Critic's Notebook

Bob Log III

A lot has been said about this Tucson man and his trademark public address system/helmet. Like, if Evel Knievel had been wearing Bob Log headgear back in the day, we would've heard "SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" a whole mess of times as he plummeted down Snake River Canyon. And if Bob...
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A lot has been said about this Tucson man and his trademark public address system/helmet. Like, if Evel Knievel had been wearing Bob Log headgear back in the day, we would’ve heard “SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!” a whole mess of times as he plummeted down Snake River Canyon. And if Bob really put his mind to it, he could probably leap over 20 tour buses with one guitar and a bass drum. Aww, who are we kidding? No one says any of those things. Here’s another thing you won’t hear from anyone else: Bob has logged many man-hours playing lo-fi blues in that stinky, sweaty headdress, and everyone from The Strokes to those crazy Quiznos mascots from a few years past have ripped off his distorted demeanor and not given him the credit. And not since bawdy comedienne Rusty Warren implored female audience members to “bounce your boobies” has an entertainer devised more “tit”-illating activities for the fairer sex. Not only does he take “Double Shot of My Baby’s Love” to literal extremes with “Boob Scotch,” he’s got a video for “Clap Your Titties” that you can’t see on his Web page until his bandwidth expands.

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