long live the Rev!

You all should know by now that I had been trying to see the Reverend Horton Heat for a very long time now. 6 years, is it? And it's not that I became a fan and was like, oh I'll go to that show someday. No it was like every year he came to Sacramento, sometimes multiple times, and every year I was out of town on that date. Every year. That made me immensely upset.

But now I live in the Big City, where so many bands come through that I can no way afford to go see them all (I don't have to mention that ticket prices here are not as we say cheap). But I got word that the Rev was comin 'round. I checked my calendar out of old habit. Wait a minute! November 16 is a Friday! I won't be out of town until Saturday! Yes, that's right folks. The universe narrowly missed a chance to thwart me once again. I think I uttered a little (read:big) yelp of surprise and utter joy (surjoy), so much so that when C came into the room, I was already buying tickets. Since C has seen me suffer through my years of Revlessness, I was able to buy a ticket for him too.

Then the day came.

The opening band is one I have never liked. Their name is Nashville Pussy. So I planned on taking my sweet time getting to the show because it would be *ok* if I missed them, just this once. But even after a leisurely dinner accompanied by strawberry-pineapple juice (yum!) we were still early. There was no coat check, so we stuck out a place along the rear wall lest some asshat hillbilly spilled beer on my warm fuzzy coat or my Good Time Tiger (that's a backpack shaped like a tiger that goes fun places with me) and des would have to choke a bitch.

This is the point in the evening where I discovered that there were bathroom attendants. As I made clear when I saw Dick Dale, I hate bathroom attendants. I do not need someone to do the following:
1. turn the water on for me
2. pour soap in my hand
3. (not) turn the water off
4. hand me half of a paper towel. Now, I'm frugal with my paper towel usage, but seriously, half is not enough to dry even my tiny hands.
So anyway this person did all that, and since I hadn't planned on having it done for me, I did not give her a tip. It was not a service that I wanted and to tip her would only encourage more of the same.

Back to the show.
NP was still craptastic, but they are good at what they do. The chick guitarist and bassist had the rock thing going on, one sporting a fishnet shirt with black bra, the other wearing a low cut denim vest which showed her bright red bra. The singer looked like that dude you see angrily yelling at passing cars while sitting in his lawn chair, drinking a beer in front of his trailer. This is the look they were going for, and they pulled it off. I cut them some slack because I *do* like live shows, and they managed to do that thing that I like that makes the bass line pound in your chest outbeating your heart. Plus I had a rum & pineapple to kill the time. So NP wasn't as bad as I'd prepared myself for. I still wouldn't see them by themselves, but as a first act, whatever.

Up next was Hank III. You may have heard of his father, Hank Williams, Jr, or his grandfather, regular Hank Williams. Hank III's band was drums, a steel guitar, a fiddle, an acoustic guitar, and an upright bass. I felt like I was in a honky tonk bar and I loved it. I also realized that a cute cowboy twang isn't so bad. That is until Hank changed his vest and took off his cowboy hat to reveal long metal hair. There were a coupla switches on stage, and my cute little country band turned into a hardcore / death metal band that was so bad that I seriously considered shooting myself as a way out. Luckily, I had no gun. But I was in a really bad mood for the rest of the set, not helped by the drunken frat boys being overly homoerotic and invading my space a little too much (read: when they stepped on me and I kicked them with my doll shoes, they did not notice).


This tiny dot is Hank when he was still all cute and country:



Then came the Rev. The upright bass had flames on it. The Rev himself wore a bright orange blazer. I knew my 6 years of Reverend Frustration had paid off. They played lots of songs I knew, including a cover of Black Sabbath's Paranoid, which when done in rockabilly form and sung by the drummer, is actually quite good. They did not play my favorite song, New York City Girls, which was so disappointing because if you're gonna play that, now would be the time. Plus he kept talking about how pretty the girls are here (thank you) and how ugly-as-sin the guys are. That last part made me laugh uproariously because, well, the Rev is from Texas. He also kept being a jerk to this drunk guy up front who kept climbing on stage. Note to self: do not go see the Rev and be retarded and keep jumping on stage. The Rev has a silver tongue that will cut you down and make you look like quite the fool.

These tiny dots are the Rev and co:



** note **
This post was originally written on 11/17 at 8:38 in the AM, the morning after the concert. However, I had to leave for a plane that day (which I did, 20 minutes late thanks to this) and so left off thinking that I would remember all the details and my review would be just as good when I came back. So uh, no, it wasn't. Sorry about the incomplete post, but sometimes my brain gets wiped clean and there is nothing I can do about it.
I think you get the gist, though.


ps - the one failing if my cameraphone is that it does not do distance shots. This I know.