slackers slack no more at tru luv

Thursday nights at Tru Luv rocked. For me it was guy’s night out. Cheap martinis (dirty of course), a live retro band, and zany, enthusiastic partiers all contributed to the good times. And all of this took place in Freddytown. Unfuckingbelievable!

But, sadly, the good times have come to a screeching halt all because the regular Thursday night band, the Slackers, have officially called it quits. It’s a crying shame because the fledgling trio was just hitting stride; groupies lustfully lingered and recording contracts lay in wait. Yes, I am prone to exaggeration, but I actually liked the group.

Bummer, I say!

Formerly known as the Sautéed Onions, the acoustic trio consisted of Jarle Brors (guitar/vocals), Bongo G (percussion) and Tom Arbisi (guitar/vocals). Let me not overstate, the band wasn’t headed for arenas any time soon, but they had developed an original sound—a rarity in Fredericksburg, which is overridden with stale, polluted guitar/vocalist acts.

Regulars at Tru Luvs for nearly a year in one form or another, it was only recently that the band tightened and improved dramatically. Much of the forward progress could be attributed to the permanent addition of Bongo G (he only sat in before), a hilarious personality whose Latino roots resurrected many of the band’s stale covers. Often, and this was a real hit, the Bongo man passed out percussion instruments (tambourines, maracas, rattles, etc.) and encouraged fans to beat along. It was hilarious—and fun! Confidence, the infectious disease it is, soared. Booze flowed like water; thundering applause filled the room following each song; and, in short, Thursday nights were rapidly becoming a happening scene.

But like the song says, “…it’s all over now!” Last night I showed up for my Thursday night fix only to find Tom sitting alone droning out tired covers, mainly Beatles stuff. No Jarle, no Bongo G. Ugh! My first reaction was to make a rapid u-turn, head to the bathroom and vomit, then make a dash for the door before anyone recognized me. But I was dying for a dirty martini and some food, so I decided to hang for the first set.

It was brutal. I’ve heard better Karaoke. Tom is an average vocalist at best, but he needs serious accompaniment when he sings, which, frankly, is not always on pitch. He’s not much to look at either. He’s devoured way too many banana splits; his head alone must go a buck fifty and he sweats like a friggin’ pig. Not a pretty sight, fans.

Oh well, I devoured a delectable French Dip sandwich (the roast beef a perfect medium rare) and fries, and skedaddled. Adios amigos! My ears ached from both the music and some obnoxious, chatty woman who advised me not to write this article because “universal karma” was working itself out. Lame!!! I thought to myself I do hope “universal karma” works itself out and this bumble brain gets hit with a major bolt of lightening as soon as she steps out the door.

Just before leaving, two other musicians, an electric guitar player and a percussionist, entered stage left. I can only suppose Tom hired them. I listened to one song and left, for the music had deteriorated, and I was fearful the karma lady might pop out another doozy.

And what precipitated this untimely breakup? Money! According to sources Tom’s stubby fingers were coated with glue. As the self-proclaimed leader of the band, Tom handled the kitty. “Tom could be fairly generous with the food and drink, but the majority of the cash wound up in his wallet,” said a source close to the fracas. “It was far from being an even three way split.”

Wouldn’t you know it? Man’s age old nemesis once again reaches out and claims another hapless victim. I suppose it was just a matter of time because Tom and Jarle have feuded for years; and this dispute was just the straw that broke the camel’s dick. So it goes in the wild and wooly world of rock n’ roll!

But wait! There is good news! Sources say Jarle and Bongo G are rehearsing and will be playing Tru Luv October 8^th. Yay!!! Until then I’ll have to find a new venue for guy’s night out, or, perhaps, just stay home and drink with the cat; he loves booze (Bailey’s on the rocks) and holds down a pretty good conversation when he’s lit. If I could just teach him to suck my wee wee I’d never leave home.