They kicked me in the ear; I saw stars. This is the honest truth. When Those Darlins plowed onstage and started into wringing the necks on some guitars, slapping a bass, and shaking the teeth out of a ukelele hole, notes were flying. This combo pretty much bootstomped the mud off of one IMC stage. Nikki was recovering from a broken arm and only able to kick 110% ass but I swear to you, reader, that if she had broken that very arm punching this reporter in the face then no way would I ever put makeup on that sweet bruise. Poor thing was in pain: those cans of Busch just collapsed into crumpled tin when she inhaled them. Jessi got that look in her eye. Kelley was playing that electrical guitar like driving a police car through a brick wall. They smoked us and rolled us over like pigs on a spit. They led; the crowd danced. There was nothing between them and us but a couple half-empty bottles and a ton of respect. After they got into it, they even came out into the crowd and did things I can't tell you. This was no posture, no altar; we were finally getting down to some honest rock and roll, folks. Those Darlins set fire to the place and burned a hole clear through to the sky leaving only a harvest moon and old Jupiter looking down in wonder at the beauty of transience: how the cruel beast of time can now and then be pistol-whipped into the truth of chords. I swear to Elvis and Joan Jett this was the best show I have ever seen.
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