The last 24 hours have been a little insane. But before I get into all that let’s think about the finale of Top Chef for a minute.

I was thinking this episode might be anticlimatic, but it wasn’t. Everything ran fairly smoothly despite lots of room for total and complete disaster. Harold and Tiffani were allowed to cook what they wanted, for once. But poor Tiffani had a serious setback (well, a setback besides herself.) That setback was the sniveling, whiny, and now drunken queen Dave.

I totally lost respect for him on this episode. I am not sure how much is real and how much is TV, but here goes.

The final challenge was, cook the best tasting menu you can, for a bunch of really picky food people. No weirdness, everything you need given to you, plenty of time, and even kitchen helpers.

Then the kitchen helpers turned out to be Lee Anne, Stephen, Dave and Miguel. They were asked who they wanted to work with and Lee Anne, Dave and Miguel all said Harold. Stephen chose Tiffani – I am not sure if he was trying to be diplomatic (at that point I was feeling really bad for Tiffani myself… couldn’t help it) or what. Anyway Dave and Miguel had to draw knives to see who would go with Harold, because Harold himself was unwilling to choose. Dave drew the wrong knife, and ended up with Tiffani.

It seems to me that if you go back on the show to help out who is left, you should GO BACK ON THE SHOW AND HELP OUT WHO IS LEFT. No matter who you end up helping. But Dave was so clearly pissed off about being on Tiffani’s team. Then, both Dave and Stephen went out and got hammered, then showed up late AND still drunk (!) to help Tiffani cook. That is just so, so wrong. If they didn’t want to be there, they should have had someone else do it. I don’t care what Tiffani has said or done in the past to Dave, he should have got a good night’s sleep and been bright-eyed and bushy tailed, and ready to go. Stephen was worthless – a non-entity. And they continued to drink in the kitchen. Seriously, Bravo should have helped Tiffani out on this one. It wasn’t her fault that those guys showed up for work totally hammered. Unless, I guess, their reasoning is that “America’s Top Chef” should be able to function in that kind of environment.

Dave did make a dessert that was a big hit with the judges, but then stupidly Tiffani tried to take credit for it. I think sometimes the girl just doesn’t think.

Even with the backstage theatrics Tiffani still managed to make some killer dishes. But of course Harold prevailed. Everyone loves him. So Tiffani was totally wrong when she said “this is not a popularity contest.”

Of course no one is going to win any popularity contests with lines like “your knife just ran into my back.” Huh?

Drink up Harold. You deserve it.

So last night, right after me and Danielle got to the show, some dude came up to us and asked us if we were Flaming Lips fans. We were like, uh, yeah. Then I said “why, do you want us to be in those animal outfits?” Because the Lips always have people in animal outfits dancing on stage. “No,” the dude said. “Alien or Santa outfits.”

At first I was a little hesitant – I don’t know why. But then I was like, hell yeah.

We sat threw the first three bands – all acceptable, but no spark to speak of, though I sincerely believe that being on a big stage in front of a partially filled venue has something to do with this. The best part for me was Bedouin Soundclash’s cover of the Clash’s Guns of Brixton – that is my FAVORITE Clash song ever. Eventually it was time to go backstage and put our Santa outfits on.

How do I explain this? Let me begin. Onstage:

The sound sucked.

I ate five ponds of confetti.

It was hot as a motherfuck.

It was beyond colorful. Beyond fun.

Me and Danielle were up there with a bunch of other girls and we had flashlights, and we jumped up and down like crazy for an hour or whatever it was. I was not, to date, particularly enamored of the Yeah Yeah Yeah song until I was on stage with the band with Stephen Drozd’s sketchy backing vocal directly, and I mean DIRECTLY, in my ear. They were blasting off those confetti bombs right next to me. I use to hate all that confetti, but when you are in a cloud of it it’s pretty cool. And the next song was the Wand and I thought I would die from happiness right there. It was so loud, and we were all dancing like maniacs, covered in sweat and confetti. I’ve seen many a stage but I’ve never been on one looking out at an adoring audience. It was awesome, even if it wasn’t me they were looking at.

Whoa. It was a trip all right.

But then I woke up and tried to get Radiohead tickets, and no way, no way, no way… the show sold out in less than one minute. I got in RIGHT when they went up and didn’t get anything. Same with David. Same with a lot of people. Yet the tickets are selling for hundreds of dollars on ebay now.

I should have been coasting on the high of last night all day, but instead I have been really depressed. I know I should be happy I am seeing the two San Diego shows. I’ll tell myself that for a while and hope that sinks in.

Also – Tiffani – if you are reading this, which I think you might be. You deserved better in that finale. Regardless.

I had a full on plan to write about Radiohead tonight. But important posts require a great deal of thought, and I am going to Vegas tomorrow, so I am preparing myself by not thinking too much. One can’t think too much in Vegas. Last time I thought too much there I had a nervous breakdown. I am serious.

Anyway when I get back I plan to write a lot about Radiohead, but judging from the amount of comments I got on my Top Chef entry you all are looking for something besides music. So maybe I’ll be writing about Top Chef too.

Here then, for now… my brother and my nephew. The Essa men. Jay loves Radiohead and Ryan soon will, if I have anything to say about it. OK that’s all for now about Radiohead. For now.

Let me just say this before I stop thinking. If I had to choose one band, out of all the bands in the universe, to listen to until I die, it would be Radiohead. Without fail, there are songs and moments I listen to that slay me and render me raw. Every single time. So I am looking to June with a pilgrimage on my mind and if you read this blog all the time, I can tell you right now you are going to get sick of it. But this is who I am. THIS is WHAT I am. I hope that never changes because if that light were to go out life would be awfully boring.

Anyhow. I hope I win a million dollars in Vegas.

Today there was a storm here at the beach in San Diego. I walked home from the Vine at around eight, and the light over the ocean was the color of turquoise. The palm trees were blowing, and the air was warm and smelled of fish and sulphur, but in a good way. How I love living here. I leave the crowd at the bar, one kind of heaven, and step out into warm salt, another kind of heaven. Anyway.

I have been spending a lot of time at the Vine recently. I can’t help it. It’s so awesome there, sort of like a family with Brian, Hannah and baby Emma and Bob & Margaret, and the regulars like Andy and Keith who I knew before but now are like extensions on either side of me half the time. Seriously, sometimes I go there thinking I will just stay an hour, just to get out of the house, but then the great divide opens and I fall into the black hole. I am not complaining – I love it. I love that there is this remarkable new gathering place right down the street and I love that I am a part of it. Now when I think about moving away I am like, how can I? How could I move away from the Vine?

Crazy, I know.

So, last night, uh, at THE VINE, I hooked up with this guy Tyler who had burned me a copy of his recording of Spoon’s show at Canes. I found his recording on archive.org and I wrote to him, begging him to burn it for me. Long story short and a few months later we met last night and he handed over said disk, in return for two bottles of wine that he probably didn’t expect but hey, gratitude knows no bounds, at least with me. Mark was there, and after just a few minutes, we all realized that Tyler was standing RIGHT BEHIND ME at that show. The reason we all remember is, we were all there, waiting patiently though American Music Club’s set, and right before Spoon came on these two big frat dudes came up and barrelled their way right in front of Tyler. And I was like, “dude, push your way in front of those dudes (dickheads.)” Tyler was really mellow and he did not want to push. I would have pushed, also kicked them and pulled out their hair, because I was on a mission that night, but whateves. In the long run we all remember each other, which is weird, and he was recording the fucking show right behind me, and I now have that show playing in my living room. Which is also weird. Also hella cool.

So now, listening to that night that I was part of, being like, three feet away from those tiny speakers hidden inside of a beanie, worn by some kid that I had no idea that I would ever meet, I am suddenly stricken with a new bout of the Spoon disease. Meaning I can’t stop listening, meaning there is no world besides the world that Britt Daniel sings in. It is all encompassing, and a wonderful place to be – obsessed. Obsession is the key to enlightenment. Seriously, it is better than sex. I am in love with listening. That, and bathing in Taleggio cheese sauce.

So. Listen to some of the songs that Tyler has got there on archive.org. In a perfect world, you would listen to the whole show, but if you decide to choose just a few tunes, check out Small Stakes (high energy Spoon at their finest) then Vittorio D (one of the best ballads ever and this live version has a one of those Britt playing with his guitar moments that I adore) followed by They Never Got You (totally, completely brilliant, especially live.) I am in total awe. To be in love, and to have a song go on and on, like They Never Got You does… well. It doesn’t get much better than that. I know I was in a complete and total heaven that night, all wrapped up in Britt and the music. Now I have a record of it. Thanks Tyler.

I love, love, love it. From Vittorio D:

I took a river and the river was long
I want you to stay course I want you to go
I took a river and the river was long and goes on

I will never go. I am a junkie.

First things first. While reading this entry, about last night’s Elbow show at the Avalon in Hollywood, you might think about listening to the band’s awesome set on KCRW Morning Becomes Eclectic. Better yet, read this later, and watch the set, first.

Sometimes I don’t take very good care of myself. Just home from Italy for two days and I take off for Hollywood because I had to see this show. So, 250 miles, half a bottle of wine, and three Absolute Mandarin and sodas later, I am feeling a little tired. Tired, but still tingly because that show was oh, so worth it.

I have loved this band since their first record came out in 2000. They’ve got two other records now, and all three are great. I saw them open for Doves in 2002 (the show where I, uh, lost a chunk of my eardrums) but they haven’t been here in a while. And definitely not as a headliner.

I love Guy Garvey’s voice. He looks like a big burly blue collar worker but he has the voice of an angel. Only, I don’t think he is an angel – there are a lot of references to unangelic behavior, in the lyrics, and onstage.

To be totally honest, it’s kind of hot.

Anyway, me and Teachick had plans to hang out before the show, and then she decided to COME to the show. Which was awesome. We ate some Thai food first, then got to the Avalon right before the opener. I was shocked that the room was so empty. But it was good for us because we got a spot on a little raised platform to the left of the floor. This is where I stood with several dozen people when I saw Spoon there (pre-Britt obsession, otherwise I would have been on the rail.) Also on the platform is a little seating area, and a wall that seperates the tables from the standers. The tables were taken up by six or seven fratesque looking dudes. Curious, I thought, that they would be at a Elbow show. They looked more like the Dave Matthews type.

L.A.’s own Earlimart opened. I have one of their records, and like it. But onstage they kind of sucked. But, opening acts are never given much of a chance, so I am not going to hold it against them. One of the frat boys was heckling them pretty bad. I thought we were in for it with these guys.

But then, before Elbow came on, I heard one of the guys talking about Sigur Ros. SIGUR FUCKING ROS. I was shocked. I tugged on his sleeve. “Did you see the Sigur Ros show here last summer?” I asked him. “Sigur Ros played HERE?” He asked. He was pretty blown away. “We are from Vegas,” he said. Then, to his friends: “DUDES. She saw Sigur Ros HERE.” They were all appropriately envious that I saw Sigur Ros in such an intimate venue.

Then he told me that it was his friend’s bachelor party, and instead of having a party with strippers or whatever, all those guys drove from Vegas, to see Elbow. I was shocked, also impressed. Lesson learned, never judge a book by it’s cover. Also, homie’s fiancee is one lucky person.

Finally, Elbow comes on, and it was pretty much a perfect show. Moments of breathtaking beauty, then walls of sound that could slam you on the ground. The frat boys were enthralled, and I could barely keep still, I was so into it. Teachick wants to buy all the records, now. The crowd was small, but happy and respectful. I am starting to change my mind about L.A. show-goers, at least the ones that go to shows where the band doesn’t have a hit on the radio or a song on a television show. I love the Avalon – the room is beautiful, and the acoustics are good. Plus their bartenders seem to be mixing a stronger drink. All this and Elbow, too. Life is perfect, except for the hangovers.

So I have one heartfelt plea – Elbow, please come to San Diego and play the Casbah!

Today I made it home in one hour and thirty five minutes. This is almost impossible as any Southern Californian will tell you. Also, it cost me $40 to fill my tank today. Also, I got the mega number in the lottery. But no other numbers, sadly. Otherwise I would be on a plane to San Francisco to see Elbow again tonight.

I dreamed about music all night. In the middle of the night, Thom Yorke talked to me for a long time. I woke up right after, thinking I needed to turn on the light and write down everything he said to me. But I didn’t and then it was all gone. I do remember he wanted to talk, and he said some really cool stuff. He did not shift in his seat and look away like in the Rosanna Arquette documentary “All We Are Saying”. She couldn’t hide her awe and it seemed to make him uncomfortable. In my dream, I was not acting like an idiot, which is what I probably would do in real life – I would be just like Rosanna. In my dream it was all cool. (“All We Are Saying” is a really good documentary, by the way. Check it out.)

I love Radiohead. Passionately. In the documentary Thom says everyone thinks they are weird. I don’t think they are weird, I think they are geniuses who make music to live in.

Radiohead is touring this summer. I am already obsessing about where my seats will be. I’ve just found what I wrote about the last show I saw, in September 2003…

“I was disappointed with Friday nights show at the Hollywood Bowl – our seats were way too far away to see anything, and while there were a couple of great moments (Creep, Fake Plastic Trees) I left feeling there was no way anything could ever compare with the show I saw in Verona in May of 2001.

Was I ever wrong. Sunday at Coors was so mind blowing… we got there and our seats were five rows back from the pit, so we were only about 30 feet from the stage. This was the closest I have ever been and it was great to see Ed making faces and playing with the crowd, to see Jonny move around playing what seemed like a gazillion instruments, to see Colin at all (he is always hiding in the back.) Sometimes the five of them seemed so tuned to each other… it was a very, very special night.

Part of the reason I came away from the Hollywood Bowl disappointed was that many of my favorites weren’t played, but at Coors it was like my dream set list. After 2 +2 = 5, Sit Down Stand Up, and Where I End and You Begin, they played Lucky which I desperately wanted to hear. It was slow, lush. Fantastic. Then into an immense Myxomatosis, it was LOUD and intense. Cool green lighting on this one. I’ll fast forward – Kid A, Sail to the Moon, Talk Show Host, Paranoid Android… then, finally, JUST. I thought I would die. After three shows without hearing it I was always hoping. But nothing could have prepared me for this moment. This is why bands with three guitars rule. It just about ripped my head off, I almost passed out. The pit is going crazy at this point. Then a sweet and beautiful No Surprises, and a slammin’ Go to Sleep where I was really, really happy I could see Jonny with his crazy guitar solo at the end (my favorite moment of HTTT I think.) Scatterbrain and You and Whose Army (got to see Thom’s mugging at the Hollywood show too, because of the screens – pretty funny.) Idioteque got everyone going again. The Gloaming next, and then There There (mi dio – the DRUMMING) and then the first set was done. The first encore opened with Pyramid Song, and I love this song so much I want it played at my funeral. This is Thom at his finest, he just reaches in and grabs your heart and clutches it. National Anthem and Punchdrunk at a Wedding next, then How to Disappear Completely (another breathtaking moment). For the final encore, Karma Police and I was thinking, could they have been better? No. The only thing I wish is that they wouldn’t always end with Everything in it’s Right Place, because then you know it is going to end.

All of them were clapping for us, too. They loved us. It was a great night.”

I can’t wait. I really and truly can’t wait. I am just scared now that they will come when I am in Spain.

Elbow is coming to Hollywood, three days after I get back from Venice. I don’t have any control over this stuff – the ticket is bought and the hotel room booked. That is going to be a great show.

I love Jeff Tweedy, and I hate when people act like assholes at shows. (Or, are just assholes that happen to be at a show that you are also at.) With those two things in mind, please read on.

In a posting on Danny Miller’s blog, which I also love (it is definitely my favorite blog, the man is a great writer, and funny, and too smart but it’s OK because he’s so funny) he just wrote about the Jeff Tweedy show in L.A. He is Jeff Tweedy’s brother-in-law, which is probably how I found his blog in the first place. Anyway, the entry is all about celebrities and whatever, but there is some stuff in there about Jeff’s hushing of a woman who talked during his San Diego show. Apparently Jeff was pretty nasty about it all (I got that from other resources, not from Danny’s blog.) Jeff’s rant affected some of his fans the way the talking chick affected Jeff. So…

I have to admit that, even being an uber-fan of Wilco, Jeff’s comments during shows have often made me cringe. He’s just kind of a weenie on stage sometimes. I guess I notice it more because I really care, and I don’t want anyone to put themselves in a bad spot. Of course, the music always makes up for it, and ultimately, I am on Jeff’s side when it comes to the audience talking/being-the-assholes-that-they-are. So, I’ve compiled this list of questions and guidelines, for me, for Jeff, and for all the people who go to shows who are really going for the music. In a perfect world, every attendee would be given this list before entrance to the venue and if they don’t measure up, well, Sayonara, muthafucka.

1) What are you here for? Is it the music, or is it because you want to see-and-be-seen? Because if it is the latter, you can do that a lot more cheaply at the mall.

2) We have one very simple rule at a concert and that is: DON’T TALK DURING THE SHOW. Just, don’t friggin’ talk. Bottom line. We know that you’ve got a lot to say, but save it for the other 9.34 hours of your day when you don’t risk dirty looks from other concert attendees (not that you give a shit) or berating from a band member (which is a little scary, also, embarrassing.) Believe me, you don’t want Jeff Tweedy to get mad. Also, if you are Danny Miller, you can talk but not in an Acoustic Sweet Spot. And if you are me you can quietly bark drink orders. Other than that, shut the fuck up.

3) A simple questionaire regarding cell phones.
Should I, when packing a cell-phone at a concert:
a) turn it off
b) answer it and scream into it several times before I finally figure out I can’t hear what the other person is saying
c) text message all my friends and tell them where I am
d) text message Dan Savage and ask him why my lover keeps bringing up Pygmies
e) use it to film really bad video clips to put up on youtube.com
f) use it to call my attendee-mate when I get up in the middle of the show to get a Red Bull & Vodka but can’t find my way back to my seat in the dark
Answer:
a.) Turn it off. And this is coming from someone who actually watches bad cell-phone videos on youtube. Cell phones at a show equal you don’t really give a fuck about the music.

4) More Cell-phone information: you, the attendee, are allowed two cell-phone photos before you turn the phone off, because we understand you want people to know you were there and/or need some photos, however shitty, for your blog. But turn the motherfucker off after those two photos, or everyone will hate you. Also, Jeff Tweedy might get mad.

5) Don’t push your way up to the front of the venue to start a mosh pit during a totally inappropriate song (in Tweedy’s case, “Muzzle of Bees”), then try to crowd surf and fall down and break your wrist. Mosh pits are for punk rock shows and fifteen year olds, not for indie shows, and not for thirty year olds who have to blow off steam because they haven’t been laid in a year.

6) Don’t push your way up to the front of the venue to dance/pogo to the first lively number that is played (in Tweedy’s case, “I’m the Man Who Loves You”) then, at the first hint of mellowness, push your way back out for another Red Bull and Vodka.

7) For celebrities only: Name the four Beatles. You have to name all four, not just the one who is related to Stella McCartney.

8) For the Greek Theater only: Do not, under any circumstances, bring your garlic fries to your seat and eat them while the performance is on. This is the absolutely most horrific thing you could do to your fellow attendees. Also, if they are particularly pungent, Jeff Tweedy might get mad. Don’t risk it.

9) Listening to live music can be an enlightening, transcendental experience. Try to break out of your mindset and let it in, whether you have to tune in to the music, or tune people out.

I welcome any and all comments and suggestions about how we might make the live music experience better for Jeff, and for us. Just don’t ask that people sit down the whole way though the show, because that is one idea that doesn’t mesh with the rock ‘n’ roll experience.

For the Britt obsessed, a small jackpot. Because we can’t get enough.

I Summon You. The sound isn’t great, but at least you can see the man in action.

A highly energetic Small Stakes. You can’t see shit but the whole song is there and it rocks. You can see Britt turn his back to the audience at the end. I LOVE when he does that.

Again, hard to see but this video of That’s the Way We Get Byshowcases Britt’s raspy, super sexy voice perfectly.

And if you have absolutely no desire to watch Spoon, you still should check out this bizarre video of two girls dancing to I Summon You. Um, don’t know what up with that pink thing. What is that? In my day, thankfully, we just danced in front of the mirror. I thought I was weird.

Tomorrow I have to put on a heavy coat. It smells like mold.

OK, I admit it. Until last night I was hopelessly out of the loop. Who knew the craziest punk rockers come from the friggin’ Ukraine? And here, all along, I wanted to name my blog Ukrainian Poptart. Was that the reason, all along?

Whatever. I’m still trying to get my mind around Gogol Bordello’s short set of insanity last night. I didn’t think any show could match the inspired abandon of David Byrne with the Extra-Action Marching band, but I was wrong. In the forty-five minutes or whatever that they were on stage, I don’t think my jaw once retracted into it’s normal position. Frontman Eugene Hutz came out wearing some kind of belly dancing skirt over knee-length pants and proceeded to whip the audience into complete pogo stick frenzy. He was Iggy-Popping out. He was everything Vincent Gallo wishes he could be. There was also a sinister looking fifty something violin player and two screaming asian looking chicks who danced around, got tossed around, and at one point played WASHBOARDS. There were PUNK ROCK ACCORDIAN SOLOS. Are you getting it yet?

I really can’t explain – it was just total controlled chaos, with the singer climbing on some yuppifieds back and using him to ride around the floor, spewing sweat and who knows what else all over us. It was really, really fun.

I found a video. Check it out.

They were a pretty hard act to follow. Tegan and Sara? If Scarlett Johansson put on a brown, 70’s shag wig, got a boob reduction, and starting singing, that would be Tegan and Sara. Great for teenage chicks and horny middle-aged men, but not my cup of tea.

Cake were a lot of fun though. They came on late to a packed club full of people who were, well, totally into Cake. In fact I was pretty shocked at the very loyal following Cake has in San Diego, because I’ve been to a couple of shows elsewhere and I don’t remember the audience knowing the words to every single song. There was one very humorous moment where John McCrea had the women and men battling to see who could scream “No phone, no phone” the loudest (the women won. San Diego dudes are pussies.) And the noisemaker will never die.

Despite a general sense of fatigue caused by driving too fast and too far and enhanced by crazy dreams full of sex and drugs, I am headed out to the House of Blues to see a bunch of music. Cake! I loves me some Cake, so I am gearing up now with a little Comfort Eagle. I don’t know the other acts – Tegan & Sara, Gogol Bordello and Eugene Mirman, but I’ve heard that Gogol Bordello is a crazy gyspy punk band that is insane live. So it should be fun.

Speaking of Cake, where is this?

I’ll try to be good; Monday night shows can be brutal on one’s rest of the week.

After several months of gluttony, I’ve decided I need to purge a few pounds. I’ve gone through life staying sort of the same, though my body has changed over time, the weight situation always seemed to hover in a region where I felt sort of OK about it. Then I slipped on the Xingolati cruise and hurt my back so bad I couldn’t exercise for six weeks, and then I totally pigged out on large quantites of chocolate, cheese, and wine all Fall. When it rains it pours.

So in my quest for a seven pounds lighter me, I am trying to exercise more (still not enough) and also am writing down everything I eat in a given day, with the approximate calories. This always helps me tone it down consumption wise. Here is a day when I am good:

Coffee with half and half 40
Cereal 175
Salad 100
Popcorn 60
2 Tacos 300
Cookie 100
Wine 300

See, this is good. I did not go hungry and still ate only 1075 calories! Plus I got to have wine, also a cookie. But then let’s compare this to a bad day (yesterday.)

Coffee 40
Toast with Cream Cheese 140
Another piece of plain toast (starving) 90
Tomato juice (feeling cold-ish) 50
Chicken stuffed Pasilla pepper 210
Chocolate chips (need sugar) 100
Wine (pre dinner/club) 200
Pizza 300? 400?
Salad 100
Garlic Bread ???
Meatballs????
Uber quantity of wine. Calories, INFINITY
Cookies offered by Sooty at the club 300

So basically I just totally blew the 1075 calories away by this day of several thousand calories. Oh well. The reason? My brother’s band played again at Desi & Friends and before the show me and Mark went to Pepe’s for dinner. Seriously, I was totally ready for some major gluttony. I am good at gluttony. Sloth, too.

The show was really fun. It wasn’t the who’s-who of my brother’s history that the August show was, and the energy wasn’t quite the same. But it was still rocking and there is still nothing better than watching Tom play drums. They have a new bassist, Mike, and after just a few rehearsals he fits perfectly, and he has never played the bass before! He is a guitartist. But there is only room for one guitarist in this band, and that spot is reserved for the best blues guitarist in the entire universe: Scott Blinn.

The Mudsharks are touring Europe over the summer, and I really want to try to go for part of that tour before I head off to Spain with my mom. How cool would it be, to be hanging with the Mudsharks in AMSTERDAM? It would be AWESOME TIMES INFINITY.

On the way home from the show, me and my brother were talking about the importance of long relationships with those people who seem to enter your life and never leave. Scott and Tom go way back, and though the road has not always been the easiest, they are hanging out again and playing music together with such ease (at least to us spectators, maybe in reality it is really hard) that it seems all those years apart never happened. That’s the way it is with really old friends who have known each other a long time – a shared history; a brother/sisterhood; knowledge of past events, personality quirks, best-not-brought up love affairs, and other tidbits of randomness. I have a few friends like this, and I am lucky to.

We are also lucky to have the Mudsharks, even if it is only once in a while.