Someone told me that there was some sort of big hoopla political debate last night.  If they wanted ME to care they shouldn’t have scheduled it on the same night as Buckethead.

At the last second many people canceled their appointments with Buckethead.  They will live the rest of their lives in deep and hopeless regret.  I wound up going with a friend of my brother’s.  We had a little trouble finding the place but other than that the trip to Northern Lights was uneventful.

Northern Lights itself is a medium sized venue for shows of that kind.  There is lots of floor space and tables off to the back and around a corner to escape from the noise if you feel so inclined.  But, this was Buckethead.  I was determined to face this non stop, commercial free.

When we got there, the opening act, That One Guy, was already in full swing.  That One Guy was actually very entertaining.  Aptly named, he is a one man band with a large metal thing controlling a pair of strings not dissimilar to a washtub bass and some percussion actuators.  He also used some very simple vocal loops and percussion loops which he created on the spot to keep the music going.  All in all he was exactly the kind of opening act, and eventually, back up band which I would expect to see at a Buckethead show.  Talented, entertaining, and weird.  Extra props to his special guests the magic saw (first time I’ve ever seen ANYONE play musical saw on stage) and the magic boot.

He was finally done, though, and lots of people left the stage area to get drinks.  This was our cue to move up.  The press of people got more tightly packed and everything went dark as the canned music subsided.  You could feel the crowd thrum with excitement.

When Buckethead appeared it was pandemonium.  The crowd just erupted.  Buckethead calmly lurched on stage, all about six foot four of him (bucket included), and proceeded to talk to us with his guitar.  As I watched in wrapped fixation, the crowd seemed to drop away.

Suddenly I was in an ash strewn, volcanic landscape surrounded by twisted earth and razors of obsidian.  Chicken skulls littered the ground in a rough circle, their eye sockets glowing with an unearthly light.  In their center sat the guru of metal, Buckethead.  My eyes widened and my pulse quickened as his rock and roll teachings bombarded my soul with cosmic rays and infused the very core of my being with the energy of eldritch space waves which lit up my central nervous system and changed the color of my id.

It was a good show.

The mythos of Buckethead is almost as interesting as watching the show unfold.  At around the time he begins to march solemnly across the stage with a rubber chicken or simulate a quacking noise with a giant clothes pin, you realize that you’re not watching a normal musician.  Buckethead is completely hidden from view throughout the performance.  This is a very effective means of creating mystery and awe.  How do you know this is the real Buckethead and not some imposter?  The simple answer is because nobody else is that GOOD.  His shredding is epic and his jokes are bizarre.  Nobody could possibly copy the amazing level of mannerism he has worked into an act that lasts a very challenging two hours.  He’s on stage almost non stop, and attended by roadies who all wear surgical masks as if they don’t want to catch what he has, or as if they need to protect themselves from prolonged exposure to the radiation.  The back drop to the show consisted of a pair of amps crowned with busts of Caligula and Nero.  That was it.  That was all it needed.  Overall I was thrilled with the experience.  And I have been granted amazing powers.

These powers allow me to see into the very fabric of space and pull out any information which I so desire.  Therefore it was not necessary that I watch the pitiful debate.  I know the outcome already and I will tell it to you.  Sara Palin is a ridiculous farce of a human being who was debating against a career politician who frankly has no idea where he is most of the time.  The moderator tried fruitlessly to get someone to say something or at least fuck up badly enough to create a clear outcome, but alas, there was no clear winner except for “the American People.”  HA HA.  Not the ones who weren’t at the Buckethead show.