I was on the floor once at Baba O’Reilly’s in New London, getting my ribs stomped when Peter crashed into “Somebody’s Gonna Get Their Head Kicked in Tonight.” I remember looking up from down on the floor, my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t catch one in the teeth, and through the legs and bodies jumping up and down seeing Hugh, still wearing his first shirt of the night, soaked to the bone, neck tendons taut as he leaned into the chorus, and I noticed he was chewing gum as he pulled a vicious upstroke on that sunburst Les Paul Jr. of his. I wondered how he could chew gum and sing like that. And then the crowd shifted, I took another boot in the ribs, and I peeked up again through the crowd and could see Peter this time. What I noticed, from down there on the floor, was a long, straight, sky-blue guitar cord hooking him up to his amp. Which I hadn’t seen before. Cool. And then ooomph, another kick turned me the other way and the band disappeared. I could hear Tommy Trombley pounding those drums—like there was no tomorrow—I just closed my eyes, pulled into a fetal position and rode it out, all just part of the dance. Just having a little country fun, as Spo would say. Seems it was always a hundred degrees when The Reducers played, even in the winter. Ninety-nine and a half just wouldn’t do. – Kevin Kane
Lament For A Straight Line 