So while we were pushed against the stage, in the dark the other night, awaiting a certain nightcrawler, the tardy star was entertaining the crowd at the place we’d have otherwise have been at, The Bullfinch.

Yep. That unpredictable hawk-hunter, who’d been playing semi-incognito (not advertised, but everyone knew) at D’ollaire’s, asked—during his limo ride there—if there was a place where he could stop off and get a quiet beer. The driver was no dummy—it was Z, brother of Bullfinch booker Q—and headed past numerous small restaurants to bring him Finchward.

The Stinkholes were playing an entire set of their alligator/bird/rock man’s songs, expressly for those who’d been denied entry to D’ollaire’s.

The showman listened, approved and naturally jumped onstage. He did as many songs at the Bullfinch as he later did at D’ollaire’s. More obscure ones too. Apparently he still knows the lyrics from “Gone Up.”

This experience—seeing the slick expensive gig, missing the cult one—will stay with us forevermore. You’ll never catch us front-of-stage at D’ollaire’s again. We’ll be outside with semaphores and smoke signals, trying to figure out where the real show is at.

Bad Magazines at the Bullfinch… Stan & The Deliver at Hamilton’s. Such a bad pun, we’ve lost interest in mentioning the other bands on the bill. (oh, OK, it’s Cover Charm and Cute Snood)… Folk celebration with umpteen bands at D’ollaire’s. If any of them show up at the Bullfinch beforehand, we’ll bar the doors.