Coverbands and a boy out to sea

It’s not that I dislike cover bands. In fact, on many occasions, I’d rather watch a good cover band than a bad original.

The thing is, I believe in truth, friends. On my bi-weekly excursions into local bars I find myself in front of a lot of cover singers. Many are just a guy and a guitar (my favorite way to listen to cover songs). But in recent months, I’ve noticed a sickening trend. It’s almost turned me off to cover bands entirely.

Step with me into a bar once called The Music Bachs (stupid, stupid name). The funk is incredible. The bassline moves through me like a jackhammer. The singer is hitting notes that no barsinger should be able to hit. I am duly impressed. Until I start paying attention. What the motherfuck? That guy just turned his head away from the mic, but the sound didn’t change. Waitafriggin’ minute. He doesn’t have backup singers.

It was liking finding the wizard behind the curtain. The coverband was using a friggin’ karaoke machine to backup its weak playing.

Over the past several months, I’ve noticed at least three other bands doing it. It sickens me. I had almost given up on the entire idea of listening to live cover music. Until Saturday.

I didn’t want to go. I wanted a quiet bar where we could make trouble in peace. Plus, I was wearing open-toed sandals. But, there I found myself, on the second level of a popular bar, in front of a coverband. And they couldn’t be as good as they were.

The keyboard player was a sexy, natural nymphet in roller derby shorts. Her belly button had glitter around it. The guitar player was in a catholic school girl outfit and was wailing on her guitar better than most men I’ve seen play. Oh, yeah…and there were a few guys on vocals, bass, and guitar. They were pretty good, too.

I investigated…thoroughly. I watched fingers, hands, feet (and a few hips). They were actually playing the instruments. They were actually singing the songs. They were actually…being a band. Go figure.

If you have the chance, go see McFly (and click here to go to their web site). They are worth the trip.

Now, I’m going to take my tired, jaded ass and head out to sea. If you need me, I’ll be on a little island a few miles off the coast of Venezuela. And I won’t be back until next week.

Yep…I’m outta here.