It started with the Two Sheets—Tom and Chuck, pals since high school—hanging bedsheets on the wall behind the stage at gigs. Then one night a drunken lout called out (more than once; thought he was clever) “Why do you call yourselves two sheets when you only have one?”
“Because we don’t give two sheets!” was the bright reply. Yet at the very next show, the duo not only hung a bedsheet behind them but in front of them as well. To further the joke, the band played only covers. Get it? A lot of the audience didn’t. Two Sheets emerged from between the sheets to find that over half the crowd had vamoosed.
Now Two Sheets—playing Thursday at Hamilton’s, where covers are de rigeur—works in more controllable sheet puns: they bring in sheets of paper, or sheets of ice (from the recent snowstorm). They say “Touché!” so it sounds like “Two sheets!” Where will it end? “Well, we’re never going to wear sheets. I can promise you that,” Tom sez.
Tonight: The Ecstatic Thief and Grave of Arthur at the Bullfinch, with lyrics so florid the music is superfluous… neo-sacred acts All is Grist and Ubi Ecclesia at St. Constant’s Church on Main… The Turkey and the Turk, Irish drinking songs, at Hamilton’s… An Evening With Come to Think of It at D’ollaire’s…