THIS LITTLE UNDERGROUND
Bob Log III, Oct. 16, Will’s Pub
“Original” is a word that’s thrown around too much. But not when it comes to the one and only Bob Log III. The one-man band has long been the quintessence of the word, one of the truest there’s ever been. He exists on an outer dimension of his own, as supreme as he is peerless.
When I first experienced one of his performances back in the early 2000s at the original Will’s Pub location, it melted my mind, then it changed it about what live performance – and, shit, music itself – could be. The twisted sounds, the outrageous antics and the amazing costume all total into one supremely indelible impression. But things predicated on gimmick, however seemingly brilliant at first, almost always fade with prolonged exposure. Yet somehow Bob Log’s schtick maintains its spell. After many encounters over many years, his latest return showed that his live lightning hasn’t dimmed one watt.
Log’s genius could be explained through autopsy. His blues-punk sickness is a conceptual masterstroke, as avant-garde as it is psychotic. And for all his irreverence and facetiousness, his possessed slide guitar playing is legitimately inspired and utterly electrifying. But even all that that can’t quite capture the full magic of Bob Log III. Somewhere between the vision, flair and showmanship, his live show hits like a slab of fat on a hot-ass pan the second he drops in.
About that charisma, oh the things he can impel an audience to do. Sadly, no boobs were dipped in scotch this time, but there were people dancing, blowing up balloons for him to stomp on and drinking cheap bubbly out of a pool inflatable.
It all adds up to a collision of insanity, virtuosity and revelry – which is probably why he’s one of pub owner Will Walker’s all-time favorite acts.
And though he fucks with the blues far too much to be a true ambassador, the screwy irony is that Bob Log is probably one of the genre’s greatest missionaries. Because if you don’t see the truth in the blues after seeing Bob Log, then you’re hopeless, baby.
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Email Bao: baolehuu@orlandoweekly.com
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This article appears in Oct 17-23, 2018.
