Sleepytime Gorilla Museum 3.18.07

No matter how excellent your job might be, the time comes a long once in a while when the weekend seems like its inevitably escaped your grasp and will never arrive. Even Hugh Hefner must have the day (albeit rare) when he feels outdone and says, "Enough boobs already!" That's how I felt this Sunday. It was the end of a long, busy week, and a much-needed day of rest was soon at hand. Matters are only made worse when the last day of the week presents you with a difficult task, and in my case that's called listening to music that isn't appealing. Frankly, at the Eagle we don't see much that does not appeal to us, so we're all stunned when it happens, somewhat like a normal person would be when they hear the alarm at 6AM after am impromptu night on the town--it's a rarity, but occasionally does happen. Afterwards, I plan to tell you about what a horrific audible trauma I was put through, but only after drinking a bottle or two (vodka or gin--I see beer WAY too much to go home and drink the stuff) to calm the nerves. A few sheets to the wind, I reluctantly convince myself that the music wasn't that bad, and I'll just let it slide and go to bed instead of dissing some poor chaps on this blog.

Dear readers, I tell you those times have changed. I've pulled myself from a babbling mess on the floor with unflinching persistance to let you in on what terror I saw this evening....First, there was a rumbling, and then some sort of nomadic uncivilzed holler-imagine the members of Pantera getting run over by a NYC subway train. Then there was a wild glow of red light. Next, and--people if you've ever believed me believe me now--I looked to the stage and what did I see but satan himself, holy lucifer, come bursting through the floorboards and take center stage, ablaze in fiery red wash, screeching, moaning, scowering, and spewing the most violent, offensive noise I have heard in many, many years. We're not talking about good ol' Charlie Daniel's 'devil' here, but the lean, mean, kill-your-entire family machine that hails from the firely gates of, well...hell.

Now, in all fairness, I will say that these cultish-looking fellows (and girl) were all extremely kind-hearted, as was their devoted following. But possibly never have I heard such a disaray of sounds, nearly throwing me to the ground in unparalleled agony. After thirty minutes of this, I considered sacrificing Joe, my co-worker, just to make it stop. I really don't know what else to say. It was like death on a Sunday afternoon...into evening...then night...then morning....Just like the Taylor Hicks story two weeks ago, you wouldn't believe it if there were not photographic evidence, so soak up these award-winning captures of the devil himself. Really...I still don't know quite what happened...but if I find out I'll let you know. Just remember: It's good to have an opinion.