Best Beloved took me to see Leftover Cuties Wednesday night at the Dakota Jazz Club in Minneapolis. Actually, we saw the cutest cutie three times, not just once.
Stopped at the light at 10th and Nicollet, I watched Shirli cross the street, a pair of high (really high) heels in one hand.
As she stepped to the curb on the northwest side of the intersection I thought, Shirli . . . Shirli. Wait. I just watched Shirli McAllen cross the street.
I felt like I should run after her an apologize for not saying hello. (She later told me “You should have!”) As we were seated at our table near the stage, there she was again, scooting between the tables toward the backstage rooms. I started to stand and apologize for my earlier rudeness, but she was just too quick.
Leftover Cuties are the kind of band which feels like you really ought to run after them and say hello. (continued)
alling far outside the swingabilly world, Paul “hoopshank” Turrell is irresistible. How can you resist someone who writes a song about what a really big number a billion is, and turns it into something between Led Zeppelin and Yes? (continued)
erky, yet crunchy. Or is it crunchy, yet perky? And oh, look! It’s 70s slide guitar, in the best possible sense. “I’ll sell you dreams you never knew you wanted . . . ”
Yep; it’s Goodtimes Goodtimes once again. I swear, Franc puts something in your tea that’s instantly addicting. I have, in my 50 years of constant ingestion, heard a lot o’ music. The Fortune Teller Song is one of that rare breed that has my feet tapping and head bobbing simultaneously, and that’s even during the third repeat. (I also love that the opening guitar riff is, um, an ‘homage’ [as in, lifted directly] from the Smith’s How Soon is Now?.)