The Moneyshot Horns – Redux

Friday night got off to a strange start. Some guy I had never seen before (as far as I knew) started giving me a very difficult time over a conversation about JJ Cale.
The degree of utter rudeness kept increasing and I had no idea what the fuck his problem was. After about 20 minutes, he finally let slip that he’s been carrying around a grudge for some years over something I said some other time I was drunk.
“Oh,” I thought, “you KNOW me!”
Well…that explains it, then.
Christ, and I thought we were strangers!

I still had no idea who the hell he was or what the specifics underpinning his attitude might have been.
I think that pissed him off even more – that I didn’t even have the common decency to recall the time I pissed him off. I suppose after a couple of years he was just glad to get it off his chest. Sadly, this resulted in some level of determination to continue telling me what a dickhead I am even after we had reached the mutual “Go fuck yourself” point in the conversation. The whole scene put me in such a foul mood I almost skipped the show.
Thankfully, Daniele was there and suggested I merely needed some tight horns to sort me out. He was right.

The Moneyshot Horns played 89K last night and completely reconfirmed their position as the hottest gang of funk on this island, and strong contenders for hottest anywhere. Whether they play their original songs (Baby Batter is a monster!) or jam the ass off classic funk covers ala James Brown, this band has emerged from outta nowhere to peel your ears off with ultra-tight, soulful playing that defies sitting still. You will dance. You will not be able to help yourself.

These cats can all play, and they each demonstrate their individual skill with tasty breaks and fills throughout the night. Yet as good as they all are, the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. There is something extra special about the way these boys play together – you can feel the joy, and the joy becomes funk, and the funk makes you move. There wasn’t a weak moment from walking in to pouring myself into a taxi long after it was all over. Even the warm-up; the tuning at the beginning of the set is funky, as one after another picks up the line and it develops into a no-holds barred bit of jump back, kiss m’self.

Sooner or later, The Moneyshot Horns are gonna bust loose of this island and everyone’s gonna know about them. Then you won’t be able to see them in small nightclubs in Taiwan anymore. My advice: Get off your ass and jam, now…while the jammin’ is good, cheap, up close and personal. Years from now, you’ll be able to tell people, “I saw The Moneyshot Horns in a small club in Taiwan.” No one will believe you. Might as well tell ’em you were at Woodstock.


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