Fleshtones with New Duncan Imperials

In a world where there are no more heroes, the Fleshtones walk the earth like Roman gods. It’s Getting Late (…and More Songs About Werewolves) is a smash that could have dropped at any point in The Fleshtones’ epic career — it is an outburst, and a celebration of the SUPER ROCK sound. Unlike their contemporaries, they have not dialed down the tempos to compensate for osteoporosis, they have not lost anything on their fastball, and continue to throw it for strikes. The hardest working band in garage rock has never sounded better, and now you see why they've been your favorite band's favorite band for decades. Since their inception in 1976 in Queens, New York, and their sweaty, boozy gestation at legendary venues such as CBGB, Max’s Kansas City, and the storied Club 57— recently feted at the Museum of Modern Art, where their proto-video underground film “Soul City” was unspooled for art stars, glitterati, and a raft of punk rockers who managed to get past the front gate — they have perpetrated their proprietary brand of SUPER ROCK, a frenetic amalgam of garage punk and soul, punctuated by the big beat and unleashed with the spectacular show business majesty which has kept them on the road for over forty years, adored by audiences whose love for them borders on religious fervor. ------------------------------------------------------ The wanderlust is building, the countryside is calling. Let's get in the van and drive and drive and drive and fill foreign stages with our glorious tacky debris, blast their brains out with our new-found power, make them hate us, make them love us. We are Skipper, Goodtime, and Pigtail. Since 1989, The New Duncan Imperials have roamed the world and entertained thousands of like minded humans with our songs and the best live show on the planet. Buckle up! Skipper - What could be more ridiculous than a bass solo? It sums up everything stupid and self-important about rock bands. So let's have a bass solo! From Skipper, who literally can't play bass! Let's have him just stand there on stage and hit one or two spastic notes, lots of dead air, that ever-present gnarly hum of corroded wires, and here's the thing -- let's act like it's awesome. Because compared to any other rock and roll bass solo ever played by anyone, it is. All bass solos are stupid, and Skipper's is no more or less stupid than the most artistic, studied, accomplished, serious bass solo by any other rock band in this or any other century. We know it, and soon the crowds know it. It's funny because it's true. And then Skipper produces a balloon, blows it up, and does that squeaky air-release thing into the mic, while Pigtail instructs the sound man in the correct way to make the innocent little squeal sound like a Concorde jet landing on a sperm whale: "Soundman, please apply 50 dB's of backward reverb and 3 grams of double-sideways echo to the microphone!" Some sound men get it, some don't. When it works it's a frightening tempest of feedback and escalating screechy echoes. One of my favorite parts of the show. And even though it's a balloon solo, it's still a bass solo. It's a bass solo.