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July 16, 2008 at 8:29am

MUSIC REVIEW: Marti Brom, Reverend Peyton

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In a tight, midnight-fringed cocktail dress, DC darling and honky-tonk hottie Marti Brom rocked the Bug Jar with her Albany backing band, Rocky Velvet. Like a spitfire version of Patsy Cline or Wanda Jackson at her most atomic, Brom is both demon vixen and girl next door. I can easily envision her baking cookies or stabbing some fella in the neck. It was already hot and sweaty in the joint Wednesday, July 9 - thanks to The Hi-Risers, who closed with "ATM Inside" twice - when Brom hit the stage. Her band rocked steady to a big beat counted out in each song with a finger snap or stiletto-heeled stomp. And lemme say, the way she ground her voice into each of her songs positively sent me. Was it a purr? Was it a roar? It felt like love.

Los Lobos was less lobos, as Caesar Rosas was MIA Thursday night at Party in the Park. Que pasa with that? The lone gringo in the So-Cal outfit, Steve Berlin produced the first two Paladins records (records that changed my life), but Rosas really schooled me on the whole croonin'/growlin' approach to the mic. He was the initial reason I grew a soul patch - not Maynard. 

Anyhow, the band seemed a little underwhelmed despite a huge, enthusiastic crowd in the warm sun, and I left while they were phoning in some selections from the underrated yet awesome "Good Morning Aztlan." They sounded better at the Auditorium this past winter.

One of the barbequers from Texas at the Big Rib Fest at Highland Park had sauce in giant five-gallon dispensers, from which you could douse your meat. Well, we BBQ fans ain't necessarily know for our neatness, so consequently there were huge puddles forming beneath each jug. On Saturday afternoon Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band was laying it down so frantic and blue that the sky started to bawl. The rain mixed with the puddles of sauce and there were little rivers of barbeque running down the hill. It was biblical. The ground was wet and delicious.

The Po Boys Brass Band emerged later, along with the sun, giving a trombone 'n' guitar bend to rock 'n' roll, while we slipped and slid in the sauce.

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