“Is this going to be like seeing The Four Tops or The Drifters at the county fair, with only one remaining member, but technically still the Four Tops or The Drifters?”
It was Sunday night and I was less than an hour from seeing Queens of the Stone Age. And I was nervous inside. Prior to the concert, I engaged my friend and musical mentor on a phone call, the man who got me into Queens in the first place. Thanks to several lineup changes since their creation, I told him I wasn’t as excited as I should’ve been to see them for the first time.
He laughed and said, “It’s still Queens, dude.”
And by god, was he right. It is still Queens, dude.
If I discovered a magical lamp with a hot genie (built like Barbara Eden) who asked what two acts I’d like to see on successive days that I’d never seen before yet loved for years, in perfect 70 degree weather, less than 10 miles from my home round trip, I would pick Atmosphere and Queens of the Stone Age on reflex alone, without even thinking, like a musical version of Pavlov’s Dog.
