I don't mean to be a music snob, but I'm not that into cover bands. I'm not intrigued by anyone's My Sherona/ Green-Eyed Lady medley. I don't feel the urge to dance to Angel in the Centerfold, and I don't get pumped to see a Sublime tribute band. In fact, I'm liable to walk in a bar and turn straight around if there's a cover band that's going to come between me and the loving conversation I plan on having with at least two adult beverages.
But the existence of live music, even in it's most irritating, soul-wrenching, tasteless form, is a necessity. A blessing even, because for every 50 renditions of Margaritaville you might be subjected to, you might get one creative Martin Sexton cover. It's our right as Americans to fr... read more >

