Boston Rock Photos And Stuff
In contrast to the adrenalin rush of a show Radio has going on upstairs, Moe’s Lounge is featuring some engaging, stripped-down performances. Earlier in the night I caught Ryan Lee Crosby bleeding blue. Now, Lonesome Red are delivering some stark Americana. Sometimes all you need are a guitar, a couple of drums and some voices to carry a tune.
I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’ve never seen a more accurate description of a Cocked N’ Loaded show than what Richard Bouchard wrote on Boston Band Crush when previewing this show:
Cocked N’ Loaded play some of the best drunken, we-can’t-believe-this-hasn’t-gone-flying-off-the-rails-yet rock anywhere; frontman Kyle Neeson is as depraved on stage as any Florida bath salts addict, and at least twice as cunning, so watch out.
The band lived up to every word.
After a youthful burst of punk rock from Problem Child, I head on down to Moe’s Lounge to see what’s going on. Ryan Lee Crosby’s tortured Telecaster is reverberating off of the wood paneling. They say guitar playing is all in the fingers. Ryan’s fingers sound like they’ve experienced one hundred years of sorrow. They leave quite an impression.
Teenagers have been starting punk bands for over 35 years now. While I wish more kids were doing it, I wouldn’t exactly call it uncommon. You know, pick up a guitar. Learn a couple of chords. Convince your buddies to start up on bass and drums. Play a bunch of basements and parties for your friends, maybe a couple of all ages shows. Drive 207 miles to another state to open a crazy-over-the-top-rock-n-roll show at Radio.
Wait, what was that last part?
The last part is exactly* what Problem Child did. This trio of teens made the trek from Williston, VT to play at Radio the other night with Cocked N’ Loaded, The Acro-Brats and Black Thai. This makes me happy.
* Maybe not exactly. I estimated using Google Maps.
Talk about a night of great songs. First we had Airport. Now, The Rationales.* On a Sunday. I’m alive and well at Radio, but I feel like I’ve died and gone to well-crafted-pop-n-roll heaven. We’re spoiled, folks.
* The Wooden Sky from Toronto topped the bill for a perfect songsmith trifecta.
Ever since I heard Go Up, Airport’s glorious take on the sounds of ’70s radio, I’ve been meaning go to one of the band’s shows. I won’t say who’s fault it is,* but I hadn’t been able to make it happen. That all changed Sunday night at Radio. I finally got to catch a set from the sonic sons of Jackson Browne, Tom Petty and Joe Jackson. It was worth the wait.
* Clearly mine. I’d be quick to point out if someone else was at fault.
Muck And The Mires owned Precinct on Friday night. The closest thing Boston has to The Cavern Club got shaken and stirred by the closest thing this town has to the Merseybeat sound.
Fat Creeps buzzed their way through another set at Precinct with snappy beats and lyrical wit. Dig it.
If Parlour Bells got things steamy, Aloud got things sweaty! Talk about a band that leaves it all on stage. The music flows from every pore of their body. Aloud put on a powerhouse performance to cap off an amazing night of music at TT’s.
A huge thanks to Aloud, Sidewalk Driver, Dirty Wings (who came up from NY), Parlour Bells, Boston Band Crush and Daykamp Creative for a wonderful evening. We were so happy to be a part of it.
A couple of weeks ago, we presented a show at TT’s with our good friends over at Boston Band Crush. Sidewalk Driver was on the bill. I may have posted some pictures of these guys before. I kinda sorta like ’em a little bit. They’ve got these songs. Really cool songs. Songs about magnets and Tad’s face. And they play the hell out of ’em. They do all that while blowing confetti all over the friggin’ place.
One of my favorite things about a Sidewalk Driver show is telling my boys about it the next morning. As I was describing this particular show, Big Little One suspected I may be embellishing the tale a bit.
“You’re teasing.”
I assured him I wasn’t, although I understood his skepticism. It all sounded to fantastic to be true. It was too much for his six-year-old brain to process. I paused a minute to let him take it all in.
Then I told him about the parachute…
