Weird what bubbles to the surface of your mind while driving in to work. This morning I was thinking of a concert my brother and I attended in the mid 1980s. The concert was for Dave Edmunds (Crawling From the Wreckage, Bad is Bad) but it was the opening act, a group called Concrete Blonde that stole the show. Neither Doug nor I had ever heard of them and we were amazed as their lead singer and bass player, a small punk-ish girl who was barely taller than her bass, roared her way through a selection of songs including Hollywood, God is a Bullet, and True. Very raw sounding band with a tremendous amount of energy. I went out and bought their album the next day and wore the cassette tape out listening to it. They had one mainstream hit in the late 80s, a song called Joey. No idea where they are now. I ought to see if I can get a CD of that album.
A side note to the memory. The 'concert' was actually in a club, not a large venue. I don't recall the name of the place but it was one of several small music clubs on Peachtree Street, not far from Lenox Square. Anyway, it was a pretty rowdy place and a fight broke out as we were leaving the show. It got out of hand pretty quickly with many somewhat inebriated patrons joining the melee.
Now my brother, never one to miss out on a good fight, was vastly amused by all this. I, having led a slightly more sheltered life, was a bit more impressed. We continued toward the door and were almost out before the fight reached us. A guy came pinwheeling toward us. I half expected Doug to clock him, but no. He just slipped to one side, caught the guy by the back of his shirt and spun him back into the crowd. After that we were on the street and walking away as sirens wailed in the distance. Ah, memories.