Last weekend, The Star Bar hosted their first Jerzfest, organized by (in honor of? named after?) their Thursday afternoon bartender, Tom. I don’t know the man but his taste in music is closely related to mine, if the weekend lineup was anything to go by.
Saturday kicked off with Cletis & His City Cousins, mostly uptempo country tunes containing songs mostly about truckers.
I’ve reviewed them a dozen times and I hope to do so a dozen more. Take Your Love to the Landlord is probably my favorite country tune of all time. Even with a substitute drummer, the show was tight and peppy.
Jett, lead singer of Bigfoot, was in the downstairs bar before the show where friends practically lined up to give him hugs after the recent tough times he’s been through. “I’ve risen from the ashes before and I’ll do it again. I just don’t like waking up in the fireplace,” he said with a smirk. Then went upstairs and laid out some goddamn badass southern rock.
Jim Stacy once pointed to Evil Jim, pictured above, and said, “Pound for pound, the best guitarist in Atlanta.” If you enjoy the harder end of the spectrum, it’s tough to argue with that.
Even with the theme of blood and thunder, Bigfoot throw in a few unexpected moments. This show there were a few bars of Presidents of the United States of America’s’ song Peaches, a song from the “alternative” 90’s mainstream radio that gets stuck in my head every summer when the harvests arrive at the grocery store.
Next up, “We are the Kentucky Bridgeburners. We play rock and roll, gospel, R&B, and punk rock, all at the same time!” announced Blaine before launching into the aforedescribed assault on familiar gospel tunes covered in a fashion not quite as brutal as his other band, Nashville Pussy. (Perhaps Kentucky Bridgeburners should’ve called themselves Nashville Pentecostals?)
This is the sort of act that got Ray Charles and Jerry Lee Lewis into so much trouble. Of course, 40 years later it doesn’t have the same impact – unless you’re one of those people that grew up with regular Sunday services. Then you might find yourself fighting for space on the stage so you can sing along.
If this sounds like your kind of night, hit the Star Bar in a couple of weeks for Nashville Pussy. You might need saving after that show.
