Seriously, The Privates?

Sorry, bros, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk some shit about the Privates real quick. I never paid those dudes much mind back when they were supposed to be the shit around town, and damn if that position didn’t get validated Saturday night. For the uninitiated, hearing a Privates set is basically the musical equivalent of reading a dog-eared People magazine while you wait for your doctor to finish feeling up the old dude whose appointment preceded yours. Their music is both familiar and bland, polished and boring as hell. You keep waiting for them to do something you don’t expect, as if you’re about to turn the page of the magazine and all of a sudden find a picture of Screech crapping on somebody, but it just never happens.

Whatever, man. Maybe when you’re just a part-time band you end up being so busy trying to remember each other’s names that you don’t have any tyme left to get good ideas about how your songs should go.