I broke my face in college and had to get surgerized on a Tuesday morning. Nothing to eat or drink after midnight, so I made the most of it at quarter beers the night before right up until the magic hour. But more importantly, the last song before leaving was Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel. I didn’t find it a good omen, but I survived the surgery and my face didn’t turn out any worse than what I started with. This week the bands will cover a Billy Joel tune – we’ll see which ones survive and which ones flatline.
Franklin Bridge was the first out of the green room this week, and their cover of Big Shot reminded us all how white Billy Joel is. So white that it his songs are funk-proof. I still thought they did what they could with it, but still want to see them just rock out one week.
Cliff Wagner and the Old #7’s were saved from the confines of the green room next and treated us to a cover of You May Be Right. Okay, I confess – I like country music. Not the new Nashville over-produced stuff, but the kind of stuff you find on the AM side when your so far out in the middle of nowhere that even your iPod doesn’t get reception and you get to hear classic country in between the farm report and pork belly prices. Cliff’s version seemed more country than bluegrass and a little mellow, but it made me want to crack open a cold can of Coca-Cola and go on a hayride with a girl in Daisy Dukes and a red and white shirt tied off above her cute little country girl belly button. I hope they stick around.
Denver and the Invesco Field Orchestra somehow survived the cut and left the green room to Tell Her About It. The Invesco Horns rocked it with a version that took elevator music to a whole ‘nother level, but I’m getting bored with Denver. If my wife doesn’t dump me by then, I think I’d still hire them for a 25th anniversary party.
Dot Dot Dot was unfortunately pulled out next to cover Pressure, which they claim made it the coolest day of their lives. If that was true, I feel sorry for them. If not, I resent their insincerity. But I figured out why they bother me so much – they make me regret all the money I spent on bad 80’s music. So it’s me, not them, but I still have to break up with them.
Six Wire came out to perform She’s Always A Woman and didn’t make it their own, but somehow made it the Eagles own. Nonetheless, it turned out to be the perfect end to a night at the barn dance before getting knocked up, getting married and kicking off that five pound a year weight gain until you realize you’ve turned into your mother.
Tres Bien got pulled to perform Movin’ Out and did make it their own. It was a little Billy Joel, a little Beatles, a little Maroon 5 and shouldn’t have worked, but somehow I think they pulled it off. Kind of like Bing Crosby and David Bowie.
The Clark Brothers were finally brought out and did She’s Got A Way. Just when I though they might fall prey to the wussdom of Billy Joel, they kicked it up at the end just enough to remind people that they’re badass enough to lick the batter off the spinning whisks of an electric mixer while it’s still running.
The final band to be saved from the picked-over deli platter and eventual starvation in the green room was Light of Doom who chose to play The Stranger. Unfortunately they did make it their own. I can appreciate a good metal band, but the thing is, unless they are really, really good, it just sounds really, really bad to me. It’s like risotto – not an easy dish to make and even the most expert chefs can screw it up, but it’s very good when they learn the right touch. I have no idea what I’m talking about, but made that all up based on watching one season of Hell’s Kitchen. Risotto seemed to be the dish that brought the wrath of Gordon Ramsey and made contestants cry. I guess what I’m saying is that I’d prefer to eat an overdone dish of risotto rather than be subjected to another serving of these pint-sized doom-mongers.
That means that Rocket and The Muggs get sent to the morgue, where Dicko Was His Name-O declared it death by lead singer. In the words of the late, great Mark Twain, denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, and perhaps the egos leading this band will realize that hanging hopes on frayed vocal cords ain’t gonna cut it while trying to repel into the jagged edges of the American public’s consciousness. I know that last sentence was totally ridiculous, but I wanted to see if I could pull it off in case this Leper Pop thing doesn’t work out and I decide to apply to a pretentious music magazine.
I just noticed that Rubson tuned in to this week's festivities, so keep reading below - he's not an old guy so he knows what he's talking about.