Reverend Horton Heat, Roseland, 2004 July 15

Actually, I was probably consciously avoiding running yesterday, due to a) the lack of sleep the previous night and b) I was going to see Reverend Horton Heat at the Roseland Theater. Since I knew I was going to be up late again Thursday night, I went home and took a disco nap before heading back downtown and meeting my friends.

There were two opening bands but I missed the first one. Second act was the Detroit Cobras. Noone in my group knew if, in fact, they were from Detroit, although Anna opined that they didn’t look Detroit enough. I was pretty sure they weren’t actually cobras, however. They didn’t even do any cobra-like moves, although the bass player from Rev. Horton Heat, Jimbo, did do a cobra arm movement later on. The Detroit Cobras had some decent songs but the lead singer spent a lot of the show griping, at one point sarcastically commenting that “we might as well be at a house party”, and later, when the band paused between songs she threw a diva hissy fit and demanded several times they start the next song.

Luckily the main act was far more polished and professional. There was some ass, and the band kicked it. Names may or may not have been taken in the ensuing party. The Reverend’s crowd rap about crowd rap (monologues between songs from a band) was amusing and ended with the crowd telling the band to fuck off, much to the Reverend’s delight (and due to his skillful orchestration of the audience), and Jimbo’s diatribe about his carnal desire for Martha Stewart on the eve of her sentencing left a lasting impression.

The noise level from what is only a three-piece band was incredible, and the crowd was eating it up. Many pompadours attended the show, and a large wild-haired blond gentleman spun through the mosh pit, head down, very much as though the Grateful Dead were playing.

The only downbeat note was at the end of the encore set, when a kid made it up on to the stage. A roadie ran up and pushed the kid off the stage into the crowd, and the Reverend berated him, calling him a “pussy” and mocking him for picking up his cell phone — “Call your mommy!” he shouted at the kid. But it was an entertaining downbeat note, all the same.