Maybe it's my privileged 90s alternative concert upbringing, but until last night I don't think I had ever seen a girl on someone's shoulders flash her tits at an 'I love you'-mouthing lead singer. And it's unlikely that I'll ever see it again at the same show as a full-fledged 80s-California-punk moshpit. The weird and wonderful world of the Eagles of Death Metal, ladies and gentlemen!

Brent calls them the ultimate chicken-walking band, and he is not wrong. That show was all kinds of fun. I think I might love that skeezy truck-stop gay-biker faux-fey-southern lead singer, and all he stands for.