digable cats... howling, just fucking howling!!

Oddly enough, I was kind of lucky this week, happened to go out and see these excellent musicians-- I caught them at The Wise Fool's Pub in Lincoln Park, an upscale neighborhood known for having the last free zoo in the country, a strip of bars catering to drunken Depaul students, and lots of yuppies walking golden retrievers.

I seldom go out and see bands, despite having every intention to. This night J. has assured us that this band is extrodinary, given us a ride, and practically, since she is a good enough of friend to do so, forced us to go out on a weeknight. We were taking her recommendation of the band with a grain of the proverbial salt since she is hottie for a guy in the band. Her amorous wanderings have drug us into more than one weird situation . . . well, only one, but that was enough!!!

Shows in Chicago seldom start on Time. They do so just enough to trick neurotically punctual people, like myself, into spending hours sitting in bars, sipping watered down diet coke thinking, 'man, bars sure are boring... you actually have to drink to stand to be in the places. That's the hook that gets these rubes..." and other thoughts, mostly about wombats and sea otters driving big muscle cars with machine guns coming out of the sides and firing until their barrells are red hot, slaughtering all these people from the lists... well, you know the thoughts... we all have them.


No one else was in the back room where the band was setting up, on a stage with a huge black curtain strung between two equally huge white pillars. We moved a couple tables right up center front of the stage, pulled up about five chairs, popped cigarettes in our mouths and ordered diet cokes. We sat there until ten amusing ourselves all to hell, though. I had done a few bongs before heading out, so I would have been amused by a fly buzzing around the room, at first, though my weedliness wore off before the band went on stage.


The band all came up and introduced themselves; the singer, Oleana (my spelling may be off) and Brad, the drummer, sat down with us. Oleana said she was cold, so I grabbed my sheep skin, the authentic army issue bomber jacket that I wear, and draped the huge coat over her shoulders. She laughed easy and pleasent as she pulled the warm, creamy curls of sheep skin over her shoulders.

She is dark eyed with long black hair, classic features, slim as an alley cat. She has a pleasent accent in her perfect English, though you would not know this from her singing. I started asking her all kinds of questions about her country of origin, Romania -- which she had left a mere six months before -- and soon enough found out her grandmother is an opera singer, her mother some kind of famous singer, and she herself was a rock star in her country.

When she told me this, I was like, "Why the hell would anyone quit being a rock star?"

She answered in about the only sane way: "Love."

Meeting them, and enjoying what conversation I could with my deaf left ear and the loud background noise... I sure hoped they were going to be good on stage. Like I wrote, we were totally unsure if our freind J. was talking with her head or her crotch... Well, of course, when the band started, I was swept up into unique, rocking songs that were all their own, with seven musicians making a cool as hell wall of sound, and I was very, very pleased...

I am no music reviewer, as you have probably already noticed, but I do have taste that seems to be pretty well accepted as good by people who really do know music. I liked them because the guitarists were rocking, soloing a touch, the drums were driven, complex, the keyboardist playing one of my favorite instruments -- the electric violin (use it more!!)... and then there was Oleana, who's voice is about the best arguement for genetically passed talent I have heard in awhile. She could literally hit any damn note. Her range puts most rock singers to shame. I mean, the woman can sing better than anyone I have seen in a bar.... by a long shot. I see why she was a phenomena in Romania. Her stage presence is something else, too. She shunned all the Mick Jagger hopping about, and just concentrated on getting the songs perfect. In fact, I would have to say she was demure on stage, and it was such refreshing honesty after all the fucking stylists playing music in their spandex and kurt Cobain costumes. She was tuned into our table while she was on stage, and at one point she kiddingly did a rock star dance for a few seconds, and then looked at M. and J. and they all had a girly giggle moment.

Brad, the drummer, cracked jokes between the songs, and was funny in a way, again, all his own -- which when it is good, as he was, is the best kind of funny.

The songs were mostly original, and all were just great. I mean, I listen to music and am usually still, but this night, I was nodding along with the music, completly swept away. The last time this happened to me was Yo You Ma. Not that I see a lot of live music, mind you.

Digable Cats (who are not to be confused with Digable Planet, who I am not cool enough to know more about than the name) are good enough that your genre preferences will be rendered irrelevent by their musical charms.


Oleana even says she will come do one of my shows, too... Though people are always saying they will come to our shows and then don't show up. Why do people do this? I have literally had hundreds of folk do this... just shine me on... damn people!!! dogs don't make any promises they can't keep. Cats either... Not that Oleana will do this to me... right, big O?