Saturday had a weird vibe. There was the exhaustion of having to squeeze a vehicle into a rare Superior Street parking space, an 8-point maneuver in front of like 15 festival-goers. So many masks. Such a mix of ages. That place on the small of your back where sweat just pools now. I said some pretty weird things out loud. Chow Haul was closed because of a propane sitch.
There was much buildup on stage at The Red Herring Lounge before a masked Scott Millis called “Ladies and gentlemen: The Tysonettes!” Fred Tyson, a flashy shuffling crooner in a brown pin-striped suit and cap, led off with “Ladies Night,” which included six backup singers — a group wholly overshadowed by the Tysonette on the right. Carolyn Reisberg in a green velvet dress with a scoop neck and Molly Ringwald hair.
“Be safe, be safe, be safe, be safe,” Freddie told the audience, then later, “Love ya, love ya all. Love all you fans.”
He performed his signature tune: “Freddy Gonna Do What He Wants to Do, So (Eff) You.”
The Horror played its instrumental sci-fi soundtrack at The Flame and Billy Wagness was all-business, clothes-wise, with a blonde wig with a complicated hairdo, bobbing and leaping while he manned the synth. It felt like something you’d stumble on after midnight in the basement of an unmarked skateboarder bar in an unfamiliar city.
Black-Eyed Snakes played for a packed Rex Bar, a show that started with the rock ‘n’ blues band of Alan Sparhawk, Bob Olson, Brad Nelson and Bryan Johnson seated. Sparhawk’s vocals were distorted when he wished everyone a “Happy Homegrown” and later when he finally stood to ooze around the stage.
Regret: Not seeing The Electric Witch.
Regret II: Never getting the Wonton of the Day.
And then there was Pesto Benedict with Pushing Chain, a duo of Boyd Blomberg and Adam Moe who played one of the brunch shifts at Pizza Luce Sunday morning. But we got seated by the bathroom, so.