Blowout friends, I do.
Daytime Blowout music at Cafe 1923 (2287 Holbrook, Hamtramck).
Enjoy children's music by the Mydols, CelloBella and Danny Kroha. Starts @ 2:10 p.m.!!
One of the many epic Blowout 12
adventures last night was the Hadituptohere's late set at Kelly's Bar,
which started like a punk rock insane asylum, and then came totally
unglued from there. Bodies slamming, drums, guitars, arms, and elbows
flying, along with a heaping helping dose of crowd surfing made this
one a Blowout classic. When the well lubricated boys started knocking
the signs off the walls, it was management's turn to suggest it was
time for them to go (and the word 'banned' was bantered about)...but
not before the MetroTimes video interns got it on tape, so stay tuned!"
Here's a pic from intern Drew: http://www.flickr.com/photos/
Love and fat kisses to the tubby push-tit with the beard/black-rimmed specs combo who continued to smash my toes with his giant size 12 or whatever boots whilst traveling in and out of the Atlas Bar. The tops of the feet this a.m. are hued in peculiar shades of crimson. Neat. Could only hope the very pretty and sparkler-like flickers shooting from the old, yellow-y smoke filtration machine on the Atlas' ceiling wouldn't spark some Great White flare-up, as the venue was double capacity before 9:30 p.m. The (audible) sparks gave Matt Jones' timely and soothing "Holy Light" the allusion of a patron clapping off-time in the corner with wood chucks ... the sparks became otherworldly, against the cello and violin, acoustic guitar and the rise and fall of Jones' underrated and perfectly pitched croon. Push-tits aside, the set was all goosepimples, and Battling Siki played clean-up wonderfully at a good 115 db. Daniel Johnson echoed my observations (in his post below) about the night overall and the sparks became the metaphor ... they were everywhere, on and on, as beer and cries and shouts and sweat flowed. One of the better attended Blowout night in the seven festivals that I've seen.
We made five stops last night and they all had one thing in common: they were packed to the gills. I found this amazing, the sight of the tiniest of dive bars like the Painted Lady and Whiskey in a Jar and Kelly's just totally banging. And people everywhere seemed really, really happy. I had a thousand conversations and I don't remember a single one of them having any bile at all.
I wish I could say that my body was Blowout proof because this morning, I woke to find: OUCH. I guess that three nights in a row that end in whiskey collapse will do that to you.
If I were a more cautious man, I would sit tonight out in deference to my body. But I am not a cautious man, and tonight is going to be off the hook as far as I can tell. Just don't count on any Sunday-morning recaps because: OUCH.
I woke up on Friday morning with a bad case of what can only be described as Blowout-fatigue. In other words, I was knackered. These frantic late nights out on school nights soon start to take their toll. So as Day 3 of the festival loomed, I decided that I was going to take it a little easier. Rather than dashing around to see as many bands as I could, taking in ten minutes here and there of numerous sets, I would pick a select few out carefully and amble around Hamtramck at a more sedate pace.
And so it was that I wound up at Paycheck's to see the Jehovah’s Witness Protection Program. Aside from that stellar name, I’d heard good things about this duo who come off like an early Dinosaur Jr. I wasn’t disappointed, though while wondering if there was more fuzz coming out of the amps or on the faces of the musicians, my fiancé Toni coined the term ‘grizzly chic’ in celebration of the many attendees who seemed to be sporting beards in tribute to the band. From that point on, all I could see was facial hair. Time to leave.
The Belmont was full to bursting for I, Crime’s set so they must be worth a look, right? Wrong. Run of the mill indie that not even a female, Celtic sounding singer could save.
Bored out of my mind, I ducked into the nearby Trowbridge House of Coffee, just to see what was going on. Madame XD actually turned out to be one of the most joyous surprises of the festival so far (along with the Wrong Numbers on Wednesday). Female fronted and sporting some exotic-looking instruments that probably have names I can’t pronounce, they pummeled through a set that seamlessly blends garage rock and traditional Asian music, including a cover of Sonic Youth’s “Kool Thing”. Awesome.
Vivian George’s set at the New Dodge was the one I was most looking forward to tonight, and the songstress was predictably fantastic. I was told that she had only had one practice with her newly-assembled band, which is ridiculous because they were as tight as a duck's ass. It shouldn’t be surprising; Novadriver guitarist Billy Reedy, Crud / Charm Farm drummer Eric Hoegemeyer and Orbitsuns man Sir Tim Duvalier (taking bass duties here) are all seasoned musicians and masters of their craft, and they helped turn George’s set into something really special. Falling somewhere between Patti Smith, Melissa Etheridge and Alannah Myles, her songs are as introspective as they are fun.
I ended my evening at the Knights of Columbus Hall with the Dirtbombs. Somehow, I’d managed to never see these guys live before and they were as good as I had been constantly informed. Not even the crippling acoustics in the room could hold them back, as they brought the night to a close with a genuine bang.
I'm still shagged out though. That Saturday morning lie-in is sure going to feel good.
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