Tag Archives: grunge

01/26 @ WallStreet in Mboro, TN

30 Jan

I had very high hopes for last Saturday night’s show at Wallstreet. A friend told us to check out Thelma and the Sleaze a week or two ago, and I was instantly in love. I have to admit I am pretty sexist when it comes to music. I am just a fiend for all-female made music, and its harder than you’d think to find good local female musicians/singers, especially in the punk/rock/grunge genre. And even when I do find something I can get into, I tend to judge it on the “local” scale. By that I mean it may not be something I would listen to were it from somewhere else, and a vast part of my appreciation for it is just based on the fact that it is local. BUT this is NOT the case with Thelma and the Sleaze. Its just so good….and I can honestly say I would dig it just as much even if they weren’t from TN. So combine those high expectations with what I already knew of the other great bands on the bill, and as I said I had pretty high hopes. And I was not disapointed.

I had never heard the Stiff Licks before, but they were a lot of fun. Their set seemed pretty short, but it was a perfect opening for the evening- Set the perfect tone.
Roman Polanski’s Baby is always a pleasure to see. The first time I saw them they were playing with a bunch of bands that sounded nothing like them, so I was quite taken back when they started. This was my second or third time seeing them, and I’m not sure if it was the better sound quality of WallStreet or if they have just really stepped up and perfected their sound, but it was a much more polished version of what I remembered hearing before. All I could think was “too cool.” Not in today’s overused sense of the phrase, but in the old school way. Their set is just packed with so much spunk and attitude, and they have their own unique qualities that really set them a part from other grunge bands playing around town right now.
And then came Thelma and the Sleaze. The lead singer’s vocals are absolutely phenomenal and she brings so much presence and personality to the music – through her look, her mannerisms, and, most importantly, her voice. She belts everything out powerfully and perfectly with just the right amount of grit. The same can be said for the music, with each member showing off a great deal of talent. Would love to see them play again soon, while I still can. They are one of those bands you watch and get the feeling that they won’t be local for long. I can see them going far.
And last but not least Young Wolves rocked it as always. I love Young Wolves’ ability to sound great no matter where they play. I have seen them all over town, including outdoors for Tour De Fun, and while the arena usually seems to affect how I am able to judge the quality of the music, this group always seems to accomplish the same effect on me. My only guess is that this is from a well-balanced combination of both skill and distortion.

I have mentioned on here before that I am slowly piecing together a book, and Saturday’s night show was inspiring enough to draw a small bit of writing out of me. I’ll be fitting it into a larger part of a story somehow, but here’s a taste of it….

She belted out something that was either part of a song or part of an orgasm. I couldn’t tell. The two things were one in the same at that point. Maybe it was the alcohol forcing the differences between me and her and us, the room, the music and the edges of everything to all bleed together….fusing together like water twisting down a drain, with me right in the middle of the vortex it created. Maybe it was just my own passion and mania that caused it. Or maybe both. But regardless of where it was coming from, I felt embodied by the music. Possessed. The spirit in the air seemed so tangible I almost thought I could taste it dripping down the back of my throat, like hot cum. In that moment I realized I was a whore for art. It had been a long, bumpy ride. A fiery unstable marriage that had probably gone on too long and everyone wondered why the hell we didn’t just call it quits. But damnit, I just loved her. Couldn’t quit her. That bitch called art. She ran my heart through a pasta machine and was playing cat’s cradle with the stringy remains. But she always mushed the pieces back together again when she was done, leaving me bruised and tainted but still in tact well enough to walk around and kind of pretend to be alive. And the juices from the massacre landed somewhere nearby, leaving a small trace of evidence for everyone to see. I hung those on walls of galleries so that maybe someone would take pity and give me money to compensate me for my troubles.

So there’s that….and that is all.
Soon to come: my take on cosmopolitans and Cosmopolitan, more writing tidbits, and possibly another local write-up this weekend? We’ll see.
XOXO