I saw Trip Shakespeare live once. Two of the guys were wearing enormous angel wings strapped to their backs. And, if I remember right, the guitarist-singer in the middle was dancing around in a devil costume (red hood, horns, pointy tail) and sneering like a mischievous little kid. I couldn't see the drummer too well--her head was covered with glittery streamers. But wait: they sounded just great. They played a fresh, catchy, jazzily rhythmic, vaguely mystical (not "psychedelic") sort of pop-rock, dressed up with distinctively odd-intervaled vocal harmonies--the kind of stuff that if you listened to it long enough would make you stagger outside to stand and stare blankly at the moon. Later I told someone about the show, and they jokingly suggested I'd been hallucinating, which scared me. But I've got Trip Shakespeare's LP Applehead Man on the box right now, and it's just as bizarre and lovely as their show was. Thank God I'm OK. Tonight, Gaspars, 3159 N. Southport; 871-6680.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photo/Daniel Corrigan.