Okay, I wanted to first start off with an apology to Mr. Biram for the all the crappy messages he got from me.  A couple weeks ago, my computer was hacked into so all my accounts (MySpace, Twitter, Gmail, etc.) had some douchebag screwing around with them.  To say the least, I felt real horrible when I got a very concerned message back from Biram. . .and I hadn’t even done the review yet.  Damn, sorry.  Obviously you’re getting a good review—haha, actually you deserve it.

When I think of one-man bands I usually get the impression of hippie coffeehouses and some guy in a ponytail singing about ocean breezes.  Thank Judas when Scott Biram took the stage at Canes.  His intro was the theme to Jaws which was seemingly appropriate.  Biram was like a monster ready to strike his victims with the unholy sounds of wicked blues and dark country.  Armed with a footstomp board (made by Biram himself), a slew of guitars, and a vintage broadcast mic, Scott H. Biram brought the demonic delta to San Diego.  His southern drawl and scratchy voice was accentuated by the monotone mic like a preacher to the underground masses.  Playing mostly from his latest release Something’s Wrong, Biram was able to capture that feeling of hiding out in a rundown shack and making out with your cousin while listening to some dirty blues—so wrong, yet it feels oh so right.  “Still Drunk, Still Crazy, Still Blue” was reflective of that hard-livin’, hard-partyin’ life while “Judgement Day” felt a little more redemptive in its tone.  Between each song, Biram rattled on as a storyteller lending ear candy to his devout followers.  “This is a love song, but not really,” said Biram about his song “Wildside” explaining the love-love relationship of one’s sinful ways.  Isn’t that the main theme of downhome blues and rock ‘n roll?  The crowd agrees and raise their bottles in the air.  He also performed “Time Flies” and “Sinkin’ Down” from his last CD.  But nothing could be finer when he belted out “Plow You Under” from his 2006 release Graveyard.

I have to admit, I’m always a little skeptical of the energy level from one-man bands.  Most of them do love ballads or politically charged anthems.  Snore.  Scott H. Biram was fucking amazing.  Period.  His presence was wild, his music was rough, and the energy was like a cattle prod to the privates—and yes, I do mean that in a good way.  Biram may dub himself as the “dirty old one man band,” he should just call himself what he really is “The Best Fucking Dirty Old One Man Band You’ll Ever Hear.”  Period.