Here's a potentially fun idea: Find yourself a soccer mom or Dockers dad — maybe your own, or your neighbors down the street — and say to them, "I bet you'd like Between the Buried and Me, because they're named after that Counting Crows song 'Ghost Train.' You should check out their show." Follow them to the Clubhouse. Watch with amusement as they scratch their heads, bewildered, at all the weird-lookin' long-haired kids with strange piercings and T-shirts with gore-encrusted mythical beasts on them. Where are all the suburban, professional, vaguely-hippie-on-the-weekends Counting Crows fans, they must be wondering. You'll crack up when Between the Buried and Me comes onstage, the North Carolina quintet launching into their pummeling prog-metalcore, replete with roaring riffs, whiplash time changes, blood-curdling demon howls, and skull-battering blast beats. Then double over laughing when your poor victims' heads all but explode as they rush for the exit, battered by all the moshers as they barely escape with their lives. The funniest part of all? They've left before the comparatively quiet, melodic, quite poppy, damn-near -adult contemporary parts of Between the Buried and Me's songs that actually do have something in common with Counting Crows! And certainly before BtBAM's plays their cover of Counting Crows' "Colorblind." Bwahaha!