words and photos by Lige Menard
Hi! How are you? I sure hope you’ve been doing well. Me? Well, I’m glad you asked, reckon I’ve been swell.
Lemme tell ya about a not secret but felt like a secret show that went down on low-key lo-fi Thursday, Feb. 10th at the Texas Rose Saloon down MLK way in the heart of the BMT. It was pre-Valentines times and the smokey Rose haze was thick with desire lines, with passions of many a savory flavoring, and with some bittersweet sad mixed in to keep things on edge. Love’s emotional spectrum was present like the apostles at the last supper. The name February comes from Februum (Purification) and I think we were all looking for a bit of fire cleansing. Some seeking to stoke each other’s flame anew, and some looking to burn out a dying fire within. Gat dang matters of the heart, man.
Psycho Jenni opened up, kicking the tires and lighting them there passion fires. Fronted by an up-and-coming queen of hearts, Myah Mendoza, Psycho Jenni is comprised of a court of jesters who know the salty sting of clown tears, personally. Their deft lacing of grunge era covers with powerful, emotional originals really had the crowd moving against each other. My “Oregon Trail Generation” self was catching a wave of tasty feels, like No Doubt my Pixies, they had me wanting to rescue an Alice In Chains. Wanting me to take her to Nirvana and say, “Here comes your mans!”
North by North!! A two piece of songbirds who flew down indirectly from Chicago, and boy I can only imagine their arms were tiiiiired. Zing! Talking with Kendra Blank, I learned just a little bit about her somewhat romantic history with the drums, and how her heart seemingly pounds against them. Suffice to say she ain’t got daddy issues ‘cause she moves to the beat of her OWN drum!! Nate Girard (vox/axe) writes catchy ballads whose emotional landscapes resonated with the gathered. Landing somewhere between the Misfits and The Modern Lovers, Nomad Nate’s voice manages to combine emotional storytelling with a carefree pop swagger.
Pug Johnson and the Hounds shut the mother down. These boys done ate pain for their breakfast cereal and showed out to share that prize that can only be gleamed from the bottom of a box of Sorrow Oats. SouthPaw’s picking never fails in getting me to dance a jig and take a swig. The addition of Andrew Rhoads seems a genius move. His trombone brings a whole new layer of sound to the Hounds’ pound.
Pug’s songwriting really speaks to the life of a troubadour at trouble’s door. These boys don’t get caught up in the slow jam side of the blues. Their lyrics are uplifting and playful, and the tempo goes from cool breeze to outrunning the devil. Always a feel-good moment.
What’s this!?! My senses escape me just now, and I figure I better put this article to rest. My eyes grow heavy and the lights are going out. My hands? Numb. I’m wondering as I tingle in the twinkling twilight, is this a stroke? Is this a heart attack or something? Hellfire boys! Could this be heartburn of a heart burned? That feelsfire sure can catch fast and burn hot, just to be put on a back burner later on. Hope that’s not your lot, FOMO fam. May you be victorious in the quest for your heart’s desire. If you need some help singing “My Girl” outside your girl’s window, I got you, kinfolk.