Every song is ludicrously catchy, laden with instantly memorable hooks and choruses, drenched with melody that rivals McCartney’s when he was still good.
A the staid Baystate Hotel, where most people are too cool to move, they were hot footin’ it around the carpeted floor. Yeah, they were cuttin’ up the rug.
Sugar Ray launched into their heavy chugging rap attack and wasted no time getting the crowd fistbanging, headslamming, bodysurfing, and that whoa-whoa thang.
Five kinda white/hispanic guys with mics and bats and lottsa tats. They’re trading their raps and stompin’ around, while the drummer’s chillin’ in the back.
They had a hard, driving bass, and showcased the conga playing of percussionist Jorg’e Acevedo, while it’s the lead guitar of Richard Lymon that really shines.
Jim Carroll is a world class story teller. From his first tentative words to his intense down-on-his-knees encore song, Carroll held his udience spellbound.