Robert Baird

I often joke that when I expire and migrate to the lower rings of hell, I'll find nothing else in my eternity than white blues bands playing "Mustang Sally" over and over and over again. But now I may have found another possibility for the soundtrack to my infernal reward.

On Saturday night at HE 2006, after a wonderful show by the always entertaining Mac Rebennack, I headed out with a posse to what was sold to me as a "dive bar with great food." The recommendation came from a friend of a friend whose husband is a foodie. When we pulled up a band was loading in. My instinctual opeing band alarm, possibly dulled by too many hotel food meals, did not kick me hard enough and so in we strolled just in time to witness one of the longest soundchecks in world history.

Now I've had quiet meals. I've had intimate meals. I've even had the occasional romantic dinner. But this combo of enchiladas and earaches was a whole new experience for me. Dubbed "Oingo Sabbath" by the estimable Rob Sample, the band, Chalkline Kuhdavers, who mentioned early on that their bass player "had died," were a Latino ska metal sextet who along their fickle path to rock superstardom had obviously listened to one too many Satriani records. Volume was clearly their major contribution to musical history. And of course nothing compliments a fine meal like overdriven rock guitars, shouted vocals and a trombone and trumpet played into microphones that took an hour to tweak. Mercifully, the set lasted about half the length of the soundcheck.

How did Randy Newman put it? Oh yes, I Love L.A.