GW#3 - p10 (8)

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I want to preface this article with something I've been wanting to write about for a really long time: it
seems I'm not much of a rock critic. You may have noticed this. Every once in a while I'll come up with
some witty, descriptive little nugget that pinpoints exactly what it is about a band or a song or an
album, but this is rare. Usually, for lack of any real talent, I'll resort to the "Yeah, this rocks!" school of
criticism. This is why I rarely review any of my truly, deeply, intensely favorite bands. (Another reason
is that I like to try to keep something personal, although I usually don't do a good job of it.) There are
just a few records/shows/bands that leave me so completely at a loss that all I can do is think about
them and sometimes talk about them. I particularly have a hard time with Pavement (esp. S&E), the
Pixies
, the Grifters, the Velvet Underground to a lesser degree, Paul's Boutique, and Flaming Lips
shows oh, and the recent Thinking Fellers Local 282 show. Anyway, I'm young yet, so maybe my skills
will evolve with time and maybe, oh, thirty years from now I'll be describing emo bands as "gutbucket"
and writing articles about how it was to be young in the days of the first (out of several, by then) of the punk revivals for Rolling Schmeg...

I guess it was December 6, a Thursday, my memory isn't all that reliable. Susan and I limped our way
to Houston in my dilapidated yet faithful automobile, Ruth. The Grifters were playing at the Urban
Art Bar
. I don't know if you've heard, but if you're ever lookin' for Susan and you find out there's a
Grifters show within a four-state radius of Texas, it's a pretty safe bet you could find her there. And
I'm getting to be that way, too.

[photocopied clip art image of the dictionary illustration for the word 'atomizer']

So we traveled. We hadn't done a road trip together since oh, the night before (San Antonio). BUt
really, before that we hadn't been on the road together much at all, so we were havin' a great time.
Little did we know the drive home would be hell.

The Urban Art Bar is a pretty cool club with a big, Liberty Lunch-esque space with some furniture
toward the back (a sofa, a couple o' chairs and a coffee table exactly like the one at the Satans' house,
minus the plaques) and great lights and good sound and a little room in the back for the bands to hang
out in.

The show was incredible as always. I wish I had written about it right when I got home (I'm gonna
have to start doin' that) cause I never can recall the itty-bitty details of a show, which are always what
makes a show so great, unless I'm talkin' and rehashin' with someone who was there, too. All I can
remember right now was that they didn't play Soda Pop, which is probably my favorite live song, and
they did play Queen of the Table Waters, which I had never heard before. I also happened to know
how drunk they were and that made it all the more impressive of a show, I was amazed they could
actually do it. I wish I had known I wasn't going to see them the next night.

We hung around for a while after the show, and then when we were more or less sober enough to drive,
we cruised and ended up in a perilous fog for a good half of the drive back. It was awful! And we
were in a bad mood. But we made it home in time for me to get about an hour and a half of sleep before
I had to go to work. Yeah, yeah, I know we're rock'n'roll martyrs, we don't need yer sympathy.

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