Dec. 30, 2010
The Coach House
If I were a scumbag, I'd write 10,000 words on how insanely gorgeous the five female members of the Yard Dogs Road Show are and never mention the amazing musical and theatrical efforts of the six male participants onstage. But I'm not a scumbag.
Wait. Yes, I am. They're fucking hot, and the fact that they sing, dance and play instruments is–to use a tired cliché–icing on the cake. As for the dudes? Hell, they coulda been playing two-hand touch football in the aisles of The Coach House wearing nothing but jock straps on their heads, and I wouldn't have noticed.
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Fortunately, I am not only a scumbag, but also a professional (yet not a professional scumbag), and I focused my attention on the entire Yard Dogs Road Show performance. This was no small feat, considering the 80-minute set comprised burlesque dancers; a dude who swallowed a sword and other things I wouldn't recommend trying at home; a female trombonist with the voice of an angel and the legs of a devil (and I mean in that the absolute-highest-compliment sort of way); a female accordion player who sang a song about pineapples in a pineapple dress (duh!); Guitar Boy, who smoked a cigarette while rocking a Native American headdress; and a Bowie-esque guitar player who removed his Flying V, placed it on the stage, then slapped it with a tie to create a pretty awesome noise. Oh, yeah, and a magician who made a live chicken appear out of thin air.
And you thought reviewing shows was easy.
In all seriousness, it's my job to use the magic of the English language to describe what happens at events such as these. But to be perfectly honest, I think I'm at a loss for words. Saying the Yard Dogs Road Show is “awesome,” “spectacular” or “a must-see” doesn't seem to hint at the immense talent on display last night. One song had a circus-jazz vibe, while the next was a fog-machine-laden rocker à la Ziggy Stardust. Then there were blues riffs that would have made Zeppelin proud and some ballads that would have had Ella Fitzgerald clapping in her grave. Add the multiple costume changes, singer/dancer/ringleader Broadway, who moonlit on bass and drums (although not simultaneously, which would have been really fucking cool), and the sword swallower playing a saw, and those in attendance had one helluva night.
The encore consisted of the basist (sorry, I didn't catch his name; there were only 11 people onstage) taking the mic and singing a lounge tune about making love to the crowd, but not in the intercourse kind of way. He went on to explain how words have been misused, and how he wasn't ashamed to admit to have slept with his mother, father and bald grandmother because he was using the term “sleep with” in the traditional sense. All in all, it was pretty damn funny.
I could tell you more, but instead, I'll end with this: If the Yard Dogs Road Show comes to your town, you should go. In my 15-plus years of evenings in poorly lit rooms and half-assed PAs, I've never seen anything like it.
Personal Bias: I like hot women who wear next to nothing.
Crowd: Bearded dudes in flannel and attractive females in D&G glasses.
Overheard in the Crowd: “That was way better than I thought it would be.”
Random Notebook Dump: If the tall brunette dancer asked me to marry her, I'd say yes.
Set List: Who the hell knows?
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