Johnette Napolitano of Concrete Blonde Knitting Factory, NYC, 2/13/02 Photo © 2002 NY Rock

You see they just pulled me out the old rock journalists' nursing home and sent me to the Knitting Factory in downtown NYC to cover the sold-out Concrete Blonde show. Wow, look at all these people...

Before the show, my nurse took me to a nice dinner at little Malaysian restaurant a couple of blocks away, and at least I'm well fed. Now I'm squeezed into a little corner by the bar trying to write this thing by candlelight. The place is bustling and the band is taking the stage. They open with George Harrison's "Beware of Darkness." Hey, it's a cover band -- I can handle this. I know all the classics.

Johnette Napolitano of Concrete Blonde Knitting Factory, NYC, 2/13/02 Photo © 2002 NY Rock

Just as I'm about to yell out "Free Bird!," lead singer Johnette Napolitano breaks into "Roxy," which I now recall is from their new CD, Group Therapy. The ode to Bryan Ferry and company is well received by the crowd of diehard fans and Napolitano's husky voice is distinctive and sultry as ever.

Concrete Blonde are a tight three-piece unit. Napolitano's bass playing does a good job of locking down the bottom against the solid beat of Harry Rushakoff. Jim Mankey is a competent guitar player, ala Andy Summers. Replace him with any kid with a decent sounding Strat from Avenue D, though, and I doubt anyone would notice. In fact, Concrete Blonde themselves could be any good-sounding band on a Saturday night at CBGB or they could be the lauded trio they are, playing before a packed house of sweaty, devoted fans. Destiny obviously has it that they're the latter.

Jim Mankey of Concrete Blonde Knitting Factory, NYC, 2/13/02 Photo © 2002 NY Rock

Back here at the bar, for the past 20 minutes people have been coming up and asking me to help them get drinks. No problem, what's your poison? Do I know the bartender's name? Sure, it's, uh... Joe. Hey Joe, get this gal a couple of cocktails, will ya?

One of the barmaids has now taken notice of my efforts and has responded in kind by pushing the candle a little closer so I can see what I'm doing. She's also started to serve me drinks on the house. (My nurse is up at the stage, taking pictures of the band, so I'm downing red wines like they're grape juice at a Saturday night bingo game.)

It's now song number 4 and drink number 14. The band is playing "Valentine," also from the new CD. Napolitano's long black mane has managed to cover up the last square inch of her face and the audience is as enraptured as ever. It's about a hundred degrees in here and I'm seriously thinking about taking off my shirt, but being a newly employed bar assistant at the Knitting Factory, I decide against it.

One thing is obvious. Concrete Blonde's fan base is avid and no one can take that away from the trio. As the band continued to please the crowd with a mix of material old and new ("Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)," "Angel," "Everybody Knows"), it became apparent that their return, after eight years of mostly lying low, could not be viewed as anything but triumphant. For me, though, it's time to get back to my room. Got to get my rest and keep my wits about me, lest I lose my concentration during the big Canasta tournament scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.