Friday, February 4, 2011
Last night we gathered, us few, nestled in the dim lit back room of the Tonic Lounge as though some secret cult of punk rock faithfuls. All having come to witness the magic that is Coco Cobra and the Killers but what we experienced was so much more than mere musical sorcery, but rather a force of nature.
The night was like any other, as the crowd milled about armed with P.B.R. tallboys and rock glasses of tequila. With fun opening sets from the playful punk of The Food and the sweet tounge-in-cheek retro-core of Thundering Asteroids!, we were well prepared for a night of good music and early weekend revelry or damage, depending on the person. To our credit there is no way that we could have foreseen what was coming, but once Coco sauntered onto the short stage we understood clearly that we never stood a chance. All sex and rock'n'roll she grab the microphone and our attention like a horny lover bent on getting off as fast and hard as the laws of physics would allow.
And us, we were her puppets. In awe we stood as her band of veteran punk rockers launched into their set. The boys letting loose some of rawest garage inspired bar rock any of use had heard in sometime. Quickly the music took on the force of a runaway train gaining speed with each new song, no pauses, no breaks, suddenly we were breathless and ready to run head first through cinder block walls. Kevin's guitar was fuzz-lovely and ripped though us as a sickle through grain and to this moment I still can't tell you why his fingers didn't burst into flames. As if that wasn't enough the concussion of the bass and drums nearly knocked us to our asses. Wave after wave fell upon us without relenting as though matching the gyrations of Coco's hips; mesmerizing us, melting our wills, taking over our minds. In hind sight it reminds me of Coco's name sake, the cobra's hypnotic dance. Controlled and intense paralyzing us victims with exotic motions, leaving us open to a deadly strike of lighting speed. Luckily, Coco was just playing with us this time.
At it's peek the music that threatened to scatter us into oblivion just suddenly ceased, like the winds of a tornado and we were left in shock as though cheated of our afterglow. Now in the light of the new day it all seems like the remnant of some aggressively erotic dream, but what a dream it was.