...start the evening off planning for the much anticipated Frontier assault of Thin White Rope/Pontiac Bros/Naked Prey. It had been scheduled for the Channel and for once I make an extra effort and get there plenty early. So me and about eight other dedicated souls sit around in the barren warehouse that is the Channel for an agonizing hour or so, before some useless bag grabs the mike to entertain us with the info that the show's been canceled, drive carefully, and all that. Gee, thanks. The bands are obviously there (Naked Prey having long been set up,) but no explanations are offered, so I trudge out of that f**kin' hole as fast as possible. On to the Rat, where the bunch listed above are slated. What Now have already played, and some unknown to me four-piece is sloshing along. Missed the name, would've been just as happy to miss the set as well. Basically uninspiring, out of focus keyboards clashing with a guitarist who intermittently struck upon a note I wouldn't be embarrassed to play myself, but not too often. Singer/bassist looked like a rubber duck left out of the tub; I was glad when this concluded. Don't know if a combination of the above factors dimmed my receptors or what, but I had a hard time getting too involved with the Moving Targets. In fact the whole process (being in the club, the same old token two dozen tappin' their foot, familiar lack of real excitement) seemed mighty depressing, at least for that moment. My big conclusion on the Targets, as perhaps a result, is that main joe Kenny Chambers is a f**kin' genius talent to be reckoned with that his set-up demands he be. As singer, guitarist, and I assume main (or even sole?) songwriter, not to mention the only band member supplying visual appeal, for this scrappy trio, he seems to have at least one too many tons of brick on his shoulder. If really stretches the band a bit thin, you can't hold up the fort and shoot all the guns as well blah blah blah. An additional injection of creative impetus really seems like it'd cute a bunch of (albeit minor) ills.
Christmas save [sic] what's left of the evening for me. Cudahy looking most spectacular with his assortment of hand painted body tattoos and pirate scarf, Liz looked prim and proper, and (I think) will current bassman Salzman had a pillow wrapped around his head, or didn't he? Sorry, my memory's fogging up again. Christmas were ripe, funny and apparently ready for world domination. Are you gonna be one of the clowns to deny them? The only thing to upstage them was an undeniably prodigious dance floor performance from that bundle of esteem, William Ruane. Reducing The Cragin to the mere dog paddle of floor dances, Billy floated, kicked, jumped, wheezed; wow. I'm speechless. Watch for the video soon. -- Jimmy