Tommy Peacock and the Gas Unplugged

I work for Saturday nights. The music flows out of the ba, as liquor pours out of the bottle. The vibe has a rhythm to ease the tension of white noise conversation. When the music stops, everyone knows the aftermath will be a horror event, in the form of a drunk parade of Hollywood hipsters and last call rejects. They come with lust starved bad moods and over the top antics to drive a sane man up padded walls. But like a strong kick, the music is worth the aftermath.

“The Gas play an acoustical set, tonight.” GasHead said with a smile from ear to ear. “Boy, I saw The Gas play an acoustical set, a while back. They rocked it, man. Tommy and Kyle both have wooden axes and Eric has a tambourine. They really tear it up, man. The crowd is into it. Yeah man! But Eric is looking at the other band’s drum set, just itching to play. The drummer gives him the green light and the rest was legendarily. ”

GasHead, a veteran of the million band griddle, had passion for only one. GasHead had watched major acts rise and fall into obscurity with no interest at all. Until the day, he heard The Gas light up the Hollyweird stage. Like the Pied Piper, The Gas’s sound changed his passive ear into a passionate one.

I was skeptical of Gashead’s devotion of the Gas, but then I heard them play. The Gas had played the Hollyweird stage, plugged in with the volume set higher than the normal dinner crowd would like. Which always suited me fine. If its too laud you are too cranky. The light tippers opted for quieter locations. The hep, understood the finer points of tipping,and enjoyed The Gas, who hit hard like a rock and roll bands should. The radio dial is filed with bands who get it wrong and until you hear The Gas, you don’t know the difference.

When a band get a sounds right, your ear can hear it. Any radio junkie can hear the call in an tight set. Weather it be blues, country, classical, or rock and roll. A prodigy will stand out in a pack of pretenders. “The Gas” had the sound but I was skeptical of acoustical sets; a minefield of rehashed Beetle’s covers and emotional songs about puppies and spring.

The Gas took the stage and shattered my assumptions. They gave a pub-feel performance to a late night dinner crowd. All their hits unplugged, with no mention of any puppies. The Gas unplugged is a sedated version of a full stage riot. The trio shook the limits of their wooden bar stool to get every last bit of energy from a limitless supply. They rocked harder than your mother in a set she would love to watch. Then The Gas dismounted the stage to the cheers of a packed house like returning champions from the battlefield of rock.

Last call came and the aftermath was Hell. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse shattered the front doors in tides of pestilence. Herds of Hollywood’s night life barked orders in unison. The restaurant floor was a choir of head pounding aches. But that’s Saturday night, the musical highs and grunt worked lows. It’s not a life I would recommend, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Editors Note: If you want to experience the best band in tinsel town, Check Tommy Peacock for show dates and information on the trio.