Dear Jess,
I think I'm sick. I stood outside in the cold and the wet all day Saturday to listen to nine punk bands and one swing group. For six hours, I was surrounded by cargo pants-wearing juvenile delinquents and club groupies who looked like Marilyn Manson's spawn. All for the sake of our column.Oct. 3rd's "BASH," sponsored by Salt Lake's own X96, was one of the best times I have ever had. Even though you were not there, little Jess, I managed to find some people to go with (six guys . . . tee-hee . . . ) and tear it up with the rest of Salt Lake's incredibly immature. I felt a little like Maverick flying without Goose. Not to say that you're Goose. No, no, no, no, no, no, you are definitely better looking than Goose, and that whole pilot outfit would have been much more flattering on you.
I only saw six of the 10 performances. The first group was the Urge. And baby, did they give me the Urge to shake my bootie! Ohh, yeah. I'm positive it was because of those white jump-suits that those boys were all wearing. Jess, there is nothing hotter than musicians in uniforms. Especially when they look like mechanics.
The Flys were the next to prove their punk-ness, and according to the crowd response, I think they won Most Flamboyant Band of the Day award. Being closely tied to Salt Lake's music scene, the Flys let all around know how they had survived. Accompanied by friend Eric Hunter (from PCP BER-ZERK-ER) on their final number, the Flys shouted out to the fans how they had suffered through Zion's clubs, played with lesser-known locals and now had finally reached true rock 'n' roll status.
Big Bad Voodoo Daddy took the stage at 2:30, and all those who could mud-swing did. Others resorted to swoshing, which is a combination of moshing and swinging and, well, if you can't do one, try the other.
Soul Coughing was great. I almost got into a fight. (Hee-hee.) There I was, surrounded by bodyguards (six very large boys), and this rather fat, aging head-banger with a receding hairline decides I'm the one he needs to take on. Unfortunately, I had to decline. I really think I would have hurt him.
Although Rancid was truly a good time, my group left to get a place for Primus. My efficient bodyguards thought it would be neat to pick me up and pass me over the crowd. Yes, I surfed. Whatever makes me look cool.
All I can say is, Primus brought down the house. Not only did they bring down the house, they brought down the rain. The moment they played the first note, the heavens opened and the crowd began to steam. Beautiful, wish you were here!
Jessica, I left there looking like a drowned rat. A cute drowned rat, but a drowned rat nonetheless - and I loved every minute.
By the way, cargo pants are very weather friendly.