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"God knows I love the Opry
Like the drifter and the man in black
But if I ever get to Nashville
I'm gonna kick Hank Jr.'s ass"
Deacon Lunchbox

It's been a while since we've whipped out a long one, in more ways than one, so get a beverage and settle in....

Rumor has it there were Degenerates all over town Friday night, Kaya for Funkadelica, Seven Stages for story telling/performance art, many headed out of town, but they don't write in like they should so you only get the report from the DP editor: Bubbapalooza VI!
The Little 5 Points Star Community Bar hosted 4 days of beer, guts, and beerguts over this memorable Memorial Day weekend. Friday night kicked off with a Hellyeahbygod by Slim Chance and the Convicts. Roots country with soul. "COUNTRY???" many of you out there are likely asking, as the DP has a long history of hating country. Hell yeah, COUNTRY! Slim Chance did some major but kicking before the editor caught up with our wayward music consultant Greg, also of the pathetically-slow and too soft-handed paper-based Creative Loafing. Next is The Lilly Bandits, lame-o country from Ohio with little soul. However, the many yupsters in the joint are smokin' ceegars and suckin' light beer and getting the editor's adrenaline pumped up to 9.

"I never rub another man's rhubarb, unless it's an attempt to start a fight with the man, an' right now that yupster's girl in the mini skirt is lookin' really good!" notes the editor. Time for water.

The next act, Delta Angels is a vast improvement. The lead singer's voice was as enticing as her form and the music weren't too bad either. A few 50's-greasers-wannabe's start twirling women skillfully and lots of alternafolk are hopping about. Midnight is apparently yupster curfew as most cleared out. The Blacktop Rockets take the stage and burn it up with SERIOUSLY buttkickin' rockabilly. We'll make a point to see them again! Between the REEEL GUUUD music, the twirling ladies in the dance floor and the lesbians making out in the Elvis vault, the editor's adrenaline is beyond 11.

"Excuse me ma'am.
Do you think I could
lick the decals off your toaster
in a room at the Golfland Motor Lodge
out on Interstate 85"
Deacon Lunchbox

Riding out the storm of hormones, the editor survives the rest of the show and hits Taco Bell at 3 AM.
Saturday it's back into the fray. Loaded Dice are on stage as the editor enters. We've mentioned these guys before but we'll take another shot at 'em. They must be loaded to be able to afford their equipment and hair spray, you've got to be loaded (in another way) to find them tolerable, too bad they're not loaded with talent to match their egos, which are bloated.
Fortunately, The Ramblers more than make up the slack. In their first appearance, they had the bartenders dancing and the crowd yelling approval with a combination of jump blues, Western swing, Hank Williams Sr., and a damn fine cover of 867-5309 (Jenny) that got laughs from everyone.
Drover's Old Time Medicine Show did campy bluegrass with style and humor. The crowd couldn't appreciate it much, however, and many took a break but those of us raised in the hills found it sickly fascinating.
Hot Burritos followed with some serious talent and marvelous songwriting. Jack Logan joined them and added to the fire. Recommended for music lovers of all ages.
(By the way, I think PBR actually stands for Poor Boy's Refreshment. At $1.50 each, the editor saved massive quantities of funds this weekend.)
Six String Drag took the stage with force, and a killer horn section. I wondered if I'd been transported to Bourbon Street as they cranked out a fabulous mix of Dixieland, country, blues and rock. Even the many interesting sights to see couldn't distract the editor from this one.
The State Line Rats came in around the editor's sixth hour of being in the place. Despite keeping the alcoholic beverages to a minimum, 6 hours of music is beginning to wear on the editor and he couldn't remember these guys the morning after. He can't recall if it was Used Carlotta or Steam Donkeys that bored him out the door and home around 1 AM.

"There is a time for laughing
And there is a time for not laughing
This is not one of them"
Deacon Lunchbox

It's not a time for laughing. The editor gets home to find his door wide open. Listening to see if anyone's still there, he heads in cautiously. Nope, nobody home 'cept the cats, which is good. On the other hand, the VCR, camcorder, and several CD's are also not home. Damned annoying but it gets worse - the bicycle is also not home. Lots of loud cursing. Some repair to the door frame and a police report later, it's off to bed with the gun on the bedside table. The next morning brings more grief, the thief took the wrong remote - he took the one for the TV, despite the TV and VCR being different brand names and both sitting within a few feet of each other. Other things Mr. Bungling Burgler failed to notice - the new CD player worth far more than the beat up 8 year old VCR, or maybe the several thousand dollars of computer equipment a few feet away. I believe crime DOES pay but, like any occupation, it pays more for skilled workers. Sigh.
Sunday night and the combination of beer, music, and hormonal overdosing are starting to wear the editor down. The weekend's getting as long as this report so we've pared it down to essential details for the remainder.
Crazy Daisy is an old woman who looks like one of the waitresses at Majestic but with a far kinder voice. "She's the real thing!" exclaimed someone. Can't argue. Other less notable music followed but the editor wasn't impressed and was easily distracted by some exiting scenery of which we'll leave to your vivid imagination.
Dragline came on strong and hard and is one of the few consistently recommended acts for Degenerates everywhere. Buttkickin' rock with occasional honky tonk undertones like Jason and the Scorchers 'cept cheaper. More unmemorable acts leading up to Memorial day. And the day came (midnight Sunday/Monday, that is) with Redneck Greece. A man, a rubber chicken, and a band that cranks. Marvelously humorous while forcing your feed to stomp. They whipped out a Gregory Dean Smalley tune "She's breakin' my heart while I'm drinkin' her beer" while Greg's mother and widow sang along, teary eyed. Moving in every way. The next tune moved from the sad back to the mad and it's time for the editor to wrap up the night. He's working the next morning and one of the more fascinating bits of scenery has his hormones oozing out his ears. Oozapalloozing, even.

"She won't be my lover, but she'll buy me another.
She's breakin' my heart while I'm drinkin' her beer."
Gregory Dean Smalley

Day 4 and the editor can't take any more. You can read about Monday in the Loafing in degenerate GN's column, when it comes out...

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