SATURDAY, APRIL 14: Okay, so lets do this. First of all, I was out on a Friday night and I never go out on Friday night, not because of any bridge and tunnel B.S (I live in Brooklyn, I am the tunnel) but because I’m usually really sleepy and now that I’m over the age of 25 I can’t hop out whenever I feel like it with 110% of all my energy packed into a smile. I’m grumpy and my feet hurt. So now, like many of my aged brethren, I live mainly for that Saturday high.
However, this week was different: the weather gods had alerted their many minions, the weather people, that storms were a-brewin’. And not just any kind of storms but something called a “Nor’ easter”: a storm so wet and soggy that I had, according to all those around me, “never experienced the likes of!” I had to politely remind them that I was from the desert and I could drive with one knee through a tsunami, drag from a one-hitter with my left hand, switch channels with my right and pull my foot out of a flip flop plus apply mascara at the same time. My friend Alice looked at me confused and I mouthed “flash flood season” and then said in my normal voice, “We have them in California.” She nodded and then countered with, “But these storms are crazy!”
Anyway, these nor east storm monsters were set to touch down on Saturday so knowing I had to write this pile for Monday I dragged my grumpy PMS ass (oh yes, you did detect correct!) out of the house to the opening night of what promoter Todd P described as “a cozy new little venue” called Don Pedro’s. My friends Buddy, Alice and Danimal picked me up at my door in Buddy’s Volvo (my favorite car ever! And front door service, what a double treat!) Everyone was really smiley and the car was warm and I felt almost immediately better. And what a happy happy happy surprise! (this is the no sarcasm part) Don Pedro’s was around the corner from my house and really was cozy, a nice little bar with a tiny Christmas lit stage and downstairs basement for card playing and fooze ball playing and smoking and chatting between bands. The locals were Brooklyn Mexicans (don’t let me blow your mind all at one time!) sitting around drinking teeny Coronas and wearing Ranchero cowboy hats.
TK Webb had just gone on when we walked in and instantly I was converted. TK Webb live is my new favorite everything. He was bluesy and rocky and rough and soulful and captivating and clear.
Alice and I stood front and center and swayed and slapped and clapped and hooted. I have been watching a lot of TV this week due to a recent loss of job (Monday to be exact) and so I found myself on the couch in my pajamas in my own Maxi-pad (crib) during the day wanting to shove a pencil through my eyeball, while Hee Haw left every morning on her way to work.
Which led me to Iron Chef and Bobby Flay’s invention of the fancy Toad in the Hole. You know Toad in the Hole, right? The thing with the egg in the toast? TK Webb made me think of that. In fact, even though he already has an album out (the fantastic Phantom Parade), I would re-name it Toad in the Hole. It was as if Vietnam (the band) morphed slowly into one guitar player and became TK Webb. And standing alone on the stage he was angry, passionate, sweet and convoluted and with a little bit of a tummy ache. Oh wait, that’s me in my dreams.
Speaking of dreams (can you tell I’m getting sleepy? My segues are sucking) Greg Ashley’s Medicine Fuck Dream, with members including parts of Gris Gris and parts of Brian Jonestown Massacre, also played and they sounded exactly like what I just described. In fact that’s my review of them, so hold on while I copy and paste: “Greg Ashley’s Medicine Fuck Dream, parts of Gris Gris and parts of Brian Jonestown Massacre.” So in other words: brilliant. Good show, great times. So if you’ll excuse me, I have to locomote. I have a date with Melrose Place on the couch. A really good show. Oh just shut up–you try being funny all the time. Seriously, shut up. It hides my vulnerable insides–my invisible husk.
Reporting live from New York,
I’m Nikki Darling and you’re not!