The New York trio had a cohesive brilliance about them: each component of their sound was big, from the reverbed vocals to the resonant tom-based drums to the scuzz guitar that was thin as razor wire. But their skill lay in the economy they used in deploying these motifs, to create catchy surf-punk/pop gems that dripped a dreamy wistfulness. I was won over by the end of their first song.
When Adam informed me that the three goddesses would be residing at his house for the night, I quickly went home, brushed my teeth and applied copious amounts of aftershave, then raced over to his house for the after show party.
I was met with a room full of tea lights and a roaring fire, with the three girls curled up around their amplifiers and flight cases drinking beer, playing David Lee Roth vocal takes and talking about "peanut galleries". We had a good conversation about "1950's dust". Adam and I sat both sat there in a stunned adolescent rapture, until it was time to head home.