Bravo, Bravo Max
Bravo, Bravo Max! The Saturday night show in Dallas was blistering. From sound check on. The Foundry on Pittman. Near Commerce Street, east of the Trinity. Over the new bridge with winding cables and a big lone star flag on one side and old glory on the other. Lucky to have each other, but Texas is the central jewel of America's crown. More and more.
Trying not to say anything negative, which makes for ineffective food criticism, and always has. Will not comment on the chicken place next door to the venue. Supposed to be famous and good, but mopey works nowhere. The basics.
The band was having drinks at The Foundry's bar when we arrived. Matt The Bassist and I. Having met a couple of times previously, felt fine going right up and thanking them in advance for the groovy smashing about to be delivered from the shaded, enclosed, breezy outdoor stage. Recognizing me from a couple of Jack Kerowax shows, and aware of the Men From Nantucket spacefolk sound and occasional field trips, they were completely cool and talkative. Unnervous, calm. Expressed our excitement for the Bullfighter Blues numbers and MI-5. Halfway through another Bravo Max project (unnamed for now), they promised some of the new tunes and a few covers. So they did. Harlem, Misfits, The Kinks, and James Gang. The Walk Away closer was like a smooth engine going all out, finding its destination as everything was steaming and smoking, just shy of liquidation. Passengers arriving safe, weary, and in need of quiet, desolate solitude. It is true that without Joe Walsh the Eagles would have been another Poco. He saved them, and them, him.
The crowd stuck, the riffs were too perfectly spazzed, the drums were too boomingly hypnotic, the bass was too precisely hammered, the lead guitar travels were just too far and wide. The got down was got down. No one dared leave at the break, the band had much more to create for us. All were gyrating wildly, Garret was convulsing and electrocution seemed possible. Green aesteroid rains were seen. Stars. He was plugged in. The dials were mixed and maxed. The pedals were clicking all night, each click announcing another trip. We were clocked, knocked, and rocked by the best psychorock band from Dallas, Texas. Bravo, Bravo Max!