Hot Rock Week

I got all high stakes last week and gambled a couple important evening hours on some important rock shows—Red Fang, Danava, and White Glove, specifically. All these bands are from my town, and all of them are comprised by one or more of my pals.

There was waiting in line outside in the cold, there was pushing through crowds, there was much getting breathed on. Turns out none of these things are all that bad.

Red Fang rocked transcendent like always. I experienced a rare (and prized!) Christopher J. Coyle sighting, as well as loud-as-fuck guitars. No earplugs. No nothing. You just let it wash over you in its natural, blistering state.

Danava was all hair, denim, and hot licks. The very thing for a glum Thursday when you coulda easily ended up in a downward spiral of Peaky Blinders.

White Glove, I mean it's White Glove! They write songs about Rick McCrank! You go see ’em when you want to laugh and dance around in the front row.