NP: Robyn Hitchcock, Spooked

First off, I must pay tribute to the restorative powers of the Sausage McMuffin (tm). It's gotten to where my only use for McDonald's is breakfast, as my tolerance for fast-food in most other circumstances dwindles to nothing. I can't even do the late-night slice of Chicago's Pizza anymore.

Anyway, last night was the 8th Anniversary of Vaughan's Pub, so the Open Jam was preceded by the kind of revelry that can only be described as "free appetizers and mild discounts on beer." Plus, we started a lot earlier, which made for a longer opening set. The Craigslist ad is doing wonders, as we had one guy last week and this older quartet of gentleman last night who, not to put too fine a point on it, restored my faith in music. These guys were just a hoot, clearly enjoying the hell out of harmonizing with each other. Sort of a folk-rock barbershop quartet amalgam of a vibe. It was infectious, and everybody loved it.

Needless to say, a good crowd. Anto was feeling adventurous, and put me on the spot to remember Bowie's "Andy Warhol" on guitar. One chord (Asus2) escaped me at the end of the first half of the chorus, but we made it through. Then he pulls up "Let Me Enterain You" from Robbie Williams, which we've learned but never played, and we hacked out way through it, complete with an aborted attempt at the pitch of the first line, off by about a fourth.

For my set, I eschewed the damn lyrics book for a change, and could definitely feel the difference. One of these days, I've got to stop cheating.

I actually bailed a little early, as there were a couple of late-arriving musicians who promised to extend the festivities well past 1am, and I have to at least feign responsibility these days. Eamonn's brother called me out on getting old being as much of a culprit as the mere existence of a day job. The truth hurts. Right now it hurts my head a bit.