Whitestarr, for openers

   So there we were, Matt and I, sitting along the side wall, people watching while we were waiting for the show to start, and all I could think of was how many people had cameras with them. The guy on the phone had been adamant that they were not going to be permitted, but as far as I could tell, no one at the door had been looking for them. Indeed, even those in plain sight, like the girl at the front of the line with it hanging on a strap around her neck, hadn't even been given a second look.
   The doormen didn't seem to be very diligent about checking anything. Although it was an all ages show, the establishment was licensed to serve alcohol. So anyone over 19 got a green wristband, which meant they could get served at the bar. As we filed in, the doormen asked everyone, "are you nineteen?" and anyone who said yes got a wristband. I didn't see any ID checking going on.

   The "theater" was basically a dance club with a stage. The only seating was one long padded bench along the entire length of the east wall, faced with small, square tables every three feet, or so. The center of the room was one big dance floor, with several standing height tables scattered near the back. Matt and I took up a position along the wall, about a third of the way back from the stage. Because the tables and seats there were raised, we could see over those people standing on the floor in front of the stage.
   The opening act was a band called Whitestarr, one of the members of which had accosted us in line with a microphone and a video camera. He thought he was clever, but when he started with me, I replied to his wisecracks with my own, and left him completely speechless a couple of times. In the end, he told me, "you know we're going to edit this so that the parts where I'm making fun of you stay in, and the parts of you making fun of me are cut, don't you?" With that he moved on to accost some easier targets.

   Eventually - only fifteen minutes late - the show started. The members of Whitestarr filed across the stage, and took thier places. The clown who had interviewed us earlier followed them onstage wearing what looked like a boxer's robe with the hood up, and proceeded to disappear behind the amp stack at the extreme right hand sideof the stage. When they began playing, I scooted down onto the dance floor in order to see around the amp stack and find out what instrument the guy was playing.
   He wasn't. He was dancing. I swear to God! Dancing. You know how a lot of those Rap acts have sexy girls that accompany them on stage and Go-Go dance? The band's website MySpace page (warning: explicit content in the songs playing at this page) lists this guy's position in the band as "movement." Picture an overweight, hairy, bearded, talentless, rhythmically challenged, geek Go-Go dancing. Wait. Stop. Don't picture that. Oh, is it too late? Sorry.
   These guys were pretty good. Their sound reminded me a lot of Alice Cooper, and they did seem to be throwbacks to the seventies. If you check out some of the pictures at their website, you'll see what I mean. They had several songs I thought had a great hook. My favourite went: "I would take you out dancing, but you're too good looking." They were, however, somewhat lacking in the actual performance area. Tempo problems were evident in almost every song. The guitarist played no fewer than four different guitars over the course of the set, and had them all fed through some kind of digital effects pedal that he couldn't stop playing with. Unfortunately, none of that could disguise what was lacking in his playing. This guy would benefit from less time playing with toys and more time actually working on mastering his instrument. Even Matt, with less than a year and a half of basic guitar instruction under his belt was unimpressed.
   The lead singer doffed his t-shirt after one song, and it quickly became apparent that was by design, not because he was hot. He was wearing low rise jeans, as low as he could without them actually falling down. So low that a little tuft was evident just above the belt buckle. At one point, one of the girls in the audience yelled out, "pull your pants up." I kid you not.
   At least if his rock singer gig doesn't work out, he'll have a long and successful career ahead of him as a plumber. Dude! Your smooth and supple abs may be a turn on to the girls, but your ass-crack never is. If you're gonna hang your pants that low, don't turn around, OK?

Stay tuned. Juke Kartel hits the stage next.

tags: Family, Music