"Huh? are back together?" was good-looking much my resistance at week, when I heard a boom box ad for Wednesday's show at Martini Ranch in Scottsdale. Clearly, I'd been out of the loop, since Todd Lewis had reconstituted his Dallas-Fort Worth company -- known nationally for 1994's Rubberneck and its deathly hit single, -- in 2006, minus bassist Lisa Umbarger. Umbarger's departure from the fillet in 2001 led to a break-up I made-up was final. For me, that was a shame.
I consumed my rearmost two years of on a trip indoctrinate in the DFW area, and Rubberneck was one of the albums that defined my term there, even though it had been released four years before I came to town. My brother, some friends and I went to a townsperson present station's music anniversary and watched the Toadies set the open-air venue now known as the Superpages.com Center. (At the time, it was the Coca-Cola Starplex, and the other headliners included Collective Soul, Blink-182, Stabbing Westward and Lit. The times, they are a-changin'.) Shortly thereafter I bought Rubberneck, and there's hardly a melody on it that doesn't escort back memories.
My fellow-citizen and I discussed a few of them in the days greatest up to Wednesday's show, such as "Mexican Hairless" accompanying the climactic mettle uncomfortable in a terrible, formidable transitory membrane we made, or listening to "I Burn" during a LAN bacchanalia (remember those?). My favorite, though, is still a not-at-all-subtle taunt at Lewis' holy upbringing. We had a consociate named Matt Snyder, and we enchanted in changing the climactic path to "I prayed, 'Sweet Jesus, don't let me become a Matt Snyder.'" It spurred him to pay off the CD.
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