Well now. That was a helluva show. How does one give ink to a living legend like the Reverend Horton Heat? I’m gonna try, and I guess I should start at the beginning.
It was an early show with a 7:30pm start time, and yet the bar was already nearing full by the time the opening band, Igor & the Red Elvises hit the stage. I’m glad too, because this was one mightily awesome band. They churned through their version of surf-blues standards and while the songs were nothing special, the energy and look they brought to town was. First off, they were decked out in the most ridiculously coloured clothing and suits I’d seen in a long while. Not to be outdone, the bass Dejah Sandoval was rocking looked like the world’s biggest Dorito chip. It had a peg to help keep it upright. A FUCKING PEG!!! And she rocked it…when I could hear her. That’s my only beef. They needed to turn the bass up, especially one of that magnitude.
I found it rather magestic how Igor, Sandoval and keys and trumpet enthusiast Tim Hayn traded off vocal duties, keeping things fresh. As a whole, the band did an amazing job of pumping up the crowd. The pinnacle of excellence came during the song “Sad Cowboy Song.” Hayn and Sandoval dropped their instruments to attack the drums while drummer Jasmin Guevara, dressed in a sparkling sequence top, began a minutes long drum solo. Once everyone else vacated the stage, she took the crowd on a wild ride using the most basic of sounds and constantly accelerated us to heights untouched by SpaceX. Wow, is all I can say.
I made my way front and center to catch the band, the myth, the legend, Reverend Horton Heat. Dressed in a pinstripe suit, The Rev delivered. What I was most impressed about was his sheer fluid ability on the guitar. Even during flesh frying solos, his fingers never moved one iota more than necessary. He held command over his guitar and it was blissful to see. Not to be outdone, the Neil Patrick Harris clone on keys, Matt Jordan, channeled his inner Jerry Lee Lewis to tear it up at every opportunity given to him. He did solid solo after solid solo. I, personally, could not keep the whistles confined in my mouth.
Midway through their set, an Unknown gentleman came to take center stage. Hinson played a few of his songs with the backing band. He was there, dressed to the nines in a tuxedo, telling the crowd about his foray into cartoons because of his fame, and work, with Adult Swim. We ate it up.
My one beef with their set was the crowd. Out of the six-hundred person capacity, only ⅓ were moving in any form, be it a head bob or a toe tap. ‘Tis a shame because the Rev writes music to move to. I was happy, however, that a mini mosh pit was started, and sustained, for the last three songs. It all culminated in the Rev blasting through a vivacious version of “Ace Of Spades” in tribute to the man, the myth, the legend himself.
Too keep this short, I’m gonna end it with a quote from Lemmy: “Reverend Horton Heat, he’s great and plays the music he believes in and nothing else. Go see him or I’ll kill you.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
Written by Aaron Deck
Photography by Thomas Gentil
*edited by Kate Erickson