Not another music post. Then another night, saw the Drive-By Truckers, afuckingain, 930. Oversold the show, sound problems, walked into a club packed like the last ice floe penguins, except by bobbing and swaying drunk boys. Fewer women, most all of them hot and doing that dance move perfected by Cookie Fleck in Best in Show. Nice monologue about the Atlanta Rhythm Section in the middle. Truckers, I am so into you, but the way I want to see you is in a field in Ocala, with my toes on matted crabgrass, grains of sand embedded in the sunblock on my shoulder blades, and beer foam bitter in the back of my throat.
If you are going to Virgin Fest, check out the art. The art, y'all.