The roadie was super-nice to a lady bug and a bumble bee. It was the day before Halloween, so we were some of the few dressed up. He showed us which cords went where in the back of the amps that Replay Dave had so generously donated for the show. I’d never met Katie Cruchfield before, so I made a point to say hello before the show. Say thank you. We quickly peeled back the layers of blankets that can be between two active DIY punks in America. Lauren Measure had made the initial connection and suggestion Katie play. “That’s right! I love that Bad Banana 7”… Do you know Bradley, Beef Cat from ‘Bama?… Mitch Clem was loco about PS Eliot.” Katie played first as the sun shone brightly through the pane glass windows behind her and sheeted off the beer-stained wooden floors. Just a striking voice, a guitar, and words. The bar was filled and pretty much silent. Rapt, not slack-jawed. And as a grown man dressed as a lady bumble bee who had just secured fluorescent yellow zip ties to his glasses so his antennae would stop slipping down, she floored me. The simple, bare ache. The unadorned, obvious talent. The sadness. The resolve. The durability of a style of music that’s been so molested by hacks over the years can still be directed straight to the middle, straight to the heart. This is a stark, melancholic, beautiful record, one I felt privileged to hear live. Right after the set, a fan knocked his beer all over their merchandise table while thanking them.
–todd (Don Giovanni)