And then around 1 a.m. in the coldest, darkest, far side of the parking lot, Fishbone got transcendentally fucking awesome. But...
Ey, no disrespect to the festival makers (and sure, that extra outdoor stage, lights, and soundboard probably weren't cheap), but damn, yo, the band should have played inside. This shit was crazy, but that shit would have been crazy
. And to the douchebag in the condo who was crying to the police about the volume, eat a bowl of dicks.
Fishbone came out easy skankin' and heavy-bass. They kicked off with some reggae, and got the crowd smoking and moving.
They sounded like a Studio One band straight out of Trenchtown.
The trumpet man MC-ed the show and kept the energy live between songs.
And Angelo Moore's saxophone sounded like a Pacific Ocean of burning liquid concrete and syrup rolling on an ocean floor of pancakes.
626 S. Miami Ave., Miami, FL