Hear ye, hear ye. Let it be known that Charlottesville did come out en masse for the triumphant return of favorite sons Skip Castro, filling the Downtown Ampitheater with old school party freaks who threw down like "back in the good ol' day" to the frivolously wicked rock 'n boogie of the now dissolved quartet(+2).
"Who?" you ask. Well, how positively juvenile of you.
Then again, you'd have to think back pretty far to remember the days when Charlottesville was the Mid-Atlantic region's hotspot for rock and roll, when almost all of the bars had bands much of the time and this was supposedly the placeto bring your combo to shoot for regional rock acceptance. (Hard to imagine, ain't it?)
That was back in the late '70's--early '80's, before Herr Reagan forced the drinking age up, driving all the people who didn't mind paying for music out of the bars and into the streets to ask strangers to buy beer for them. (I personally think that if Wrinkly Ron really wanted to reduce the vehicular fatality rate amongst youths he would have raised the driving age, but that's a whole different story.)
Back in those days, Skip (-- The band-- there is no guy named "Skip Castro," silly. -- And no Easter Bunny either.) was a musical monarch-- a king of sorts. The kingdom was prosperous for many moons and there was much all-night partying. Unfortunately, it is written (on the underside of Jerry Lee Lewis' piano bench, no less) that one can only crank out so many rippin' renditions of "C.C. Rider" before being faced with that most sinister of ego-dismantling questions: "Is this really it?"
Tragically, the mighty Castro did not survive the query. After ten years of shredding Charlottesville, they disbanded in the late 80's, going their separate ways. But fortuitously, like that famous flaming fowl from Pheonix, June 2, 2000 found them refeathered and refueled, ready to finger local fans' funnybones with fits of frivolity for a festive Fridays After Five. (Farvegnugen.)
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bo randall rips for skip |
Even after a several year hiatus, Skip Castro remains archetypical of the ultimate good times party rock 'n roll band, an act your kid, your wife, your mom, and even your grandma's neighbor the lesbian biker would love. As I stood there, jaw-dropped and dumbfounded, they duckwalked (God bless 'em.), danced, played piano with their butts (and stool and forehead) sat on each others' laps, encouraged ridiculous hero-worshipping and generally let loose like big drunken kids on a grown-up playground, all the while playing their asses off. I've seen my share of excellent rock'n roll bands and I was honestly blown away. (Deadheads: Imagine Garcia's "Might as Well" all night long.)
I couldn't imagine why they would ever break up a group like this. Not that their originals were that hot-- they're good but not catchy enough for radio and unfortunately nowhere near as much fun as the "meat and potatoes" stuff: covers of Chuck Berry tunes and every kind of oddball classic boogie woogie rock 'n roll number from way back in the yesteryears (a rendition of "My Gal is Red Hot (Your Gal Ain't Diddly-Squat)" lingers defiantly in my mind) all adorned with deft extended solos and loads of merriment. It seemed to me that a band like this would always be worth some nice cash to somebody's party. (And real parties, like Fridays After Five, do pay nice cash.)
During the set, the audience, many of them clearly remnants of the great Castroic Period, showed their adulation by genuflecting before pianist Danny Beirne (the human fern) as he emerged, arms raised triumphantly for an Olympic-style triple-bow after a perfectly pounded one note solo, the band egging him on with mock vaudevillian zeal: "Danny Beirne, ladies and gentlemen! The Amazing Danny Beirne!"
One woman became so swept up in the glory-du-Skip that she couldn't resist jumping onstage, pouring bottled water all over herself and shaking her unrestrained mamalian protruberances in a delightfully repulsive display of wonton naughtiness for long minutes. The band seemed torn between asking her to step down (in the name of decency) and letting her run loose (in the name of-- what else?-- Rock 'n Roll). She stayed, they played, (some audience members winced, dismayed), and I was waylaid, totally swept up in the sublime silliness of Sir Skip.
-Cripsy Duck
cripsyduck@mindspring.com