Rock and Roll died...and I was there

My brother was in town this past weekend, so Saturday night we went out with a few of his old friends. We started the night at Cumberland Brews, then a bartender we know invited us to the bar where he works. This place is usually only open for concerts, so I thought it was kind of odd that we walked in and there wasn't a cover. I also found it unusual that the band was dazzlingly shitty. Is that a twelve-year-old girl on stage, deafening me with her off-key caterwauling? Why is the lack of heart and soul staggering even for a cover band? Lots of questions, very few answers.

Then a nice lady started talking to me. She asked, "So, how do you know the birthday boy?"

Yeah...so we crashed someone's private birthday party. The band was just a collection of some rich guy's friends and family, which explained why my ears were being tonally sodomized.

But that's not important; a female was talking to me, remember? This woman was very friendly, but it turns out she was there with a really really old dude. I'm old, sure...but this guy was really really old. When he sees his date talking to me, he gets her to move from their table by the bar to one closer to the stage. So I got cockbocked by Buddy Ebsen.

Without the pleasant distraction, the pure awfulness of the band was brought to the forefront. I'm sure this group wasn't offensive to their friends, but I didn't know these fuckers. I heard them through the unfiltered ears of a stranger. And what I heard was nothing less than the death of rock and roll as we know it.

All in all, not a bad Saturday night.