with Beings and Heartstrings
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Churchill's Pub, Miami
Better than: Washing Kat Stacks' lacy unmentionables or rather, just as good, depending on the mood you find yourself in.
Kind readers, you've known me now since 2003 and you know that I've never been much for lying or holding back, it's just not my bag. So please forgive my kind and cirrhosis-stricken liver when I forget facts and moreover, the fact that I am yet to replace the digital camera I made mincemeat out of a year ago when I try to describe these fantastic rock and roll moments I happen to find myself in. Forgive me, your humble narrator, please.
So we're in Little Haiti proper and because as of late we really can't make a head or tail out of the new Churchill's time-based protocol I arrive early on the premises and am treated to Heartstrings sound check. These are my notes whilst I was getting thick in the drink:
"The room's mostly empty and that's alright, the singer's got moppy long hair and Mehkago N.T.'s singer's holding down the drums, ... poppy, like a good blend of what's coming, heavy and sweet and did these fuckers just do a rendition of the "Mashed Potato" that got me moving in my seat?"
Yes they did. I wish I had a digital camera to record it. Once the venue filled out, Heartstrings tore into their set with gusto and panache, true makers of their own destiny. I wish I knew more about these fuckers, I wish I had something else to share about them, but I don't. Just keep an eye out for their next gig, it's gonna be good.
So, on the personal side-note you've all come to vicariously expect from me when I get thick in the drink, I bumped into some real luminaries of the current South Florida music landscape. Shroud Eater was out in full force, Chuck Loose was there looking slim and delicious and at this point, Beings took the stage.
Talk about local musical pedigree. They rocked the joint like my ex-wife's lawyer's nasty late-night phone calls; that shit was hot, touring did these guys a favor. Michael and Ivan and Betty gelled like an old time unit on the stage and it was unfortunately over way too soon. Their CD is out, pick it up. Don't be a douche.
And to finalize the parade, South Florida's dastardly loud incorrigible sons, Torche, took the stage. And let's set aside the panty-fits, and know me for who I am: I liked four-piece Torche much better than I like three-piece Torche, but what is done is done and three-piece Torche soldiers on with amps turned high and Steve Brooks' mustachioed vocals bring us all home with a good blend of newer and older songs. I'm getting to like three-piece Torche better every time!
They have a couple of releases out right now that fall into that "collector's" market and you'll be wise to pick them up. It was a great show; all three bands brought the goods and at the end of the day, that is all that matters and you, dear readers will understand that.
Lest of course, you'd rather I report on my sexual escapades with numerous, vacuous bitches from the Jersey Shore realm... STD's? As long as they are cream-treatable! And did I hear Steve say: "Take a shit in the pit! I want to see white people move!" (???!!!) Maybe I did, maybe I didn't!
Critic's Notebook
Personal Bias: None. I had a good time. Oh yeah. I need a camera.
Random Detail: I wish I had more cash to hit up the merch table!
By the Way: The bar staff was awesome, as usual.
Overheard in the Crowd: "Fuck bro! I thought Rick Ross and Flo-Rida were supposed to be here!"
