Upon hearing Henry Rollins perform one of his profanity-laden, loudmouthed spoken-word tirades on cassette, my then-middle-aged father adroitly summed up the former Black Flag frontman's blustering travelogues in one sentence: "He's just like Charles Kuralt, only with a dirty mouth." And that's pretty much the case. (Well, aside from the obvious difference in their respective delivery styles.) Much like the late CBS newsman, Hank the Tank excels in spinning long-winded tales about his non-stop adventures on the road. For instance, during his last tour through these parts, two years ago, the aging punker pundit blasted out humor yarns of braving the streets of Islamabad in the madness following the assassination of Pakistani politician Benazir Bhutto, dealing with ginormous jungle insects in Asia, and interacting with white-trash Van Halen fans at the band's concert in Chicago. Expect a similar slice from the life of Rollins during this week's gig at the Marquee, typically mixed in with ribald opinions of the socio-political issues du jour and his battle with middle age.
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