Hard to choose which is more depressing from today’s series of events at the local trade fair-cum-music festival (or on the better days, a music festival with a smattering of trade fair-isms), that I missed the Futureheads whilst watching Oklahoma State beat Southeastern Louisiana (then again, I wasn’t invited to the party the Futureheads played at — apparently you need to actually be doing something or other in the entertainment business, and as you all know, I’m not exactly Doug Moody)….or what little live music I did end up witnessing.
I’m not gonna mention the band’s name, because I have no desire to publicy ridicule them or cast a shadow on their burgeoning career. I’m sure they are very nice, fun guys to hang around with. Strike that, I’m not sure of that at all. But assuming some of you have standards for human company as low as those for rock’n'roll, well, perhaps they are your friends.
None of which, however, excuses a noted music journalist nor a respected booking impresario singing the praises of a combo that sounds like nothing so much as latter period Soul Asylum fronted by Charles Nelson Reilly. To steal a line from Take It’s Michael Koenig, their stage presence would’ve crowded the rest room. Except they were playing in a tent, with no toilet.
And with that, I am officially no longer listening to any future recomendations from well-meaning simpletons with double-digit musical IQ’s. When you finally figure out the difference between shit and shinola, tell someone else about it.