If you wanna see who's looking at you, or more importantly, who's looking out for you, the next time you go out leave some crumbs or dried-up BBQ sauce in your beard. Or better yet, leave your fly down and see if anyone says something. More on this in a bit after these important messages:
On a sad note, this week legendary Rochester band The Fugitives lost its original drummer, Bobby "Bamm Bamm" McCarthy to heart attack. McCarthy was key to the band's driving sound and image. The Fugitives, all grease and tailpipe exhaust, played barroom rock 'n' roll. The first time I saw them in Shatzee's on East Main way back in 1987, it was pure, denim-and-leather swagger that left me with scars that haven't healed yet.
After scouring the supermarket for paleo alternatives to grub and surreptitiously trenchcoating the local bookstore for recipes, I high-tailed it over to Three Heads Brewing for the rock 'n' roll carnage unfolding therein. It was a double bill starring Anamon and Periodic Table of Elephants, with close to 300 eager fans. PTE casually mounted the bandstand first, and for the next hour commanded it with the endurance and power of an angry heavyweight with an ingrown toenail. The sound was thick and dangerous in its dexterous, mid-tempo grind. The band was joined by one of the Three Heads, Geoff Dale, for a couple of Matthew Sweet covers, in which Dale exploded out of the gate with two impressive leads. Sweet.
Anamon has its own rules in its approach. For instance, the twin-guitar attack proves there are no wrong notes. Saturday night was no different, with the band slugging away melodically. With over-the-top prowess, Overhand Sam shaved off bits of sound that supported Ana Monaco's voice, which incidentally sounded particularly big and sweet Saturday night. Sweet.
I was talking earlier about messy beards and unfastened dungarees and how they can be a good indication as to who has got your best interest at heart. Well it's plain to see that the people at Wegmans, Barnes & Noble, and Three Heads Brewing have no love for Frank. I include my wife in that list, but I must say she's getting better. I got home from my excursion and went in directly to see a man about a horse, only to find my fly was down - meaning it had been open all night. Thanks, everybody. Now you don't have to police my crotch 24/7, but a nice, discreet "Dude, you're letting the horse outta the barn" would be swell.