The Electric Six show last night was AMAZING. Millions of Brazilians and The Gay Blades were incredible, powerful, dancetacular openers and were pretty much the exact opposite of last week’s opening bands. Millions of Brazilians ended their set with the singer grabbing a drum off the kit, running out into the audience, setting it up on a stool and going to town, handing the sticks off to an audience member and indicating she should continue playing, and then running back onstage to create some fabulous noise. The Gay Blades’ singer let us know exactly how unloved and unwanted Portland made him feel, decked himself out in a wreath of fake leaves, and danced like the world was ending while rocking out.

Dick Valentine rocked a crumpled pinstripe suit, and while he cut out a majority of the falsetto in his songs, he was incredibly powerful vocally. There are bands with singers who sound NOTHING live like they do in the studio; that is not the case here.

In between songs, he ruminated on the quality of falafel provided by Mediterranean Express, indicated that Seattle is sort of the QVC of music (!?) (“But no offense, guys”), and covered up the fact that he can’t dance (fact) with a lot of microphone stand gesticulating and firing finger guns at the audience.

It was easily, easily the best show I’ve seen this year, with no offense at all intended to thehifi who also brought it but good.

The Swollen Members show was amaaaaaazing. Or at least they were. Their openers? Well, let me tell you about them.

Bliss n Esso at least gave an honest performance; they’re Aussies making their first foray into the States and they seemed genuinely excited about being here and performing. During their performance, there were a couple of people from Yakima that could not stop jawing about Big B, who was up second, and let me tell you, this pair were perhaps the whitest people who were ever white. Ever. I wish to christ I’d taken a photograph. The gentleman of the group was decked out in a checkerboard beanie with a flipped-up brim–the only thing that was missing was the propeller. Additionally, he sported a great big baggy shirt and a great big (presumably) fake gold chain. The lady was completely tweaked out, and had blue eyeshadow allll the way up to her eyebrows. Actually, the whole AUDIENCE was full of people whom I would like to take the opportunity to publicly mock–the guy in the front row who was carrying a gut so large that it completely distorted the letters on his ‘I AM HIP HOP’ t-shirt and it took me a good ten minutes to figure out what it said. The dudes with pants down to their knees. The chick in the wifebeater who was able to rest her gut onstage. All the TOTALLY ‘hardcore’ dudes wearing bandanas and attempting to swagger. Black people, we are not co-opting your culture. It is impossible, because we look like utter fucking jackasses. Thank you, Neumos, for providing over-21 individuals such as myself a balcony from which to look down upon the masses with scorn.

Anyway, Cletus and his girlfriend went down to the main floor when Big B came onstage with a hoodie up over his head. It soon became apparent why Cletus was so fond of him, as Big B is best described by the term I have just now invented, “Hillbilly-Hop”, what with not just one, but SEVERAL songs about being white trash. At first I was perplexed as to why someone would come onstage with a hoodie masking the sides of their face, and a hat below that casting them into shadow, but I instantly and totally regretted this observation as I fear that it was by my powers of thought alone that caused him to not only take off his hoodie, but also the shirt beneath that. I talk a lot of talk about fat acceptance but frankly do not walk the walk as a fat fatist. Basically, I want people to accept ME as I am because I put an effort into being presentable–clean, neat, never ever wearing sweatpants or pajamas out into public or any of those other negative steretypes that are commonly held about fat people. This guy? GROSS and clearly proud of it, blowing his nose at people, spitting onstage, and walking around with an oily sheen that lets everyone know that if you get close to him, he will certainly smell. Even if he wasn’t totally gross, I hated his music and it seemed the rest of the audience did as well, with the exception of Cletus and Brandine, who were going fucking NUTS. I’m fairly certain Cletus creamed his pants when Big B fist bumped him, and for some incomprehensible reason, Brandine took to waving around a fluorescent light tube. Not a lit tube that was serving any purpose, no, just waving a tube for waving a tube’s sake.

Common Market are local, and I couldn’t stand them, either. At first, I thought they’d given a homeless man a microphone and sent him onstage. But what sort of homeless man raps while waving around a latte? How Seattle. Yawn. Before they FINALLY left the stage, they kept making sure that everyone knew it was their job to get everyone warmed up for Swollen Members, and if we weren’t pumped up, they hadn’t done their job. You know what would pump me up? NOT MAKING ME STAND THERE FOR THREE HOURS THROUGH A BUNCH OF BULLSHIT WAITING TO SEE ONE OF MY FAVORITE BANDS. Huh? How about that? How about not making me wait so long for the goods that I have to cut out during the encore to catch the very last bus heading anywhere near my home?

So anyway, they were beyond awesome, they played almost ALL of my favorite songs which I never would’ve expected since the majority of my favorites are on their oft-neglected B-side album. They were super-energetic, and Prevail made sure to pay a lot of attention to the balcony which mostly gets ignored by artists onstage. It was definitely worth the three plus mile walk home from the Renton transit center, though honestly not much WILL be worth that walk as it’s pretty much straight uphill and I am so very, very lazy and it was so very, very, very difficult to get out of bed three hours later and be mentally/physically ready to hoof it to work. Also, for some reason, my bus ride home was free. I tried to pay when I boarded, but the driver covered the bill acceptor with his hand, so at first I thought I must be in the ride free zone and I’d need to pay as I got off the bus. Nosir. So, to Seattle and back for a buck seventy-five? I’ll take it!