JOE IZENMAN: DON'T MESS WITH THE VILE RED FALCONS >>>

At a loss for any gigs with bands I actually knew on Friday night, I found the next best thing: a show featuring a band that had recently become my MySpace friend. That's almost like being their biggest fan, right? So I shuffled on down to The New Frontier to catch The Fuzz and The Legend Of Bigfoot at The Vile Red Falcons' CD release.

I've seen a lot of bands get upstaged at their own release shows. They stick themselves first or second, find another band to headline who will have a good draw, and promptly prove themselves the least interesting thing of the night. The Vile Red Falcons would have none of this. They played last, and rocked most, as it should be.

I was playing a show myself on Saturday night, and one of my friends said to me, "Musicians never really grow up, do they?" She could easily have been talking about The Fuzz. These are the kind of guys you'll see jumping around, being loud, and complaining about a lack of free drinks when they're pushing 70. They are a bar band, a garage band. Solid musicians playing crunchy, crusty, grungy (that's an adjective, not a genre, by the way) rock and/or roll. A half-metal riff moment here, a blues guitar solo there, and a pop-punk group jumping session to tie it all together. Rock music is supposed to be fun, and no one has ever told The Fuzz otherwise.

So when The Legend Of Bigfoot got onstage and just sort of stood there, it took some of the energy out of the room. They are not untalented. Their slow-moving and vaguely atmospheric songs have an appeal to them, certainly, and I'm sure they were a solid act a week early with Motopony and True Margrit, but stick them in a room with two balls-out rock outfits, and who do you think is going to be the odd man out?

As I said, the night was ultimately owned by The Vile Red Falcons, and not just because their name was at the top of the posters. John B and crew hopped on stage and picked up right where The Fuzz left off an hour before, blistering through to midnight on guitars, guitars, and guitars.

I try to avoid making blatant comparisons between bands when I am able, but the best way I can describe The Vile Red Falcons is to foist some Supersuckers upon you (punk Supersuckers, not country Supersuckers). Not that I should need to, if you live in Western Washington and are reading about punk rock.

The Vile Red Falcons' nominal showpiece is a driving rendition of Prince's "When Doves Cry." It doesn't matter how excited everyone is to hear you play, when you bust out a recognizable, genre-bending cover in the middle of the set, people always go a bit nuts. Personally I was more excited to hear them bust out "Whole Lotta Rosie," but then I'm like that. Even so, for my money the best way to fall for Vile Red Falcons is to run off to their MySpace and listen to "Like A Drug" at the top of their list. The song, like their set, is just basic, full-speed-ahead rock, from front to back, and sometimes that is exactly what you need. That, and their fans distributed cake. Seriously, somebody walked up and offered me a piece of birthday cake because they had too much. How cool is that?