Ah, Saturday night — the champion of nights, the king of evenings. The first time in a while when we didn't have to do shit the next morning! Seriously, The Spin doesn't know what in the hell was up with March, but it seems like we did a lot of shit — shit that wasn't just going to shows and hanging out with the bad-ass folks that populate this fair city of ours. Like, we had to work and shit all month. That ain't The Spin's style. But there was no work to be done on Saturday, unless you count downing beers and watching puppet shows at Third Man Records as work. Which we don't. An evening spent with New Orleans' Quintron and Miss Pussycat is the very opposite of work. Thank the Maker.
So when we arrived at Third Man rocking a seriously hoppy buzz — we might have missed the East Nashville Beer Fest, but that doesn't mean we missed out on all the day drinking — we were struck by how much Jack White's clubhouse felt even more like Pee-wee's Playhouse than usual. Granted, we were only a couple of drinks away from Lawrence Fishburne-with-a-jheri-curl level drunk, but when we showed up, we were pretty sure that taxidermied elephant head was talking to us. Or it was the genie in the box trying to play jokes on us. But we're pretty sure that TMR didn't have a tiny pterodactyl last time we were there, and we're pretty sure we saw Miss Yvonne talking to the kids from Nashville's Dead over in the DJ booth. Or, y'know, the very Miss Yvonne-esque Miss Pussycat had her own puppet show set up onstage. But we swear to God the damn elephant was winking at us.
And about that puppet show — that sure was one heaping helping of WTF-hilarity, right? There was this snake, and these drops, and maybe there was a moral to the story? Something about furry alligator creatures and rainclouds and ... yeah, we were bemused and confused, and that was the perfect way to set the mood for some serious rump shaking. We of The Spin are simple folk, and really all we need out of life is some organ and a strong backbeat, which — puppet shows aside — are about all you're going to get from a Quintron and Miss Pussycat concert. Unless of course the legendary Oblivians — hands-down one of the greatest garage-rock bands of all time — just happen to show up and sit in on what sounds like a rocked-out rendition of the popular NOLA-centric zydeco song "Call the Police."
Which happened. Which, holy fuckin' fuck, totally happened! The Oblivians have been in town recording at the, um, other studio owned by a member of an internationally famous garage-rock duo, but they took time out from layin' it down with Dan A. to party at Jack's house. Which, of course, makes sense, as the last LP The Oblivians made was with Quintron back in '97. And now we get to cross “see The Oblivians” off our bucket list. You know it's a good day when you've got a buzz before sundown and you get to unexpectedly accomplish long-held life goals without even trying. And then to go back into the rump-shaking swamp-rock of Quintron and his Drum Buddy — the crazy contraption he invented that makes beats using a light bulb and a canister with patterns cut in it and a series of tubes that we don't understand — as if this is the sort of thing that happens on the regular? Well that was pretty awesome. An incredible evening of wacky hi-jinx, dirty grooves and childhood dreams come true. Fuck yeah Saturday!