The Rosebuds at the Hideaway

I'm a sucker for melody and an will always prefer cool key changes to cool key chains, but I also squandered years studying "proper" music and the bastards never managed to grind down my preference for the simple, gritty, urban-swagger-folk aesthetic that rock provides. While I prefer tunes to 'tude, I'll opt for both when the opportunity arises; one category of bands I adore hone their hook-laden craft in the garage. They earn bonus points for being a three-piece, stripping the immediacy of rock music to its one-louder-than-the-bare-minimum purity. Extra bonus points if the bass player - or in this case, keyboard player covering the bass parts - is a woman. She not only played that endearing role (I hear there's a band called Chick Bass Player, so evidently I'm not alone in my fondness for this configuration), but also provided the best eye candy for the show. It may be a stretch, but imagine Karen O's unrestrained stage presence manifested in a harmony singer cuffed to a keyboard. Catching my first Rosebuds show left little to be desired except a larger, more appreciative, um, Tuesday night crowd. Like an amazon reviewer said of one of my favorite records of 2003, the show was "nothing groundbreaking, certainly, but a brisk romp nonetheless." As I'd hoped, it was long on what's highlighted in the pitchfork review of the record, and short on what's appropriately, but appropriately mildly, berated.