5:13 pm: When the girlfriend asks what time I’m heading to Rouge Cat to see new local funk band The Sticky, I give her an answer that is perhaps more long-winded than she wants. “I was told the show starts around 9 or 9:30, but as I’ve had quite enough of standing around waiting for these things to start,” I say, “I resolve myself to a fashionably late entrance at around 9:45. Did you know this thing is called Hump Day?” She stares into space, possibly thinking she wishes she’d never asked.
8:47 pm: “I’ve been hearing great things,” I tell the girlfriend. “It’s all these local musicians and singers who have been in other cool projects.” She seems to be thinking about whether engaging me is wise. “Like who?” she finally asks. “Pete Williams,” I say. “He’s just a downright phenomenal bassist, and if any kind of all-star band can be found around here, then you can bet he’s in it. He plays in that Kiss cover band, Love Gun, that we saw that one time.” I am met with quizzical looks. “Also,” I continue, “that guy Ross Hamlin who ran Little Wing—remember? You met him.” This attempt meets a look of vague recollection. “Anyway, he’s a stellar guitarist who went to that Berklee College of Music. He really knows what he’s doing, but he’s passionate as well.” She wants me to shut up.
9:34 pm: “I’m putting socks on,” I shout. Nobody cares.
9:42 pm: I hope the Rouge Cat door girl reads my story so she understands that I feel like a dick when I announce I’m on the guest list. Sorry.
9:43 pm: Bass-heavy tunes lure me downstairs, where I discover Williams and Amy Lindquist ruling the vocal harmonies. First thoughts? The Sticky is tight—whether from a grueling practice routine or a God-given
ability to slay, I don’t know, but it’s working for me.
9:49 pm: As I admire Williams’ slap bass prowess, I decide that too few bands have backup singers anymore. Jozelle Anderson, Katy Kidd and Lindquist are fantastic vocalists, dance routines and all. The only thing that could make this act better would be horns. Keyboardist Jeff Nelson pulls off some horn-like tones, but it’s not the same. Still, it’s a minimal complaint. Besides, drummer Richard Reed hits the balance between spot-on rhythm and interesting beats. The band launches into Anita Ward’s totally danceable disco hit, “Ring My Bell,” and I’m sold: The Sticky is killer.
9:52 pm: I think about dancing for a moment, but don’t. I’m self-conscious. However, I find myself jealous of those in the crowd dancing like nobody is watching, except for the older dude with the spooky look on his face who moves like his skeleton is made of jelly; that dude is just weird. Some band members hit the floor with loosely synchronized dance moves. I love when musicians engage and participate with the crowd.
9:57 pm: Williams, the consummate showman, thanks me for attending the show, while the rest of the band keeps shredding. This is much nicer than the dirty looks I usually get from local musicians.
10:36 pm: The girlfriend wants me to come home, but I’m torn. This band knows how to have fun while blowing minds, but it’s unwise to upset the boss. I remind myself that the band resides on Wednesdays at Rouge Cat, and I vow to return.
The Sticky: 9:30 pm. Wednesday, Feb. 1. $5.
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