I have the power to shape myself into the caricature of a twisted snot nose by disclosing the creative insults I seem to conjure up about artists/people/peons on stage whom I don't tenderly absorb. Let's get started (artists/people/peons alluded to will remain nameless):
"You have to be (simaltaneously) unaligned, moody and abstract to redeem this experience at all. Here's to high probability!"
"Holy prolific rock cause! Do you really think that will win you votes in Florida? You're just a lumberjack statue from Omaha!"
But don't be fooled - Ladyhawk was a fine ride. That is outside of the drunken mastermind spilling beer all over the floor, providing a stickiness that disabled me from easily moving my feet. Yeah, audience!
For your at home exposure, Sad Eyes/Blue Eyes and The Dugout are on the Ladyhawk My Space, as previously posted. If that and a Pilsner doesn't get you rawr-ing to go (roadblocks included), buying the album and hearing My Old Jacknife will have you carrying around eight white letters in your backpack (ready for assembly) should you ever run into them.
There website is almost as flashy as their t-shirts. Check it.
-Tara
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