Saturday Night Great Cover Up, Sunday's on the phone to Monday.
After a nice long nap and dinner with friends at the Moonlight Pizza Company, we slipped into Kings around 9:15, which left enough time for a game of Time Pilot (didn't roll it over, darn) and socializing before the first band. What can I say that hasn't already been said? We'll see.


The last time I saw Pylon was when the B-52s came through in like 1990 or something at the old civic center. This is only interesting because the lead singer for this Pylon was also Katie from last years B-52's (and of course Stevie in this year's Fleetwood Mac). Go M.! Unfortunately, the last time I saw Pylon was also the last time I listened to Pylon, so while they rocked and seemed to be accurate, I couldn't really verify that.

TV man and his TV band. I didn't appreciate this last year, and this year didn't change that. All the same, they picked a few better themes this year, ripping through the Buffy theme and the theme from "Knight Rider", but there were too many goddam commercial jingles, and the whole thing was cute the first time, and decidedly less so now.

Next up was the seminal Los Angeles psychedelic band Love. Their excellent selection of wigs, sunglasses, and pants did not eclipse their musical chops. They opened with "Little Red Book" (always open with a hit, close with one if possible), and chugged through several vaguely familiar songs, bringing out Crowmeat Bob for a little saxophone love halfway through and TV man for some keyboard action. Excellent poise from the lead signer. Did I mention the pants? My god.

The DJ came out on a mostly bare stage with the announcement of "Hootie and the Blowfish" (he's an African American dude). After a few seconds of clumsily trying to start one of the few original Hootie songs, a oddly dressed white guy came out who was none other than Justin Timberlake, ready to lurch through "Sexyback" for the cheering crowd. They had a guy on stage with a microphone who's only job was to yell "Yeah!" at semi random intervals. the one-song set was prefect.

What we initially thought would be a pirate band turned out to be The Cult. I'll be the first person to say that the Great Cover Up doesn't discriminate on size, but when you spring for the silk pirate shirt, you might want to spring for the "Shatner Class" undergarments. Someone yelled "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" at the end (not me!). Still, the guitarist was spot on enough that I was checking to see if he had the Gretsch up there (he didn't), and the singer's voice held up almost all the way through "She Sells Sanctuary".
And it made the girls squeal, which is what it's really all about.

The last band was announced without fanfare, and as the opening keys came though I thought it was Wings, blanking on Paul's last name. It turned out to be The Beatles, a band that takes serious stones to cover. While I'm not a fan, the sheer depth and breadth of their catalog is enough to give any musician pause. The band took the right tack (IMO, IANAB) and decided to stick with a single album (Abbey Road), and a bunch of songs in order from that album. Excellent plan, and well received, and I'll admit I was singing along, too (well, my dad has the album, I couldn't help it). Excellent end to the evening.