While we like to think all the performers that appear on these pages present a blast of fresh air, Darlingside is exceptional. A long-practiced head-swiveling vigilance is the only thing that saves me from an express bus as it blows past me through the caution light at the 15th Street intersection. There’s a chorus that sounds like angels giving their benediction to insurrection.
The steady, metronomic snare beat and driving electric guitar strum crank up my heart rate and provoke ecstasy. Locked into air guitar, air fiddle, air harmony, listening to “Blow the House Down” from their full-length CD, Pilot Machines. Crossing Sixth Avenue, gym-bound at 5:30 a.m., Darlingside in the headphones from the iPod.
