Friday night was fun, ya’ll! Where were ya? All the hot action was going down at Fred’s Speakeasy with a crazy lineup of Automanic, Luxury Pushers and Crank County Daredevils. Thanks to my bro being fashionably late as always, I missed most of Automanic’s set. Luxury Pushers were super cool (hunt ’em down on myspace) although I really wanted to give their guitarist a blood transfusion and a peanut butter sandwich; I could pick my teeth with that boy…but any band that opens their set with a few lines from “America” by Neil Diamond is ok in my book.
The crowd was happy as hell it was Friday, friendly and mostly drunk. There was dancing and flailing for Luxury Pushers, which if you know Asheville’s music scene like I do, is insane–seldom will Ashevillians get up and show love to the headlining band, nevermind the opening bands.
The bathroom at Fred’s is haunted. My sis in law announced this to me early in the evening. My own investigation led me to the same conclusion, so don’t pee alone in the Speakeasy ladies room. One of the employees overheard us talking and threw in her own two cents of agreement.
By the time Crank County got rolling, the crowd that was drunk for Luxury Pushers was now wasted, but still friendly. A mosh pit formed in front of the band, and for reasons I can’t understand, the men of the pit felt it best that they pull their shirts off. Heh heh heh, ok, let me jump in there. Makin’ friends with shirtless sweaty men, yeah. One of my new friends felt compelled to give me random shoulder massages between songs. Had I not been feeling a gentle Jager buzz, I probably would’ve punched him in the nose—no one touches the Katster without permission, especially when I don’t even know your name, but as I mentioned, it was a really friendly crowd, so I was going with the flow. Good gawd it was hot, and I shouted out to my bro that I needed water, but he dissed me entirely!
Crank County put on their usual high octane show, but because the “stage” at Fred’s is just a corner of the room, the band is on the same level with the audience. Audience members from the mosh pit are spilling over into the band, singing spontaneous backup vocals, good stuff. By the time they rolled into their ass-kicking cover of GnR’s “It’s So Easy,” they’d just given up control of the vocals to the crowd entirely. It was awesome, really fun.
Post show, we weren’t eager to leave Fred’s, we were having too much fun. Bro, Sis in Law, and two super hottie rock stars from local bands were hanging with me at the bar. I’m drinking water (thank god for water, thank you anonymous super hottie rock star for getting me water) and high five-ing my mosh pit brothers as they amble off into the night—some of them have located their shirts, some of them are wandering away without one. We’re all just chillin’, shootin’ the shit. It’s time for Fred’s to start closing up shop, so we hijack the super hottie rock stars in my brother’s vehicle, the BroMobile, and take our soiree to Denny’s.
Denny’s around 3 AM is a very strange place. They have security guards in place to keep the peace should a brawl over maple syrup break out. Everyone else in the place looked pretty cranky and tired, but our table was rowdy and happy—and maybe a little too loud, it’s hard to judge how loud you’re talking when your ears are ringing.
Food at that late/early hour is good. Any food at that hour is good…except, apparently, for the bacon (“oh my god, I think I might puke, that bacon is horrible, try it, no, really try it. I think it’s raw, taste it.”) and some mysterious pancakes of evil (“I didn’t order pancakes. Why are there pancakes here?”). My bro redeemed himself for being late and letting me dehydrate at Fred’s by paying for my chow.
We drove our first super hottie rock star home and left him with his box of Satan’s pancakes of the damned…and as we were chauffering our second super hottie rock star home, that’s when the full belly sleepiness started washing over me and I couldn’t sit up straight.
I was dropped off at home, locked the door behind me and started to strip on my way to the washer to deposit the funky laundry. The smell of cigarette smoke and the sweat of mosh pit men was pretty gross; I had to wash the clothes immediately. I wanted a shower, but couldn’t make it another step, collapsing on my bed, instantly asleep. Good fun, good times, just another Friday night in Ashevegas.