Review by Aubrey Andel
The Geriatric Society of America gathered at the Fillmore last night to see one of their heroes from back in the day perform live once again. As crypt-keeper Ian McCulloch, the lead singer of the band Echo and the Bunnymen smoked cig after cig, shimmied his hips and balanced a bird’s nest hairstyle atop his head, I realized why the ancients were crazy for him: He’s just cool…that voice, those moves, those sunglasses.
I happened to be standing next to his #1 Fan of All Time, a 45-year-oldish, long blond-haired, meaty maniac who put on a performance of her own. She was pumping her little fists and swinging her hair all around, providing me with a breeze. That was okay. What wasn’t okay was when she started to shove her huge breastesses into my back because she was in such a euphoric state.
#1 Fan, I love that you love the band, but please don’t aim your lovin’ in my direction. Being knocked around by your knockers was not even mildly therapeutically pleasant for me.
When you shout to the heavens, “Punk Rock Man!!!” that’s okay too, just not in my freakin’ ear, woman. When sweat starts to glisten on your broad forehead because you’re jumping around like a jack rabbit, it doesn’t bother me, until that sweat ends up on my arm. Then it starts to bother me. I would have clobbered you right out of the venue but I restrained myself because I figured you needed the exercise.
While #1 Fan rocked on, Echo and the Bunnymen played an amazing set, with favorites like “The Killing Moon” and “Lips Like Sugar,” some songs from their new CD, Siberia, and partial covers of “Walk on the Wild Side” and “In the Midnight Hour.”
Ian, keep smoking your cigs dear, you have one helluva voice and lung cancer and laryngitis are small prices to pay to gratify your followers with a stellar performance.
Beer Rating:
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