The Adicts; Reverend Horton Heat @ Stage 48

 The Adicts; Reverend Horton Heat
@ Stage 48
New York, NY - September 17, 2015

It feels like yesterday, being a lonely teenager on a Saturday night with cable TV. Who could know that watching the one off HBO Drew Carey Mr. Vegas All-Night Party would have such consequences. The musical act on this old time variety special was none other than some fine relatively young whippersnappers out of Dallas, the Reverend Horton Heat playing their new single "It's Martini Time". Come now some 18 years after that and I've only seen the Rev a couple of times. And never with martinis. Tonight had to be the night. For reasons known only to booking agents, the Rev's latest return to New York put them at the ends of the Earth - a warehouse club near the West Side Highway. So as part of my sojourn from the subway to the nether regions, I stopped off in the hoitiest toitiest hotel restaurant bar on 11th Ave that I could find, sipping martinis, watching the wealthy have a ball, remembering when the car lots were the only thing on this stretch, while I readied for punk in my black t-shirt and blue jeans.

I crossed the street and found myself straight right into Horton's set. I panicked that I wasted too much time on the martinis but a fan by the door assurred me during his stomping that this was song 1. I don't know what the sound or light guys were doing, but Jim Heath had to stop the show a tad to tell the techs that they (the band) were not hip hop so stop doing whatever hip hop thing they (the techs) were doing that was hip hop. Later Horton apologized for making it sound like he was trashing hip hop but some things are just the way they are - like when the Rev and Jimbo switched instruments to unleash the first live rendition of the original rock n roll blockbuster "Johnny B Goode" I think I've ever heard - that's just how it had to be - and in keeping with the church of the Reverend, it was more than allright. So while the trappings indicated New York would be unkind to the returning trio, it turned out fine.

All I knew of the Ipswich boys we call the Adicts was "Chinese Takeaway". Now I'm a fan. A big one. Me and all the new old new punk kids who had a blast on the floor. And on an anthropological note, pity Senor Trump was not present. He'd have to face the fact that in some ways, at least in his old town of New York, that a fairly large contingent of what's left of the punk scene are young Mexicans and I mean right down to looking like they are fronting the Exploited. Aye Carumba!