I don’t know how to best describe what I saw last night, not exactly, but it should probably involve a comparison of some sort.
That 1 Guy is a dark, dank, dag nasty, cheerful mess. His music stomps and staggers, sounding for all the world like Dr. Suess as interpreted by Parliment Funkadelic while on peyote, and I bought both his albums as soon as I woke up this morning. But yeah, that’s how I got punched in the face by awesome. Listen to his music and sit still, I dare you.
“But, wait,” he said, “there’s more.”
Because That 1 Guy was just the opening act for Buckethead, a gangly, gargantuan guitar virtuoso who’s been out there for years (completely unbeknownst to me, of course) who moved into the townhouse of my skull and completely redecorated my definition of ‘amazing’, and it only took two solid hours. Gifted with the most profound example of monkey finger I’ve ever seen on an individual, Buckethead plays with rubber chickens, but doesn’t say much. He’s kinda creepy, come to think of it. He inspires large men with greasy hair and bushy beards to hoot and howl and bob their heads endlessly, even when there’s no music playing. He drives annoying women to vomit on themselves. He commands Legion of smelly teenage Doritos fans who know him best as ‘the guy from Guitar Hero’ to clog venues and unleash their pointy elbows in the direction of my drink. But most of all, he blows minds for a living.
And then That 1 Guy and Buckethead played the remainder of the show together, which looked and sounded a lot like this. By the end of the show I felt like screaming, “OK, I GET IT! You’re both fucking incredible!”
Afterwards, I ate some damn fine grub at the Kabob Palace.
Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m gonna put some ice on this and listen to my new Buckethead albums.