Fan-fucking fantastic show. Even though the drinks were'n't cheap and it wasn't ladies night, the band was __tight__. The Mudshark, Simmons, diminutive poots of Hothead, Willie The Pimp, Little House I Used To Live In, it touched a lot of stones that have been lying around for the last 40+ years in this old heart. I fully expected Artis to materialize there too.
I was once again very glad to have had the opportunity to see and hear those uniquely seasoned slices of torqued pentatonic madness lifted up into the evening airs. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Kudos to Dweezil for not only carrying on the old mans articulations, but adding to it. There is no where in the musical oompahs that express that spirit like this.
I love Sheila's saxworks, Jamie shreds, Pete lavishes tiny equations on the manifolds of musical destiny, Billy brings it in crazy twisted pulsing patinas and of course, Joe's singing is positively equivariantly helical. Ben does add a dimensia or two.
But hey, so glad you made it to Seattle, my deepest commiserations regarding the effects of bad parenting and golf courses. Per usual, there's standing invitations to dinner Chez Highmen.