The band played through the first couple of songs with little incident. Roughly a third of the way through the set, Brian Doidge ripped out the direct line from his bass rig, setting off an evening of on-stage disasters of varying degree. By the time I made it from my station at stage left to Doidge's rig at stage right, he had patched himself back in, and was back up front showing off his new silk checkerboard Ford auto racing shirt. He was quite proud of the fact that he had found such a goofy shirt that said "Ford" on it, and for only twelve dollars.

For those who don't yet know, this band has until recently been known as Aunt Betty's Ford. The name change was forced under threat of lawsuit by Ford Motor Co.

At the same time that I reached Doidge's gear, drummer Chuck Cummings' hi-hat mike fell out of its clip, smacked the hat, and slung halfway to the ground, pointing at the floor. Once I saw what Chuck was screaming about, I shoved the microphone back into place. It performed a second swan dive shortly thereafter. After that one, I crammed the mike in until I almost broke the clip, and it stayed. All this occurred within a mid-song moment, and Chuck didn't miss a beat. I think he started hitting things harder from the frustration, though.

Mike Knott was flailing himself and his low-low-slung guitar around, more or less oblivious to everyone else on stage, as usual. Mike was playing recklessly through Andrew Carter's "Rocket and a Bomb" guitar solo when he got this wacky, even more reckless look in his eyes, removed his dad's Taylor acoustic guitar, swung it as violently as he could, and creamed his vocal microphone. The blow bent the stand at about 20 degrees, knocked the stand a couple yards through the air, and sent the microphone off stage and into the crowd. Mike then heaved his newly ventilated guitar away and went back to flailing.

At this point, the house sound crew seemed to have decided that I would take care of everything, although I was basically only there to keep guitars strung and in tune. I ran out and reeled the mike back in, and set up a somewhat rickety stand just in time for Mike to commence singing again. He bellowed, "New guitar! New guitar! at me a couple of times, to which my reaction was "Yeah, no kidding!" He carried on for a moment without his six-string.

Then came the evening's biggest snafu: Knott's backup Martin acoustic guitar didn't work - or rather, house sound wasn't getting anything from the direct line. The Martin had sent signal to my guitar tuner just fine moments earlier. The band blew a couple of songs worth of time while the house sound crew fidgeted with the direct box and blamed the guitar, to no avail.

Meanwhile, Knott did Morrissey and Courtney Love impersonations, and joked about Elektra canceling the band's recording contract directly after the show. The Morrissey bit was especially funny, and didn't seem like that much of a stretch for Knott. Knott also poked fun at Carter's newly bleached mop of hair and unbleached sideburns, announcing it as great new fashion trend.

With the clock ticking, the band gave up on Knott's guitar and did "Speeder Mode" relying solely on Carter's guitar. Afterward, Mike told another story and asked for his acoustic back for another try. When it still didn't work, Carter grabbed Doidge's vocal mike and set it up for the acoustic guitar in front of Knott, which is something I should have probably done in the first place.

Knott then abandoned the set list, and began an old Irish folk song he and his father had sung (so goes the story I heard from a family friend), while the rest of the band stood around laughing. This was a long old Irish folk song. After about three verses, Knott paused, declared himself the King of Overkill, and sang the remaining three verses.

The band closed, as they have recently, with the manic "Star Baby;" thus ended the band's second-ever appearance at the "world famous Whiskey-a-Go-Go." I'd have expected a bit more out of the staff and sound crew, based upon the club's reputation and generally uppity attitude. At least the band weren't treated at harshly as they were at their first performance in the room, but that's another story.

Doidge got the Whiskey's collective goat pretty well, though. The stage floor bears many "No smoking on stage" signs; despite these, and a personal reprimand from the emcee over the P.A. prior to the set, he lit up pretty much the whole time. Hail, hail rock and roll.

- Jeff Elbel

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