Just came home from a mightily entertaining basement show at the Alamo House. Saw These Riffs (what a fantastic name for a band, eh? I still have my "I Like To Riff" button, Jim! Somewhere...) Erica's boyfriend plays part of the three-guitar attack of their purely instrumental style of metal-rock-punk. It really, really works.; they are tight and melodic and *skilled.* No vocals and super speedy complex riffs and song structures (like a way more interesting Metallica). The drummer pounds his ass off, too. It's mesmerizing.
One of the best bits: they're totally not boring-pretentious-indie-rock, even though they could be. They *could* be..that's easy to fall into...but as good as they are, it's such a relief that they're not They're just supertalented and they rock and it's not a hipster affair. It's refreshing.
Especially in a basement. I still feel like seeing a great band in a really small space, on the same level--with no platform or stage makes the music really intense and intimate and powerful. And to see all the fellow musicians and musicnerds (me) get superclose and stare at how their fingers fly and strangle and fondle their fretboard is just eye candy.
Oh, and how great is the Alamo House--making me nostalgic for freshman year at the U. Da-yum. The rock-poster-plastered walls (Marlon Brando--"What are you rebelling against?" with the reply, "Wha'dya got?" and Woody Guthrie even makes it), the beer can infested basement. The pornographic picture of the Clash on the refridge, the equally-pornographic picture of Mike Ness across from it. *sigh*
Erica and I rocked G'n'R on the way home (so, I wanted to look at pix of Axl and found him in the fucking Sid shirt--wtf?!) and I told her that "Sweet Child O' Mine" was a "PERFECT song." It is--right, Paul?