David Serby
at the Press, Sat., Nov. 29
By: George Donovan
David Serby, we’re thinking you’re the real deal. See, we’re bored of the quasis, part-timers, semis, adjuncts and maybes. We’re tired of hearing honky tonk-inflected, tear-in-my-beer jams from urban hipsters who were blastin’ Sugar Ray and The Barenaked Ladies ten years ago. We’re worn from listening to Angelinos, who’ve just pulled out of the garages of their Silver Lake flats in their foreign-nameplated rides, launch a front as if they’ve just peeled out of a ranch house in a rusty Chevy Stepside somewhere on the outskirts of Stillwater, OK. That type of stuff pains us about as much as having to endure the Baha Men’s “Who Let The Dogs Out,” Creed’s “Higher” and Gloria Estefan’s “Comeonletchabodygonnaloosecontrolah” (or whatever that song’s called—yeah, you know the one) for the umpteenth time. But, a dude like South Pasadena-based Serby won’t have us freaking wince to oblivion. We don’t know what it is, really, but we’re captivated; we’re truly, bluely wanting to hear more. Serby, you’re the real deal, and we’re mandating another round of “I Only Smoke When I’m Drinkin’,” a sappy, saggin’ tune boasting a title that (on the surface) sounds redundantly ironic, yet when spun, is so gripping and gratifying, we’re whipping out a pack of Marlboro Reds and searching for that bottle of (imported) Shiner Bock. Lungs and liver be damned—Serby has our ears and hearts well within his grasp. (George Donovan)
David Serby at the Press, 129 Harvard Ave., Claremont, (909) 625-4808; www.www.thepressrestaurant.com. 10PM
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