I have just one very important question.

When is someone going to make a dry ice that’s not so dry?

I mean, I go to a concert, the music’s just pounding and throbbing, I wanna shout another witty comment to my buddy, the fuckin’ dry ice is spewing in, my throat closes up, I get all hoarse, my eyes get sore, I hack, I cough. Bah! The only good thing about dry ice is it provides cover to disguise in-concert pot-smoking. Which we do appreciate.

Here’s to the fine, fine art of not getting caught.

Can’t someone invent semi-arid ice? No? Bah!

The band was The Kills. Not the Killers, no, The Kills. Came out at the same time, but The Kills are dirty, dirty lo-fi garage rock with very little retro throwback. Edgy, hot, just sweaty, sexy, good, fucking relentless. That’s The Kills in concert. There’s a guy and a girl, and they ooze dirty raw sexuality. They were the first band I found at age 30 that made me feel like 30 was a great thing to be. Keep on Your Mean Side, No Wow, and Midnight Boom are the albums, and all are worth having. Someone asked me a long time ago about good sex music and I kinda dodged the question ‘cos it’s so incredibly subjective, but, y’know, dirty sex and The Kills go hand in hand, man. Why I just love seeing them live. (Three times now, and as many times as they’ll have me.)

Their song Kissy Kissy, which they played tonight and was as fucking hawt as ever, was my inspiration behind a rare work of fiction not-so-originally also called Kissy-Kissy, which I posted way back when I wasn’t sure how I wanted this blog to go, so it was one of the first things I posted. (Then I decided there were enough good erotic fiction authors out there without throwing my hate in that ring, so you got what you got, babycakes.)

You can check The Kills out on their site, which is here, and there’s an MP3 of Kissy-Kissy on the main page, so check that out, too. Their tour is almost over, so I’m sorry if you’ve missed them. Sucks to be you.

Allison and Jamie, thanks for leaving it all on the floor. Another fab gig. And I hurt, all over. Good times. Just what the doctor ordered.