This is the story of Mo Matching Drapes playing a gig in Keene, New Hampshire on Saturday, September 13, 2003. You will know it is time to turn the page when you hear the sound of the chimes. Just kidding. But to paraphrase Tenacious D, if you don't want your ass blown out, don't download this rocking music. One thing I should mention before we kick out the jams...for some unknown reason the show goes in and out of Reverb Town for the duration of the set. Sometimes it's the vocals, sometimes the instruments, sometimes both. And sometimes it does it during the middle of a song. I apologize for that in advance, but hopefully you'll agree that the fiery vocals and virtuoso musicianship more than make up for any audio recording deficiencies. This is one for the ages.

The evening started out innocently enough. Our little city's annual music festival had been in full swing, with musicians of every genre doing their best to entertain the all-ages crowd wandering up and down Main Street. Anyone who was anyone, however, knew that the real action would be later in the evening, down an alley next to the bagel place. It was there that the rock gods would rain down fire and ice to crush all of the unbelievers. Sure enough, like the pillars of reliability that they are, Mo Matching Drapes arrived well in advance of their anticipated set, emptying their van and beginning their mental preparation for the task at hand. Luckily for me, I was able to sneak back and grab some "face time" with vocalist, guitarist, and tuba master Chris Brunelle. In true MMD fashion, he's always thinking about the fans, and he had procured a very special prize to award during the show. I wandered out front to survey the crowd. Everybody was completely amped for the show, looking forward to the molten rock lava to come. I grabbed a spot over by Henry the sound guy, who was nice enough to let me plug my MD recorder into the soundboard. From there I had a great view of the band as they began their heavenly assault. In addition to the aforementioned Chris Brunelle, the band also boasts the talents of the mighty Paul Rondeau on keyboards and honey vocals, "Brother" Jim Wood beating the skins to a pulp, and badass mofo Paul Bates on vocals, subterranean bass, and even a little drumwork when the spirit grips him. As the set continued it took on a life of its own, lending even more of a sheen to the band's already impressive matching shirts. I mean it Aunt Margaret, these dudes are styling. And generous? Oh hell yeah, it don't stop at free shirts. Halfway through the show these Mo Matching men brought the lights down low and kicked a fat jammy jam while Chris doled out some snacktime treats for the appreciative audience. By the time Mr. Brunelle brought out the fabled tuba, more than one young lady in the crowd was pondering how she would slip the band her motel room key. Actually I made that up, but the crowd was having a good time, I swear it. Check out this shot! See how Brother Jim is coming down hard on those drums? Papa Smurf himself would have jumped up on his arthritic little smurf legs and cut a rug, it was that funky. After the show we somehow managed to corral the rock majesty of the quartet for just a few minutes, and I got some shots of these moptop lads having a goof with Ye Olde Porta-Potty. "Are you a mod or a rocker?" I'm a mocker. No doubt, B...no damn doubt. All of my stupidity aside, it was a fantastic show and I feel privileged to have witnessed four fly guys at their best. Later! -Tim Hulsizer