I saw Roky Erickson perform on Saturday evening, lone wolf style. I looked high and low for a buddy to accompany me, but no dice. Going solo to see a living legend is no biggie for this beast. I'll cry in my beer another night.
The show was at the Great American Music Hall, San Francisco's oldest night club. Ornate balconies, towering marble columns, and artisan ceiling frescoes set the scene while weird satan/gypsy/hippy chicks milled about looking stoned out of their gourds. The venue was magnificent. There's two bars and plenty of vantage points to view the stage. I got up close and personal so I could see Roky transform from elderly Texan Santa Clause, to full blown feral wolf man. It happened right before thine eyes.
Roky seems to be an excellent health, despite his ballooning girth and old growth beard. He could still sing as if it was 1966, and the Elevators were behind him playing the jug. He had a fantastic backing band that watched his every move, while helping to keep him on point with his guitar and vocal marks. His voice has not aged a bit. A pleasant surprise for this sad sack of a super fan.
Apologies for the shitty phone pictures. Roky certainly deserves better.
There's the horned beast, getting deep with an old Aliens cut.
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