never too young to rock

Wakarusa Fest has come and gone, though many colorful buskers and drifter-types will tarry on in Larrytown indefinitely. And why not? There's a nice downtown, a river and flavored ice of many colors available at Tad's Tropical Snow (on the NW corner of Ninth & Iowa Streets). Yes, a carefree festivalgoer in this part of the world has much to be happy about.

Myself, however... I still get out to shows, but I don't always feel the same enthusiasm as the kids. Still, the nice thing about taking a chance on catching a band live is that once in a while something will blow you away, sometimes when (and where) you least expect it.

Last Sunday evening, while driving north on New York Street, I saw a group of adults standing in a front yard, smiling and facing the house as if it were a stage. I didn't see anyone on the porch, though. Until I got closer.

There were indeed someones on the porch, which had been transformed into a stage by four young children playing a full-out rock show, complete with keyboard, drums and an electric guitar with a mini-amplifier. I had no choice but to pull over and watch.

When I walked up, the parents and neighbors welcomed me, but warned that I might become a captive audience. Their warnings arrived too late. I was already fascinated as I watched a song with a solid rhythm and actual melody break down into youthful rebellion.

The song I walked up to was apparently to be their last, but as shouts of "encore" rang out from the crowd, the lead singer/guitarist, a boy with long blond hair and a Superman t-shirt, picked his guitar up, hesitated for a moment, and yelled "They want one more? We'll give 'em one more!"

The crowd didn't just want an instrumental, though. They shouted for a boy named Henry to sing. When Henry -- who must have been about 5 -- screamed his disapproval, his parents only encouraged him further, shouting "Just like that!" Henry, however, was not having it, and he responded by swinging his microphone (which was either a toy or a plastic gardening tool) at his bandmates.

The drummer had barely struck up a beat on the makeshift floor toms when Henry's mic stand came down on his left hand, knocking out one of his drumsticks. The drummer, a kind of Keith Moon for the very young, retrieved it with his left hand while fending Henry off with his right foot.

Inspired by this outburst, the guitarist/singer shouted "I know! We'll call this song The Fight!" and then launched into a fast-paced riff.

The keyboardist, the only female member of the group, played on as if unaware of the chaos her bandmates were caught up in. She played melodic -- at times almost atonal -- lines that recalled the keyboards on "Sister Ray," and both her capable playing and distinguished posture held the band together nicely.

The rhythm section soon brought the encore to a shambolic halt, which was met by passionate applause and whistling from the crowd. The band members may have been short in stature, but this was punk rock on a grand scale.

As I walked away and bid farewell to the parents who had welcomed me, I marveled at what a fun set it had been. Even if I'd only seen one song, it might have been the best show I've ever been to.

(the above photo was not taken at this show, but is from the set Jenn took for the Only Children's feature on Spin.com)