Weaving through Denver Music, Art, Culture, and Life
Portland singer-songwriter Mirah introduced herself at the Hi-Dive Sunday night by saying “My name is Mirah, and I think I’m actually wearing a bra!” In one simple, quirky sentence about a slightly provocative item of clothing, walls of listener/performer separation instantly evaporated, and we felt as close to Mirah as her skin-tight shirt.
The last time I saw Motörhead was with Black Sabbath at the Paramount Theatre, some 10 years ago, and Lemmy looked older then than he did Saturday night at the Fillmore fronting his legendary metal band.
In front of blister-fast rhythms and searing metal riffs, Valient Himself screamed songs into the mosh pit on subjects ranging from how poorly George Bush is handling this country and the Iraq war . . . .
Drew Daniel bounced around his table like an animated mad scientist leaning over his mixing boards, laptops and synths and frantically grabbing, mixing, and manipulating sounds. M.C. Smith sat at his table fingering his synth, and then strumming, scratching and hitting the strings on his guitar. Over their heads played a black and white video of a young blonde Adonis-looking character, masturbating in a hot tub.
Take that thick, moonshine-soaked, screaming guitar work, along with inherent lyrics about living and driving (just like the Duke boys) between the still and the roadhouse in your tricked out Charger, or in your pick-up — complete with confederate flag and gun rack — and add a healthy dose of Cramps-style psychobilly and AC/DC-style metal and screaming — and you come close to what Nashville Pussy serves up on stage every night.
Though [Patrick] screamed often in anger about the disgust he holds for the situation we find our society in — centered around the Iraq war, but certainly not limited to it — he could have been reading off of cue cards at times.
