The C Worms were just getting into a righteous groove at the summer club Shecky’s Shell Shack when they got shellacked by a wave of unexpected feedback.
Then it happened again. And again and again and again. And again. At regular intervals, until it was EXPECTED feedback. The inevitability of which produced a singular surf stomp. When folks got up to dance on the creaky stage (supported by lobster crates), the warped sounds were indistinguishable from the refined ones.
When an old gent got up from the restaurant counter and started clattering a pair of chowder spoons up and down his body, the sandy cacophony was complete.
The band has not been asked back by the Shell Shack (apparenlty they gave some of the war veterans who make up much of the beachside bar’s clientele uncomfortable flashbacks). But they have been asked to revise the act for a neo-classical concert at the college on the hill. Sounds like a bad joke, but it’s true. This may be the start of something willfully obscure…

Tonight: Aerated Static Pile at the Bullfinch… Blue Bin at Hamilton’s… An Evening with The Algal Blooms at D’ollaire’s…