Jessie Lilley
Buddy Barnett
Brad Linaweaver

November 2009     Web Edition     Issue #3

Articles Features Interviews Reviews News Film Music Blog Forum Staff Back Issues Links Contact Us

The Fabulous Miss Wendy

Live at The Whisky

by Jessie Lilley

So this kid I met in town who plays a mean-ass guitar called and said, “I’m playing at The Whisky. You want a ticket?” "Yeah, sure." She’s a neat kid and has a lotta talent so what the hell? If nothing else, maybe The Stones’ll show up. You never know man, ya’ know? So, having decided I was too damned tired to go out on a Tuesday night after putting in a 10 hour day at the studio (one that started at 5 am I might add, when I dragged my old bones out of bed), I told my roomie T, “Fuck it. There’s no way in hell I’m going to the Strip for a maybe-close-to-9 pm show and getting up at 5 again tomorrow. I’m going to bed.” To which she replied, “Nooooo! You promised her! Come on, I’ll drive.” And so we went. (I really hate it when she's right.)

The Whisky marquee on the Sunset Strip

But I am ever-grateful to T for that kick in the ass. What a show! We sat through some really awful shite for the first hour. I drank my scotch and stared at the wall while trying to understand what these kids thought was so great about the off-key laments issuing from a not-unattractive but very untalented front man leaping ‘round the stage like a demented Rod Stewart. Their set eventually ended much to my joy and the audience hit the bar or the street for a much-needed smoke while The Fabulous Miss Wendy stepped up to do sound checks. I got another whiskey and noticed T had disappeared into the throng so I planted myself against a pole near the door and waited.

There weren’t a lot of folks on the floor and those that were seemed interested in milling around trying to find the exit which shouldn’t have been too tough as it was right there but I chalked that up to brain lesions forced upon them by the previous act. Then the band was announced to scattered and polite applause. “Oh boy,” I thought, “this is gonna be rough.” Wendy stepped up to the mic and never said hello. She just looked out into the house and gave a little smile. Closing her eyes a moment, she caressed the Fender, then slammed into the opening number and claimed the place as her own. I watched the kids snap their heads around to see where that opening riff had come from. The old tigers (like me) got wide-eyed and left their drinks unattended on the bar to walk out onto the floor or over to the upstairs rail and check it out. Cigarettes were thrown, half smoked into the gutter as the outside crowd literally rushed back in to see and hear what they were missing.

It was beautiful.

The Fabulous Miss Wendy
commands the attention of the jaded crowd at The Whisky

By the time drummer Dylan Howard counted the band down into the second number the floor was packed and all eyes were glued to the petite brunette in the elegant black gown with cool-ass fuscia streaks in her gorgeous long locks and a voice that will blow you out of the last row in the third balcony. She had ‘em tight and there they stayed through the last number when she surprised me (and everyone else) by stepping delicately out of her evening attire and disappearing under the grasping hands of some very cute goth kids who had slipped onto the stage unnoticed until now. The crowd at the world-famous Whisky a Go Go went nuts.

Since then I’ve made it my business to catch this band live wherever they play ‘cause it’s the most fun I’ve had at a show since Faces played The Filmore East ‘way back in the day. Fresh, original, hard-rockin’ songs all from the mind of The Fabulous Miss Wendy.