Wednesday
night the sky looked like one big black eye as I moseyed the grey ghost
downtown. I had heard word from my buddy Jason (he’s the one who turned me onto
Morphine) that North Carolina knockout Nikki Hill simply had to be seen. I dove
into the fracas she was creating at Dinosaur Bar-B-Que
and was promptly blown away. So was the crowd who clapped thunderously between
thunderclaps.
The crowded dance
floor was in a rapid boil. This was some of the best r&b-injected,
soul-ified kick in the blues I have ever heard. Hill
commanded the stage perched on sparkly mules and beneath a sky-high turban
channeling the sweet ‘n’ sour bouquet of switchblades that was once held by Etta
James.
Hill’s voice
was sweet with just a hint of ragged rust that shone through whenever she
leaned on a note. This was like a less punk-careening ,
more authentic-leaning Detroit Cobras. Her band was top notch as it wove
through a set of awesome originals, punctuated by some Little Richard, Otis
Redding, Irma Thomas, and so on.
Between
sets, I stood out in the parking lot with the band discussing its expert take
on TarheelSlim’s “Number 9
Train.” How do you like that? I thought me and Steve Grills were the only ones
around who cared about Tarheel Slim.
Nikki Hill
returns to Rochester to play Abilene in July. Be there, I’m warning you. Hell,
I’m gonna go twice.
This article appears in May 22-28, 2013.
Don’t forget Little Ann!