To see groups at Ziggy’s or Urban Olive and Vine, you might need to take a taxi and while on the way ask him about his band — and you just may be routed via Buffalo Wild Wings for a similar conversation — that is not all that it seems

Let’s get back to the music. And further down in this post, a whimsical tale about such tuneage, and the taxi driver connection.
This band has not only a one-word name, but its lack of capitalization is enough to be hip. The musical act houseboats could not wait until spring on the St. Croix River to get cruising, so they are at Urban Olive and Vine on Saturday, early evening. Their style has been said to be a double B, somewhere between this area’s own Bon Iver and Bruce Springsteen, also well known to certain people in these parts through the magic of being backstage.
Pop ROCKS may be a two-word name, but is more and more in demand, as their promo poster shows pyrotechnics at the center of the stage reminding one of early KISS, but add in some throw-back hip-hop to accompany all the genres you would expect. They are at Ziggy’s Friday night, and the next evening it’s Rough House, showing a guitarist with roughly chiseled abs and pecs and biceps.
A couple of bands are trying to get more local with their gigs, after exploring clubs on the outer rim on the west side of the Twin Cities, and going north.
Two Shots Down has a musician I met at Buffalo Wild Wings when working as a server, who provides an uncommon lyrical advantage, and when the conversation turned to music at length I could see there was a rapport. Based on the name-tag, I like The Fonz thought of her as Mrs. C. But early on, I’d also noticed a flat chest of the same dimension as the stomach. Then after the length of several guitar solos, there was that tug on the mask to reveal the side of the face – and a lot of facial hair! The reverse of Dude Looks Like A Lady!
It seems everyone needs a day job these days. This includes a cabbie I met over summer who also does it all for the Stone Daisy Band. Then I was his fare just a few weeks ago, as well. A country powerhouse, they say. And the physical appearance of Hank Williams Jr, we say. They tentatively are set to play Ziggy’s Match 11.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

My mom has told me not to be a potty mouth when I write, as she certainly would not appreciate hardly any of the standup humor on say, Comedy Central Radio. SNL maybe. But after 11:30 p.m. … But there comes a time where a man must make a stand. And for this jokester, it was now when he had to choose whether to pass on the opportunity that would otherwise bite him in the butt, for in front of and behind him is the Mother Lode. Or should I say load. Or “Mothers” of Invention. — On another stage, I dissed...
So the wall is down. Of letters, that is. Not down by Mexico. Cemented into the concrete. Of the Kennedy Center. Where music has sat. (Near where a now defunct wrestling arena rusts in peace. Or a bloodied White House lawn. With leftover paper cups and plates, more likely bowls and small utensils, anyone?) Or more ornate than inside? A tarp the size of Pennsylvania, the predominant battle state, covers workers as they chip. So geez, how big are the letters? Four times 50 living workers high? But now none remain, or so we are told by flunkies. Or is...
A few years back, I wrote an article about Hudson Deacon Tom Kroll and how he did so many extra dutiful tasks, his living out the Gospels tirelessly, when his wife was ill, in addition to his regular job. I was inspired at the time to pen this, about my own lovely, disabled wife — we were separated briefly but now back together with our 40th anniversary this month, as wholehearted caregiving has many strains — and how an atypical view of standard roles, out of necessity, made things work, as far as our approach to work and home that’s...
What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common. And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think. It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each...
It was clear to me at the most recent Jeff Loven music show in Hudson, for Memorial Day weekend, that there has been a changing of the guard. The sword has been passed. New blood, like Yungblud, has been brought in. And, I must say, loyalty — amongst the devotees who travel frequently and all across the two-state area to virtually all of Jeff’s shows — has been rewarded. They are the royalty, in what just makes good business sense that I can appreciate. In a significant but not unprecedented altering of course, I was not one of those asked...
Trial by fire. My broiling heart in my efficiency flat still beats a bit, in concern over those boiling over in worse apartments in a Chicago tenancy, or on an ocean island instantly-burn-your-feet beach or dessert, or forced to endure ice baths just to keep cool — or simply be offered no way to maintain an ice-dripping body other than also read a non-cookbook at the library, or select not a big steak you can’t afford but a 73/27 burger from a freezer and slap it on your forehead. Just not too hard. All these things are ones where you especially today either burn or...
Scroll to Top