Holidayton review
Friday, December 23 at Blind Bob’s
C. Wright’s Parlour Tricks were tricked out
I was at Holidayton, and I was drinking. I was pleased with the onslaught of musicians, but yet the best thing perhaps happened towards the end of the night. Several gentlemen appeared on the side stage (in all actuality a taped-off section of floor) and began setting up. The gear was glowing and classic, you knew they knew what they were doing. I knew what to expect, as I had seen them before. Leaking anticipation through my alcohol-soaked pores, C. Wright’s Parlour Tricks began. Chris Wright, the “C. Wright” in C. Wright’s Parlour Tricks, is a shredder of the highest order. When I say shredder, I mean a fucking shredder. When speaking of shredders, unrepentant bullshit such as Malmsteem and other douchebags may come to mind, but this was not the Parlour Tricks. This was a genuine experience of italicized excitement and songs (as well as fucking shredding). In my eyes, this was the greatest instrumental blues-rock-surf-rock-‘n’-fucking-roll experience of the night (and perhaps in Dayton). A bunch of motherfuckers who knew it and made sure you got a fucking song, as well as some fucking shredding.
— W.C. Ruffnel
