Holy crap it’s been a while. And, no excuses, it’s going to be a while still. But my fellow lookilisteners, this was too good to sit on for more than a month. I have for you today, Tallulah Bankhead. And they sound good yo. Mudaeruk doing it up.
Right. Tallulah Bankhead. The name confused me. I thought it was some weird southern thing that the two Canadians in the band just shrugged and moved on with. No idea who she was. I’m kinda dumb. I still don’t get the name. I’m still kinda dumb.
This band is like the best of many worlds for me. Adam Brennan is intense as fuck and he brings that on stage. I love talking with him because it’s always right in the moment with whoever he’s with. It’s amazing. Go talk with him sometime. I mean. He might not like me getting people to talk to him, but he hates the Internet, he’ll never read this. Grey Watson brings a whole lot of southern charm and all that musical history that comes with it. Patrick Walsh beats them drums like a step-headed mule. It’s magical.
I ain’t gonna say much more. Just listen. We’ll be back at some point, but now ain’t it. (Can’t stop short of 20 can we?)
Here’s some shots from the show. Thanks to Kim Doei for the projection!
Here at Korindie, we’re nothing if we aren’t honest. And here’s the honest truth. I thought that Grey was touring with a revamped version of Henry Demos‘ old band Watersports at first. So, here I am, in the front row in nothing but a funnel gag and a leather harness… and all of a sudden I’M the weird one. The front rows DID NOT get wet. Zero out of five golden whips of shame.
The club floor is supposed to be a judgment-free zone.
Without the waterworks, they still put on a pretty good (yet vanilla ㅠㅠ) show, as I’m sure you can tell from the above recording for which I expertly pressed record and then stop. Grey, formerly (and kinda currently?) of the Killer Drones, played from his new album, and all were enthralled. Except the person who stood directly under the fucking microphone and talked about tequila all night. I think I was able to cut most of it out, but seriously dude, whoever the fuck you are, it’s fucking tequila, stick a fucking worm in some vodka and you’re done.
So Grey has like this new album, but he needs people to play it. For some reason, he decided to get a bunch of nice, decent people, and then name them the Warm Jets. The Warm Jets. How else could anyone interpret that? I mean, aside from above. Like, you had a Dyson dryer on bass? I don’t get it. Did these people owe you money? Actually, don’t tell me. Some dark secrets never need to see the light of day. Grey’s a pretty smooth dude though, so it’s probably spy code for something. Or he’s a cult leader?
Oh, grow back that mustache. It was awesome. And spy-like. Hmm. Maybe cult leaderish?
Right. The band. John Wade, Grey’s old band mate, also of the Killer Drones, is the guy you call when you want an awesome bassist, but you can’t be outclassed/upstaged by Mike McGrath’s freaking sweet moves. He stands there, plays the licks, and has a good time without bumping into your shit. He always strikes me as the guy who will help you out in a jam, and put up with your choice in recent band names. Also, I think his dog might eat me. Will your dog eat me dude? Like. Don’t let your dog eat me.
I’m fully convinced that Ethan Waddell doesn’t have a job. He’s been in like 74 different bands, and subbed for everyone during their allotted hagwon vacation period*. Ethan, how are you supporting yourself? Do these people pay you? Wait… are you in Grey’s mustache cult? Do you have Stockholm syndrome? Blink twice for yes, and once for very yes. We can get you home, Ethan. We can get you home. Mama and Papa Waddell miss you (I guess?), and all your pedals.
BA, or Brad is another one of those people that’s like in every band that needs a drummer anywhere in the city. And he operates a recording studio. And he manages the Barberettes. Brad, I want to know your secrets. All your secrets. It takes me 2 hours to open a web browser and write a shitty article. GIVE ME YOUR SECRETS OF SPACE AND TIME.
Whatever. It’s cool. I can just live with a 16 hour day like the rest of us. Sniff.
Okay, enough shit. Grey, right now is in France, pretending to be bourgeoisie, or Spain, pretending to be..umm… some Spanish word I don’t fully understand. I’m not jealous. He’s touring for his new album. Sigh. I wish I was in their cult. I’d have something to do for 16 hours a day. And maybe I could get me some paella.
Grey, bring me back some paella. I’ll pay you back in cult dues.
*For those of you not in the know, it’s two days in December, and 8 days at the end of your contract.