It is a cold-ass Tuesday night. A fierce wind sends a shaft of chill straight up your spine, making the hair on the back of your neck stand like a squad of Marines on parade at a reform school for girls. The winter darkness is filled with ominous foreboding and a strange whiff of evil. In the distance, either a coyote or a lost freshman is whooping as it hunts for a nightly meal. All the signs are there.
Evil is afoot.
While performing, they come at the crowd full force, no mercy, like a blitzkrieg. But offstage, this band is sober and professional, with a heapin' helpin' of humor. They rag on each other and make fun of themselves and the medium they have chosen to work in. They take their music as serious as a heart attack and keep their eyes on the prize. He sits behind the drum kit in exactly the same way Yoda wouldn't.