I ventured out the Wednesday before Thanksgiving to dodge turkeys and dig the rock 'n' roll over at the Bug Jar. Apparently The Quitters had called it quits before they could officially call it quits, and a new bill went up in its place. St. Phillip's Escalator has been a little inactive lately, what with singer/guitarist Ryan Moore in New York City working for Time Magazine and drummer Zach Koch filling in the blanks as The Chesterfield Kings' utility man. I hadn't forgotten how much I like the trio's music, but liked this loud reminder all the same. Although the band was hobbled a bit by the fact its members were playing on borrowed gear, the power and majesty of the group's allegiance to the blue side of heavy rock still came through. I think I even heard an Amboy Dukes cover. The band started a little later than planned, which seemed to rattle Koch a bit. Consequently, he leaned in and laid down one solid, angry, and relentless blanket of thunder. That might be a good move: piss off the drummer and dig the angry beats.

SPE was late because Get Hip-sters The Irving Klaws brought trashy, kooky, Elmer Batters-inspired (look it up, all you aspiring perverts) garage rock straight outta Buffalo. I hadn't seen these guys in a while, and again was reminded how well a jangly SG, jungle drums, a southpaw-slung upright bass, and a theremin sound together on stage. The Klaws are steeped garter belt-deep in sleaze, but managed to keep the lyrics PG - until they busted out The Clovers' 1954 blue classic "Rotten C*******ers Ball."

Saturday night, my barbeque went down swinging to Joe Beard at The Dinosaur. What can I say about Beard, other than how lucky we are to have a living legend in our midst who can still deliver the goods. Beard gets down and dirty on his big red guitar, but he's a gentleman; I doubt he'll ever touch that Clovers ditty.

Still Kickin' was still kickin' at The Club at Water Street when I dragged myself in. Hell, the band's been kickin' for 25 years now. They sounded all kinds of good in a country/Dead/Band kind of way. The band's jams levitated just close enough to the ground that anyone could get on board and ride.

Polished off the evening at Abilene where the Majestic Ron Stackman was flexing his vinyl muscle, including some Jimmy Cliff for my sweetheart: "I'm crowning you myself."