O'Brien's did some major redecorating, as there were
brightly colored balloons and bunting hanging all over the place and bowls of
lollipops for the alcoholics and drug addicts to enjoy while Electric Wizard
blasted over the PA. Actually, the decorations were for someone's birthday, but
I can dream a little, can't I? This is stoner rock, after all, the fucking Land
of Dreams and Fantasy.
New Small Stone employees Sun Gods in Exile kicked off the festivities with a set that sounded as if the Nuge had stormed the stage during an Allman Brothers show and proceeded to solo over everything. In other words, it rocked. Nothin' too fancy going on here, just solid blues-based hard rock that will go down well with those of us who have a hard time figuring out how to open a can of Schlitz.
Cocked 'n Loaded, Boston's very own version of AC/DC (if AC/DC lived in Allston and ate burritos), rolled up on stage next and delivered the goods. Frontman Kyle strutted and stumbled around the stage, exhorting the crowd to drink and get drunk and shit like that while the band laid down a bed of rock solid basic meat and tomatoes rawk.
But what's this? After Cocked 'n Loaded finished and they all retired to the men's room (for reals), their alter ego, Night Prowler, emerged, bewigged and reborn, and threw down a set of Bon Scott-era AC/DC chestnuts. Calls for "Sink the Pink" or "Flick of the Switch" were either greeted with contempt by the band or outright ignored. Lead guitarist Matt ripped it the fuck up on guitar, nailing each and every Angus solo and basically putting on a workshop of How It's Done.
And then, my friends, T. Rashed, Allston's very own T. Rex cover band, clamored up on the stage and proceeded to play a set of T. Rex covers which wasn't really that bad for a bunch of dudes who sounded like they haven't actually listened to T. Rex in oh, about ten years. It was a little "loose", shall we say, but we all got the point, and the songs are great no matter how much you butcher 'em. Craig and Tim from Roadsaw, on drums and bass respectively, along with Dave and Stan from Cropduster, plowed through a set of prime Marc Bolan without a care in the world, and that's really what it's all about with this stuff. It doesn't matter if you know the chord changes or how the verse goes, just fucking turn your amp up louder and play the damn song. Kudos, gentlemen. Kudos.
Then it was cake time, and oh, how we ate cake. We ate the shit out of cake. Because really, isn't that what rock is all about? Cake? And balloons? And beer? The answer is "fuck yes".
New Small Stone employees Sun Gods in Exile kicked off the festivities with a set that sounded as if the Nuge had stormed the stage during an Allman Brothers show and proceeded to solo over everything. In other words, it rocked. Nothin' too fancy going on here, just solid blues-based hard rock that will go down well with those of us who have a hard time figuring out how to open a can of Schlitz.
Cocked 'n Loaded, Boston's very own version of AC/DC (if AC/DC lived in Allston and ate burritos), rolled up on stage next and delivered the goods. Frontman Kyle strutted and stumbled around the stage, exhorting the crowd to drink and get drunk and shit like that while the band laid down a bed of rock solid basic meat and tomatoes rawk.
But what's this? After Cocked 'n Loaded finished and they all retired to the men's room (for reals), their alter ego, Night Prowler, emerged, bewigged and reborn, and threw down a set of Bon Scott-era AC/DC chestnuts. Calls for "Sink the Pink" or "Flick of the Switch" were either greeted with contempt by the band or outright ignored. Lead guitarist Matt ripped it the fuck up on guitar, nailing each and every Angus solo and basically putting on a workshop of How It's Done.
And then, my friends, T. Rashed, Allston's very own T. Rex cover band, clamored up on the stage and proceeded to play a set of T. Rex covers which wasn't really that bad for a bunch of dudes who sounded like they haven't actually listened to T. Rex in oh, about ten years. It was a little "loose", shall we say, but we all got the point, and the songs are great no matter how much you butcher 'em. Craig and Tim from Roadsaw, on drums and bass respectively, along with Dave and Stan from Cropduster, plowed through a set of prime Marc Bolan without a care in the world, and that's really what it's all about with this stuff. It doesn't matter if you know the chord changes or how the verse goes, just fucking turn your amp up louder and play the damn song. Kudos, gentlemen. Kudos.
Then it was cake time, and oh, how we ate cake. We ate the shit out of cake. Because really, isn't that what rock is all about? Cake? And balloons? And beer? The answer is "fuck yes".
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