Our personal friend Dave Alvin has just wrapped up six months of touring. We caught him at the Blue Cafe on Saturday, although he really didn't talk to us that much, so we felt like big poseurs calling him our "personal friend" all week long to anyone who'd listen. At any rate, the former Blaster attracted a huge crowd of dancing fools, including celebrity painter Sandow Birk (who spent the entire evening regaling us with graphic tales of his catheter-the poor man!) and a woman who did a triple-time bump and grind for a solid two hours at the front of the stage, even during the pretty ballads. I think someone was making her wishes known! Dave's brother Phil-who we hear is some kind of math genius and who looks oddly like a car salesman-joined him onstage for "Marie Marie" as did our favorite accordionist, Chris Gaffney of Chris Gaffney and the Cold Hard Facts fame. Were people sitting down, as they did for John Hammond last week? I should think not! The only time it is ever appropriate to sit at a concert is if it's outside on a Sunday afternoon, or you're too liquored to stand. I have spoken.
And since I'm speaking, I'd like to send a shout out to our new friend Bill, who came out for A Very Fauntleroy Hanukkah at the Foothill. Hi, Bill!
Sunday nights are a thing of beauty there now, since Smilin' Rick started booking Surf Lounge. The openers, The Black Widows, had some real nice Dick Dale grooves, and they wear black stockings on their heads. Could you ask for more? Well, you could: the Fauntleroys wear velvet knickers. The stupidity of their act is a wondrous and precious thing, and when Mike Meyer screams, "Oh, baby! I love you!" with all the psychotic rage of Jack Nicholson in The Shining and then threatens to chop off his true love's head, it grows your heart three sizes-just like The Grinch!
Note to Chris Hanlin: it is never appropriate to throw the Torah.