2006 Duffy's Hall Of Fame

Duffy's Tavern has always been the bright center of the local musical universe to me. Of course if one speaks that way of it, someone will protest by recalling the halcyon days of The Drumstick and The Brickyard, but those venues were just a wee bit before my time. To me they are just stories whereas Duffy's is an old haunt.

Yes, there was good music to be had elsewhere, especially at The Zoo, but those other venues, to me, provided sounds imported from far away. Duffy's, back in the day, was the best place to tap into original music that represents the community in which we live.

Fortunately, there are more such stages in town today, but still it has always been surprising to me that original & local is not what most people want.

Most people, if they go out at all, want to hear a particular genre, or they want to hear a particular band that's comming through on tour, or covers of songs they know, or bands that are obvious clones of bands they know, or whatever's danceable (where all other characteristics of the music pass through like so much Olestra), or the sort of musical "perfection" that the worldwide, mass-media, top-o'-the-charts filtration system has trained them to expect. For the most part, we seem to not want the real, local, original, fallible flavor of where we live.

On my flight back from Miami to O'Hare last week I heard a woman in the row behind me talking about all of the places that she has been, and how disappointing it is for her to go shopping for things that represent the local flavor. Everywhere she goes, worldwide, it's nothing but the same chain stores. The man she was travelling with kept taunting her: "why is that a bad thing?" Sadly, she was unable to articulate what's not to love about homogenizing the globe.

These were the thoughts that were going through my mind as I walked through the door of Duffy's to see the second annual Hall Of Fame recognition ceremony. The first thing I heard was the doorman saying that the show was sold-out and that only online tickets would be honored. My heart sank. It must have been visible on my face because they had mercy on me: "Are you alone?" "Yes." "Quick, pay the man seven dollars before he changes his mind."

I arrived just in time for Domestica (formerly The Mercy Rule) to take the stage and play a few of Trout Mystery's songs. Sadly, the trout crew could not make it, but their tribute was an excellent substitute. I was surprised and elated to recognize the songs. I hadn't heard them since 1989, but Jon & Heidi managed to conjur them up from the dark recesses of my nervous system. This was the most I was hoping to get out of the evening, so everything thereafter was gravy.

And what glorious gravy it was. I spent Sideshow's entire set perma-grinning, standing tip-toe to watch Bernie manhandle his bass. While perpetually humble, they were all in good form and together awakened more than their fair share of memories. While I don't know their material very well, I'm pretty sure I recognized "Option Refused". Between songs they were giving away a bunch of old, original vinyl that had been liberated from the basement of the now-defunct Caulfield Records. Nice touch.

Finally, the Self Righteous Brothers proved themselves to be the kings of fun with a short-but-sweet set replete with the somewhat-synchronized dance moves and stage antics that one would expect. They ended with their smash hit "Have Fun With Your Penis", which came with a well-endowed outro, during which Sweet Basil McJagger did a headstand on his keyboard. The crowd gave a valiant effort to to bring them out for an encore, but they swore they didn't practice anything else they could play. Leave them wanting more, eh?