In their own way Donald Trump and Jesus Christ each loomed large over Holly Golightly and the Brokeoffs’ Tuesday night show at the Cactus Club.
The quirky veteran English roots rocker Golightly and her band—comprised solely of her copiously bearded guitarist/drummer and life partner Lawyer Dave—spoke of encountering an apparently bellicose Trump and his campaign bus in town for that evening’s Republican presidential candidates’ debate; barbs at him were hurled regularly throughout their show. The other fellow figured prominently in the couple’s 15-song set, too, by way of lyrics declaring their disbelief in him and bemusement at his followers.
Whether their anti-gospel songs, as Dave categorizes them, speak of avaricious televangelists, succumbing to temptation guilt-free, or a supposedly divine impulse to drown oneself in a river, he and Golightly disregard sanctity with considerably more jollity than the typical extreme metal band coming from the same lyrical perspective likely would. Theirs is a decidedly fun approach to atheism.
Of course, their musical approach is far more minimal than that of any group aiming for the cover of Kerrang!, too. Though she receives top billing, Golightly’s vocals were mostly in harmony with Dave’s, and her guitar most often provides rhythmic accompaniment to Dave’s lead picking, often in a bottleneck style that explores the melodic connections between blues and rockabilly. He also provides percussion with his foot controlling a pedal to a small drum providing the beat. Golightly spoke of bringing a fuller band on the road with them—she and Dave have been releasing albums as a duo since 2007—but like other co-ed couple acts including The White Stripes and Shovels and Rope, they’re more than capable of entertaining without anyone else on stage.
Not all their songs deal in anti-spiritual matters. They proffer a sprightly way with murder balladry (or at least one about potential homicide) on “My .45,” and a neighbor’s penchant for conflagrations in his back yard inspired the novelty of “Burn, O’ Junkpile, Burn.” Perhaps curiously for an all over-21 crowd, they included what may be their only children’s song, “Escalator,” but its semi-dark wit fit in well with their bent toward levity.
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