Fiddlehead @ Fiesta

Who: Fiddlehead
What: A lecherous gang of super mutants.
Where: Latitude 43 Gloucester, Ma
When: 06/29/2012, 9 PM
Why: To imbue the spirit of funky dance into the masses.
How: Seventeen llamas and a lot of elbow grease.

Ah Latitude 43, even though it's been remodeled; it still brings back fond memories of sloppy karaoke nights. It just so happens this roller coaster evening coincided with the local Saint Peter's Fiesta. Early on in the evening, Fiddlehead serenaded us with the likes of not only some new material, but even some good time favorites like "Rocky Raccoon". This got some of the early birds on the dance floor.

As the evening progressed, things began to get a little more twisted. By the time the second set rolled around the Latitude was bumping. People were grinding on the dance floor doing such classic dances as the "Malamute Scoot" and "Hippo Hoedown". At one point in the evening I think hell itself broke loose on the dance floor and sucked a few people in.

Since it was a party, there were creatures of all different sizes, shapes and colors. I think someone even let a goat in. It was wearing a replica Italian flag so it got to stay. Everyone was really nice there except the guy who spilled beer on me. Don't worry, it wasn't a lot - I could tell he drank most of it. I also got a beer for the band and didn't realize it was free, then I lost my change of a twenty. If you find my $15 please send it to:

Patrick Fitzpatrick
42 Misery Lane
Gloucester, MA
01938

If you need to break the five for a stamp I understand. Since that's off my chest, I guess I can talk about the band a little bit more. The ear grinding, side-winding, soul-sucking brain orgy that is Fiddlehead churned out song after song that night. An ocean of hypnotized adrenaline pumped island dwellers also churned, thoroughly enthralled and saturated by the pulse pounding notes. Was that enough adjectives for you?

(AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR)

"You cave dwellers are all the same. Eating your cave moss all day until the sun goes down, then you go out into night only to be photographed by the gawking tourists. This isn't science, its a lobotomy and you're all going to die from self-induced cave moss comas.

We, the lizard people of the underworld shall rise up against you cave dwellers who have enslaved us for so long. Then it is only a matter of time until we conquer the puny humans of the surface world. Long live Emperor Gruhl of the Lizard Kingdom!"

*STATIC*

(Please note that this advertisement does not in any way represent the opinions of Patrick Fitzpatrick, nor the Fiddleheadblorg.)

The highs were high, the lows were low, and if you looked just right something might show. Booties were hitting the floor with thunderous roars. Ya dudes in polo shirts like Jersey Shore. Just when I thought I couldn't take anymore...I managed to get free and find the door.

Come see Fiddlehead. Listen to them. Please?

Middle East Downstairs 03/17/12

Fiddlehead
Middle East Downstairs, Cambridge, MA.
March 17th, 2012

The electric light show is blasting laser light beams all around the room. The dance floor is jam packed with canoodling onlookers. The locals are all painted shades of green. Pat Nelson is singing about nicotine…or is it a hippopotamus, maybe it was both I guess? Most of it’s a blurry mess of space cream and cigarettes. Its like a joyride in your Dad’s mint condition 1974 Dodge Challenger. Pure adrenaline.

The sound of the bass thumping could alone frighten off even the most savage of animals and tame the wicked beast. In fact at one point the Blorg itself made an appearance and was stricken temporarily deaf and beaten abundantly by the mindless rabble of Fiddleheads. Waves of terrifying sound continued to pour from the stage for what could have been hours or even days…but was probably just about ninety minutes.

Beads of sweat pour off the entertainers as their fingers seem to have minds of their own. Thunder and lightning come crackling out of their amplifiers with every powerful lick. The drums crash like hippos stampeding across the stage. Funk in its purest form can be seen oozing from their ears at this point. Every last inhibition has been cut loose and the only thing left is to just go with it, you’re in over your head.

The tribe of painted worshipers pack closer and closer to the stage as Fiddlehead begins to channel the most ancient of funk. Endless chants of “Fiddlehead!” can be heard even from the back of the crowd. The lights flicker in and out, brighter, dimmer, spinning around and around. Complete chaos ensues on the dance floor, a literal pandemonium of air humping and skirt dipping.

Standing near the front of the stage, feeling the air being displaced by the subwoofers and getting the occasional odd brush from behind is an experience like no other. If your head isn’t instantly turned to jelly by the vibrations, you will experience the feeling of flying, followed by temporary paralysis and a small chance of coma. Children under eight years of age should only attempt this under parent’s supervision. Consult a doctor before ingesting Fiddlehead.

Its just then you realize you locked your dad’s keys in the car and now you won’t get away with taking it. Also, Wanda, the hot blonde you were making out with in the bathroom has the handsomest knuckle hair you’ve ever seen and the crazy funk band you thought you were watching is actually a polka tribute to David Bowie. Welcome to the land of chemicals and leisure suits.