It was a busy week
here at F Word HQ, starting off on Wednesday, February 20. I went to Record
Archive’s Backroom Lounge, where folks jammed in to hear Escape Terrain jam out
on the smooth side of instrumental jazz. Apart from some Stevie Wonder
wonderment, for the most part the band traversed original terrain with some
deep dives into funk and some creamy soul.
I was once again in
the Backroom Lounge on Friday, February 22. People who were there for the
Fickle 93.3 happy hour stuck around for the dissonance and ragged grace of
Buffalo Sex Change, who confounded a few with its drive and VU-type cool, and
played with an indirect nod to Nod and Scrappy Joe alt-tuning. ‘Twas raw and
right on.
Following Buffalo
Sex Change was Albany’s Shana Falana, who brought
psychedelia mixed with a kind of lost innocence, like Mazzy
Star playing at being a genie in a bottle. Once Falana
rubbed the lamp, the music floated unfettered and free, captivating the
curious.
Same
night, different set of circumstances entirely. Classic
bands like Journey, Cheap Trick, The Stones, and The Who are missing original
members due to death, retirement or irreconcilable differences, but I can still
rock with the remnants.
Pat Benatar’s lead guitarist and lead husband Neil “Spider
James” Giraldo blew through town, landing at Montage
Music Hall with Derek St. Holmes, who was Ted Nugent’s guitar player and singer
on the early stuff. As a fan of classic rock, time marches on when it comes to
seeing my favorite bands alive and intact. I’ve seen Nugent do “Stranglehold”
live, but never with its original singer, St. Holmes. I got to hear it on this
particular night, but without Nugent. And though the silver-coiffed Giraldo didn’t sing any Benatar
tunes, that in-your-face flash guitar still hit the nostalgia bone. And man,
what a gentleman.
***
Goddammit, those Lake brothers are something else.
Every little thing they get there greasy mitts on turns to rock ‘n’ roll gold.
I went to check them out at Abilene on Saturday, February 23, in their newest
inception. Reminiscent of The Jam, The Shine blazed through a set as it opened
for The Surfrajettes, Toronto’s all-female, instrumental surf sensations. The quartet hung ten–or
rather, 40–for what seemed like 700 fans. It was sardine city, so packed in
fact that I couldn’t tell my pockets from anyone else’s around me. By the way,
Lenny Polizzi, I have your wallet.
My last stop of the
night was to go experience Sole Rehab at an undisclosed location on the city’s
north side. The place was packed with a sea of bobbing heads as DJ Nickl burned down the house.
Everyone was
dancing, everyone was moving. Everyone but me, which gave me
a kind of slow-motion vertigo. But the music’s throb won me over, and by
the time I left I was groovin’ in my car. I simply
couldn’t help it.
This article appears in Feb 27 – Mar 5, 2019.
