My BFFs

I'm at the Nomad Pub over on the West Bank right now, checking out this week's Minneseries, which is this weekly night of music that I've been working on (and when I say working on, I mean asking my main man Matt Perkins what fantastic amazing bands he's lined up and then making an ad for the Pulse) for a bit. Really, Matt is the guy who's been doing all the heavy lifting, although when I can, I try to pimp the shows with Hot Tickets and hot ads and hot blogs. Like this one.

Best Friends Forever is playing right now. Heard 'em? They're like spaz geniuses: two chicks and a guy drummer who sing songs about being best friends, Orlando Bloom and Abraham Lincoln. The Lincoln song is hitting particularly close to home with me, since I'm knee-deep in reading Doris Kearns Goodwin's book Team of Rivals, which is about the run up to Lincoln being nominated as the Republican candidate at the convention in Chicago and how he assembled his cabinet out of his staunchest rivals, rather than toadying yesmen, like some presidents we have right now.

Stuff like Best Friends Forever is kind of a mystery to me, because by all rights I should hate it. I'm not a fan of cutesiness in my rock, nor of barely tuneful vocals, but somehow, they make it work. And I mean work. I guess it's got a genuineness, a guilelessness (wow, is that a word? Yes, confirmed by dictionary.com) that keeps it actually cute, rather than cutesy. Plus, if you look around, every person here is smiling. Funny music is hard to do-- way harder than you probably think. Nobody who's good at it probably spends one-quarter of the amount of time thinking about it as I do. For stuff like this, to paraphrase that miserable Dane, there's nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

This just in: Knob Creek is great.