A good band rocks. A great band transcends. Transcends going on before 9:00, transcends the heat of the “Sweatro,” transcends your buzz or lack of buzz, transcends the permed, stoned blond in front of you who doesn’t belong there and whom you want to punch in the back of the head. Transcends her boyfriend with the backwards baseball cap. Transcends ex-lovers who stand too close, taco heartburn, and rude roommate sex.
Ira taped down one key for 6 minutes and rocked back and forth over the guitar like a noisepop grover monster. Georgia's vocals were smoother than the Honker's ale that was tapped out by 8:00, and warmer than the Bud I let sit on the trash can in front of me. And when they did "Tears," I closed my eyes and slow-danced high school gymnasiam style with Yo La Tengo. I leaned my head on Yo La Tengo's shoulder and sighed. We didn't listen to the radio all the way home.
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