This is an mp3 blog attempting to document the gross amount of music I listen to. About once a day, I'll post something I like. If you're a copyright holder on anything I host, get in touch, and we'll settle things in a steel cage instead of a courtroom.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Run For Cover 5

The night started off pretty well. They fixed the air conditioner at the Black Cat, so it was no longer a sweltering circle of Hell. Met up with Amy at the Red Room Bar downstairs, and all was going great until Sarah K showed up, a girl I drunkenly slept with last summer. Details aside, things quickly turned sour, so I repaired upstairs to watch the groups, all of which were tribute bands.

First up was These Charming Men. Their set was filled with odd choices, just the kind to be made by obsessive rock nerds. Who else would open with "Death of a Disco Dancer?" I do have to say, though, they were uniformly excellent, even if it took two guitarists to cover for Johnny Marr. The guy playing Morrissey was SPOT. ON. He didn't crack a smile the whole time, he had the glasses/hearing aids/shirt tucked in front but not in the back/cheap necklaces/quiff thing going on, and his vocal impersonation was unbelieveable. Even his cutting asides between songs sounded like what Morrissey would have done. There were people hurling gladiolas on stage, and it was the only set that night where the audience was as much a part of the spectacle as the band. They closed with one of my favorite love songs, "I Won't Share You." I rushed the stage to hug the Morrissey with a huge, dumb smile on my face.

Next up was Jerry Curlen and the Fried Abortions. They did a blistering set of Angry Samoans songs. If you're not down with the Angry Samoans, fuck you. In an age where bands were taking themselves way too seriously, these guys were writing songs like "You Stupid Asshole" and "They Saved Hitler's Cock." This is music for juvenile destruction of property. Anyway, the Fried Abortions best song of the night was "My Old Man's Fatso." I can't believe the crowd wasn't into it. The Angry Samoans go OFF!

Following the Fried Abortions (lord, that's unspeakably fun to type), Declan McManus did a short set of Elvis Costello and the Attractions covers from the My Aim is True/This Year's Model era. Their outfits were perfect, and the guy playing Costello did a fantastic vocal impersonation. I had had enough to drink at this point that I began to half-believe it really was Elvis Costello onstage, and that this was him apologizing for the last fifteen years. The high point of their set came during "Allison," which scientists have verified to be one of the ten best rock ballads of all time. The lighters came out, and I had my arm around a fat chick who was crying and singing along.

Wolfsblood followed with an okay Misfits set. Wasn't great. Their guitarist did a good job, though, as he perfected the squealing, trebly sound of the old Misfits records to a T. Danzig is a difficult vocalist to imitate (my friend Andrew once described him as a "pop top lounge singer"), but this guy's limitations forced the band to focus mostly on the Earth AD stuff, which was easily the weakest material the band ever released. They didn't play "Last Caress," thank God, and they did close with "I Turned Into a Martian," so I have to give them credit for that.

After Wolfsblood's set, I had to make my way to the bathroom to bleed the lizard. In the process, I almost got in a fight with a 6' 2" guy that could have easily killed me with his bare hands. Thanks to the interference of a drunk stranger slurring "yoo guysh don wan get kicked out, d'ya?" my neck was saved. I stayed back for Fairy Peril, as Jane's Addiction is one of those bands who has only four or five songs I like. The group consisted of a bunch of fat guys in wigs, mesh shirts, and fairy wings, and that's something I don't much care to stand near. The chick playing Perry Farrell did look like him though - that is to say, stupid hair and sagging tits. Not the best performance of the night, but it wasn't bad.

The Violent Feminists played next, and as you can guess, it was an uppity broad take on the Violent Femmes. Since the Violent Femmes have exactly one song worth getting excited for ("Kiss Off"), I wasn't too into them. They were dressed up like fictional WOMYN heroines - Annie Oakly, Wonder Woman, Xena, and Rosie the Riveter. I made fun of the bassist's sideburns and heckled them with misogynistic comments. Yeah, I was that drunken asshole that's at every show.

Thankfully, the Rockers showed up to save the day, killing it with some vintage Thin Lizzy covers. "Jailbreak" has one of the single best guitar riffs ever written, and I wish I had had more energy, but I was starting to pass out by this point. I estimate that at this point, I had consumed the equivalent of half a case of beer. I wish I remembered more about their set.

Jamwhitey were up next, and they sucked hard. I don't even know what the were playing, but it sounded like Boring White Music for Boring White People. Also, I didn't want to black out in the Black Cat, because I'd wake up missing my wallet and my anal virginity. I couldn't bear to listen to Jamwhitey anymore, and I certainly wasn't going to sturggle to retain consciousness during an Eddie Mony set, no matter how cool it would have been to see an Alice Cooper tribute. So I stumbled out of the club to drive home. Although, I did have to stop to throw up. On 395, one of the busiest highways in the country, bathed in the light of the Pentagon, I was on my hands and knees puking my guts out. I rule so hard. All things considered, it was a kick-ass night.


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