You can’t deny the power of the riff. And frankly, why would you want to?
, opening up for The Queens of the Stone Age at The Dome on Friday night, spilt Rochester peasant blood as people clamored to get closer to the stage. Not since Morphine have I seen a band led by the bass over relentless drum thunder. Heads were removed and given back rapidly and unmercifully at the hands of this vicious duo. It was a band I didn’t know much about, but that didn’t matter when I just let the hooks sink into my skin and take me wherever they intended to go. A new favorite for sure, for sure.
Heroes of the evening, Queens of the Stone Age
, followed with a blistering set, proving that they are the kings of rock
, if not its lone saviors. The light show was garish on its own, but it plugged in well to the band's 90-minute set. It was relentless, big and boss. Melodic to the max.
Saturday night amidst the watfing temptation of barbecue, Steve Grills and the Roadmasters
painted the Dinosaur walls red, white, black, and blue with Grill’s encyclopedic knowledge
of all things blues and a mighty bang and a biting twang. This band will recharge your engine as it gnaws at everything’s rockin’ roots.
Later that night I saw what Mr. Monk would describe as “Ugly Beauty.” The magnificent Nod
was on the Skylark stage with it’s cacophonous dichotomy of salty and sweet. The band
does not play by the rules, diving head-first into the oblivion of Scrappy Joe’s guitar-fueled chaos and the quirky time signatures of the rest. Nod creates its own obscurity and it’s own music. It’s ugly. It’s beautiful. Catch them if you can, while you can, whenever you can.