Note: At the beginning of the week a Twitter follower asked if he'd see me at this show. I hadn't considered it. Weeks before when scanning the Riot Room calendar the name "Wyldlife" meant nothing to me, but now, prompted by a Tweet, I clicked on a random YouTube link and let the band's new single play. I watched for only 20 or 30 seconds before emailing the band's label to let them know I'd be shooting the band. Moments later when I added the show to my calendar, I realized I had just double booked myself. Maybe it would be all right, the other show was an early show at a record store, so it would probably be over by 10:00 and I could make both. Sadly, it wasn't. When the "early" show wrapped up just before midnight I rushed over to the Riot Room. Luckily I arrived just as Wyldlife was completing its soundcheck; of course this means there are no photos or accounts of the opening acts. My apologies to Bad Wheels, The Runaway Sons, & Mr. and the Mrs. So, without a full show to account, I'll just give you a quick paragraph so we can remember this happened.

Wyldlife live in that wonderfully sleazy rock & roll world created by Dee Dee Ramone and Johnny Thunders. The band's lifestyle is likely full of excesses, but it's songs aren't — they're simple rock songs full of power pop hooks and punk gusto. It's The New York Dolls, The Runaways, The Boys, The Real Kids, and so many bands that followed. In short, all my favorite bands. The New York quartet's new album is out on Stevie Van Zandt's wonderful Wicked Cool label, and that should be all you need to know, so I'll stop there. Shifting to the stage show, frontman Dave Feldman is an ugly man with an enormous mouth and loads of sex appeal. Yes, one of the many Stones references that could be made. He's photogenic and magnetic. His bandmates would need to set themselves on fire to steal the audience's gaze. The small crowd was split between punks in studded leather battle jackets and 40-something men in comfortable shoes. The former pogoed and pumped fists, while the latter nodded in subdued appreciation. The band's set was short. By the time I had snapped a few dozen photos (and before I had taken any video) it was over, and I was thanking guitarist Samm Allen, and shoving a Too Much Rock pin into his hand. God, I hope they come back so I can be the one tweeting to everyone that they need to come out to the show.