cklarock

Steel Pulse was fantastic. The show was in a spot called the Grand Emporium, which I remember from the old days as being a blues bar; Kansas City had (has?) some gritty old-school blues dives back in the day. You used to be able to go into the Grand Emporium and buy red beans and rice with a plate of greens from this tiny mean old lady. It was the best beans and rice I've ever had, and I remember it with the same glittering reverence with which I regard my great-grandmother's food: dimly remembered and over-idealized.

Nowadays, the Grand Emporium is the kind of bar with twenty-foot tall stacks of backlit shelves containing all shapes and sizes of liquor bottles, framed by elaborate abstract dangly light-fixtures. But despite the bourgeoise makeover, the venue is still really intimate.

And by intimate, I mean what everybody means when they say a venue is intimate-- that it's fucking small. Steel Pulse's management and stage crew actually flipped out when they saw how tiny the stage was. They screamed and ranted and raved, but what could they do? Hahahaha, Irie, right? The music business is defined by four constants: massive egos, sleep deprivation, bad food and bitching. Whenever you are working in the business, in any capacity, you are going to deal with egotists and listen to a lot of bitching. Almost as much bitching as they do on a movie set, or in the Army.

Anyway, the techs somehow managed to get past the tragedy (this is the sound of me rolling my eyes) and set the stage up. The musicians were right on top of one another: a keyboardist that had to set up behind the rest of the band, with two backup singers in front of him, and the three main players (keys, vocals and guitar) in front of them.

We arrived late, and missed DJ LionDub. LionDub has been my favorite reggae DJ for years-- he's pretty fucking amazing. The dude at the end of the bar told Sophie that LionDub killed it. Good to know. I went to the bar, waited less than a minute for drinks and by the time we found a good spot to lean against, the band came on. Our timing was perfect.

But hey, wait a minute-- where's the dude with the big grey beard that I put in the flyer for the show?

I guess he left the band. D'oh! Hahahahah. Worst. Flyer. Evar. I feel like I just asked some guy I don't know very well how his wife was doing and he said, "she left me, Chris."

How long is it going to take to un-fuck that interaction?

At any rate, the band was FANTASTIC and they killed me with all the jams from back in the day along with their new songs. Here are three of the crowd's favorites from the evening:

Uncle Sam and Uncle Tom, yes them are the same man.

I think this one was the crowd's favorite: Open sesame-- here comes Rasta man!

Liberation. True Democracy. One God, one aim, one destiny. Rally 'round the Red, Gold, Black and Green.

Other tracks: Your House // Chant a Psalm // Bodyguard