I saw Rhett Miller & the Believers tonight at Webster Hall. Great show. Rhett Miller reminds me a little bit of an old friend & roommate, Eric wedreaminsound. (I think it's cause of the flock of seagulls-esqu haircut they both sport.) Rhett's style onstage is one-half sharp sexiness and one-half unselfconscious awkwardness.
Let's not say too much about the drummer, who was blonde, female, and a good chick drummer without any kind of grrrl power to it. (Well, let's say a little, if only because our birthdays are a month apart. And cause, ya know, maybe I have a wee girl crush. Oh. Angela Wilson...unfindable on the internet, but still pretty great.)
That's all. Just a old fashioned kickass show. Rhett Miller broke a string mid-song. Just as I noticed it dangling, a lackey ran up with a new & tuned guitar. (The boy would like to interject here and mention that the technical name for the lackey would be 'roadie.') You could tell no one in the band was a punk kid anymore, because when they burst out the champagne for Angela Wilson's birthday, they poured it into cups, and then played another song for the crowd. No drinking out of the bottle, and certainly no pouring champagne on bandmates.
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