The show was awesome, and only slightly marred by the woman in front of me who would turn around and glare disapprovingly anytime anyone would hoot or holler or otherwise make it known that they were indeed alive and breathing and enjoying this here rock and roll music that was being played. Pity the poor souls who had any sort of real-life emotional response. If you're that picky about your listening experience, stay the fuck home with your iPod, methinks.
Grant was in rock-tastic form, accompanied by a drummer and bassist. It was a much more "plugged-in" show than the last time I saw him, focused on material from the new record, Strangelet. There were a few bones thrown to the Grant Lee Buffalo die-hards, including a killer acoustic version of Honey Don't Think [from Mighty Joe Moon] and an awesome version of Truly, Truly [Jubilee].
When I first discovered Grant via Grant Lee Buffalo, I was living in a student co-op. There were about 150 people in the house I lived in, and we had this giant commercial kitchen. The organized meals usually sucked, so I'd head in there after dinner to cook for myself. I used to cook up a storm in there, and I can remember listening to a lot of GLB on the shitty stereo. One song in particular, Dixie Drug Store [Streaming MP3], captured my imagination, with its tale of a traveler in the French Quarter seduced by the ghost of Marie Laveau. Now I can't help associating Grant's voice with New Orleans, which is funny because he's actually from the same California town that I grew up in.
It's strange how taste memories manage to permeate seemingly unrelated things. Listening to Grant's records now remind me of meals I had in New Orleans and the steak sandwiches with caramelized onion and pepper jack cheese that I used to cook up on the flat top in my Berkeley co-op.
