Dirty Pickles dilled & chilled at Roadhouse Theater

by ROD ICE
Gazette Newspapers

ERIE, PA – When they appeared at Conneaut Days in June, Matty B and the Dirty Pickles gained a new west-of-the-border audience in Ohio.

Yet on what was to be their final night performing as Buddy Holly and the Crickets, this raucous rockabilly trio discovered something new.

New York had dipped a toe into the brine barrel.

A talent scout from the Empire State was on hand to evaluate Matt Boland and his group with an eye on future projects that might develop.

Valerie Niebling, Boland’s mother, called it “an exciting opportunity for the boys.” She confessed to being nervous with anticipation.

At Erie’s Roadhouse Theater for Contemporary Art, devoted fans have seemed to gather in greater numbers as the combo became a post-modern entertainment phenomenon.

Their Buddy Holly revue interspersed commentary from an on-stage disc jockey, with live renderings of classic recordings by the late artist. It provided not only a portrayal of the icon as he was, but also highlighted the sense of loss felt by fans when he perished on February 3rd, 1959.

The production has proved able to excite audiences of a widely mixed variety. Those old enough to have appreciated Charles Hardin Holley as a new artist, have joined others who share the youthful exuberance of Matty B and his group from a contemporary perspective.

Undeniably, Boland portrayed the notable, southern character with skill.

He played a sunburst Fender Stratocaster guitar, that was a perfect component of the authentic ‘Holly’ persona. Yet beyond having the garb of that era, he also exuded the energy that typified a real performance by the late rock progenitor.

In a sense, he did more than simply ‘act’ in the role.

He appeared to channel the spirit of Buddy Holly from a far-off point in oblivion, into a current setting.

With such intensity on display, no one was surprised when a theater spokesman announced that after a weekend hiatus, ‘Buddy Holly: The Day the Music Died’ would be extended for three more weeks.

A brief interlude allowed Matty B and his fellow ‘gherkins’ to catch their breath, and mingle with guests. Yet the night had only begun.

An after-show celebration was scheduled in the Roadhouse lounge. There, the Dirty Pickles appeared for extra hours, swimming in the potent brine of their own identity. Tobacco-laden air quickly charged with electricity as this young trio ripped through a set of classic compositions, and Picklebilly originals. Their thumping, stage-shredding, pedal-to-the-floor interpretations of Bobby Fuller, Gene Vincent, and the heroic Link Wray soon heated the room like a blast furnace.

Revelers took turns sneaking out the back door for a cool moment in the alleyway before diving back into the Vlassic-rock marinade. But Boland and the band seemed unaffected. They glowed white-hot, while cheerfully assaulting the musical continuum. Yuengling beer flowed freely, as shoe leather slapped the floorboards.

It might well have been 1957, or 1977. Typical chronology didn’t matter any more.
When a member of the audience kept shouting “Stray Cats! Stray Cats!” Matty B finally paused at his vintage microphone.

“Do we look like the (expletive) Stray Cats?” he laughed.

It was a moment when the true nature of his band connected directly with revelers around the club.

While the ‘Cats’ were a successful 80’s detour from more pervasive heavy metal and pop-synthesizer themes that ruled the day, they only imitated the beauty of a lost tradition.

The Dirty Pickles have proved able to expand upon that theme by crafting a new creation from the ethos of rock’s golden age, and the rebellious authenticity of punk.

In a sense, their performance once again demonstrated rock’s ability to reinvent itself for a succession of new generations.

As Pete Townshend once observed for Cleveland radio powerhouse WMMS, “Rock ‘n’ roll will always, always, always overcome… eventually!”

Predictably, Matty and his ‘dill detail’ had little time to rest after the raucous evening. This salty singer and guitarist literally slumped outside of the men’s restroom after his last tune on stage.

He panted for breath while sitting against the wall. “That’s all I’ve got,” he pleaded.

At his side, Niebling seemed glad to know that her son had finished his show.
She explained that the group was already focused on upcoming exhibitions of Pickledelic prowess.

The outfit would soon play at Mohawk Place in Buffalo New York, on Saturday, September 29th. They were slated to open for the Koffin Kats, a horror-rock revival ensemble from Michigan.

An Ohio date was also being arranged, at Peabody’s Concert Club in Cleveland, on October 19th. They were signed to open for the Misfits, a band long-heralded by fans of alternative culture.

Niebling confessed to being a ‘cool’ parent, who schooled her son in paradigms of rock with authentic love for the genre.

“He listened to all those old records,” she said, proudly. “Punk, country, everything. I guess was a cool mom!”

Still panting for oxygen, Boland agreed, with a grin.