Holy fucking fuck fuck.
I forgive Hugh Dillon everything.
In fact, I would like to take this opportunity to issue a public apology for all of the really horrible things I've said and thought about him over the past couple of years since the Headstones broke up. As well, I promise to stop making fun of or yelling at his voice-overs for Chevrolet commercials. As it turns out, the majority of my hostility was based in the fact that I was missing Mr. Dillon. For two years, I have been without his distinctive gestures on stage, his braced-against-a-stiff-wind stance, his straddling the mic stand, his fuck-you grin, and, above all else, his lyrics and his voice. It made me cranky and I took my ill-temper out on him. I am sorry for that.HDRC
rocks. I expected to like them, but not nearly as much
as I did. The Headstones were always best live, and so, it seems, are the HDRC. I do think that the rest of the band should forbid Hugh from naming things, though, as the Hugh Dillon Redemption Choir continues to be a stupid name. That, unlike the Chevy commercials, I will continue to make fun of.
On a more shallow note, Mr. Dillon looks about twenty pounds lighter and ten years younger than when I saw him last in Barrie, summer of 2003. And that was at a point when he was already looking fairly thin and young on the scale of Hugh Dillonness. He looks fucking amazing
now. Change, clearly, has been good for him.
The opening act, which was rather like a Canadian Franz Ferdinand, showed a distinct tendency to touch, pet, manhandle, and occasionally kiss each other on stage. Right the fuck on. What an unexpected bonus for the evening.
(*slashes obscure Canadian band*)
So, final verdict: Thumbs up. No death in the gladiatorial arena for the Hugh Dillon Redemption Choir. I'm glad I went.
Now it is very definitely time for bed. That is, if I can get to sleep with my ears ringing like nobody's business. I have clearly gone soft after a couple of years of Danny Michel fandom -- I wasn't even standing near the speaker!