Sure, to the uninitiated, The Crowns are merely pepped up Stray Cat Strutters, but perhaps they will lead the masses toward the salvation sounds of rockabilly.
So there I stood, uninvolved, as I watched SNFU go through the motions of retching up a sorry-Johnny-one-note performance. I don’t like them in a club either.
The Wrens packed the upstairs stage at midnight on a Sunday and the crowd was still there when I left. The live show had an edge like a broken knife blade.
Grabbing my girl by the hand, we spun and twirled, jitterbugging, doing the Charleston, Lindy, and the Two-Step. We were the only ones. Uneducated cretins.