OK, so it's been a few days since the Earl Greyhound show, but I needed time to staunch the bleeding from my ears and to properly assimilate their CD, Soft Targets, before revealing to the world that I have found the Keepers of the Rawk and they are a skinny guy from Brooklyn, a bass player who taught your kids phonics, and a drummer with the biggest bass drum I've ever seen on stage at The Nick, with the chops to match.
Call them retro, call them Zepplinesque, make comparisons to the Black Keys, whatever. These guys were loud, proud, and unbowed. They TORE UP a mostly empty room but the squall stayed focused. The outlines of the song were never far away and like the best blues Earl Greyhound used repetition and variation as a motif, not an excuse for jam-band wankery.
They fucking rocked.
Go see them, and go buy their record.
(They were actually the opening band for Rose Hill Drive, of whom I can honestly say I heard the first two songs and then I left.)
Nabokov’s Feat.
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