Disappointed by Candy

Per usual, I feel the urge to share significant lifehappenings with you, my most ardent readers.  Ahem…

Good friends and good music—good drinks optional—always spells a recipe for splendiferous festivitizing!  And, I verily say unto you that it was a festive atmosphere Saturday night at Mercy Lounge’s “Monster Bash”, where good times and good music flowed like milk and honey. 

I and mine arrived early at the Halloween shindig expecting great things.  Luckily, great things were already in store for us:  Disappointed by Candy, Brenn, Space Capone (Why did we have to miss them during Next Big Nashville?!), and Autovaughn turned Mercy Lounge O-U-T!!

Disappointed by Candy proved a perfect opening act.  The band included a lead singer I will forever call “Big Sweet Sangin Daddy”, a remarkably talented, Mr. Bean-like drummer, and the keyboard-playing progeny of an Æsir deity and a professional wrestler.  This sombrero-wearing trio laid down measure after measure of idiomatic Anglo-American whiteboy grooves, melding conventional instrumental melodies with electronic sound clips.

A bit later, Brenn slothed onto the stage, bare-armed and shaggy-haired, just in time to reawaken the growing crowd with a refreshingly raucous and sweaty set.  I remember being quite taken with their presence and energy.  (That drummer had to be on some other stuff, y’all!) And they delivered their immediately palatable sound in an unprocessed, yet wholly compelling fashion.

Then, Space Capone emerged from out of my fondest dreams.  These boys and gals served up their appreciation for the 1970’s Black American musical experience with mucho gusto.  I mean, they delivered some for-serious jams, every bit as sophisticated as they were infectious.  As I looked about the room, I could tell by the collective swaying, bouncing, and head-nodding that everyone was feelin Space Capone.  (I would also like to give a shout out to the lead singer’s perfect buttocks and well-chosen wardrobe, the dashing backup singer I will affectionately refer to as “Serve-antes”, and to the youthful and pink-lipped keyboardist who felt no qualms about lighting up a cigarette in the middle of a song.)

Finally, Autovaughn blazed onto the stage for one of the fieriest concert climaxes I have witnessed in a minute.  I mean, they came in like a lion and went out like a ram!  Renown for producing indie rock anthems, Autovaughn’s live performance effectively united the temporal with the sublime.  Their finale, an extended version of “Hell of a Place”, absolutely tore the roof off that mutha, and during those moments, my friends, I felt bounded by a neverending story.  When the last chord dwindled and concert came to its end, teary-eyed, I felt both fulfilled and abandoned.   Helluva place, indeed.