... to whatever fucking sucky band at Carabar last night that was so bad we had to leave before seeing Greg Ashley from Gris Gris. I went and listened to some of Ashley's stuff on Myspace today and it was quite good (weird slow drugginess ... some organ-laden '50s rock balladry ... some other stuff in there too) and now I would have like to have checked it out live and I COULD HAVE had it not been for this bunch of total vaginas lisping out some watered-down Eliot Smith/Iron & Wine excrement for what seemed like hours. I'm not sure that I have the right dudes but it MIGHT have been this band called Romantica from Minneapolis, if the show listing for last night in the Other Paper is correct. If so, they apparently are very excited about having come in second place in the International Songwriting Competition (the what?) in the Americana (!) category and love, love, love Jeff Buckley and the Wallflowers. Too much funny stuff there to even begin.
I guess I could blame myself for being lame and going home to eat pizza but I'd rather blame these dumbfucks, as they deserve it.