Geographically confused

Um, sorry. Got a little carried away there; nasty little earworm left over from last weekend’s boffo box-office hit.

Anyway, we’re still grooving on the idea of last Thursday’s Deadline show at the Lionsgate Hotel in the not-so-sleepy hamlet of McClellan, which we didn’t even know was a real town until Mapquest wouldn’t give us any directions to 3410 Westover Street in Sacramento. Hint: It’s not too far from the North Highlands Pussycat Theater on Watt Avenue, where the Scene Weasel used to study the San Fernando Valley’s many contributions to the cinematic arts. McClellan used to be an Air Force Base until recently.

We’d read about Deadline, or at least we’d seen the band’s photo on page 3 of the Scene section in the Thursday, June 24, issue of The Sacramento Bee. Now, we had no idea that at least two of these folks were Bee editorial-staff employees who moonlight in a blues band, or we might have eaten ourselves into flatulence with Six Dollar Burgers at the Junior before showing up to heckle. Alas, we missed it. If the Bee had gone to the trouble of pointing out that the band contained a couple of Bee staffers, we might have made the trek out to scenic McClellan, and we would have worn our colorful Hawaiian shirts, too. Anyway, we’ll have to keep an eye out for Deadline’s next gig at the hotel’s poolside, where the band will deliver an evening of blues and rock standards, while complimentary appetizers are served.

Speaking of complimentary appetizers, we’ve got a few of our own meatballs to spear. Apparently, a Friday-night “metal” Sammies showcase at the Roadhouse, which is stumbling distance from the western edge of McClellan, at 1556 Bell Avenue in south Robla (or maybe it’s north Del Paso Heights), got a wee bit wacky. Apparently, the evening started out when the singer and drummer from Bipolar dropped in to announce that the band wouldn’t be going on, because the guitarist and bassist had bailed that afternoon. Talk about an appropriately named combo. But Brand X Savior did show up, and it regaled the sparse crowd with what the band calls “power grüüv”—which contains enough umlauts to let uncertain consumers know exactly what they’re getting. The trouble started when the next band, KnifeThruHead, never quite made it to the stage. The drummer did manage to set up his kit, albeit in extremely slow motion, but the rest of the band took enough time fixing to get ready to play that the crowd started getting a serious heat on. Finally, after the club owner pulled the plug, there was a shouting match in the parking lot, featuring a near-naked guy in a Mexican wrestling mask, where stuff was said that might have made even Dick Cheney blush. But that’s rock ’n’ roll, right?