Is there a polite way to tell a band that they've overstayed their welcome? Because King Tuff, Kyle Thomas's lobotomized glam-garage project, did — in fact, they could've successfully halved their set time.
Which isn't to say that King Tuff played terribly — they didn't. The guitar acrobats of "Anthem" sounded just as gleeful live as they do on record; "Keep on Movin'" got the crowd moving; and Thomas, as well as his fully mustachioed bandmates, worked hard to keep the audience's interest.
Yet here's the issue: King Tuff, despite having several can't-miss singles, simply don't have enough hits to sustain an hour-long set. It is, perhaps, why Thomas should focus on releasing singles instead (or funnel his creative energies into Witch).
It was a set, perhaps, that could've worked in front of a Burger Records-centric audience, but for aside from a few isolated (and frankly, embarrassing) push-mosh pits, King Tuff struggled to build any meaningful momentum. File this under forgettable.
Which isn't to say that King Tuff played terribly — they didn't. The guitar acrobats of "Anthem" sounded just as gleeful live as they do on record; "Keep on Movin'" got the crowd moving; and Thomas, as well as his fully mustachioed bandmates, worked hard to keep the audience's interest.
Yet here's the issue: King Tuff, despite having several can't-miss singles, simply don't have enough hits to sustain an hour-long set. It is, perhaps, why Thomas should focus on releasing singles instead (or funnel his creative energies into Witch).
It was a set, perhaps, that could've worked in front of a Burger Records-centric audience, but for aside from a few isolated (and frankly, embarrassing) push-mosh pits, King Tuff struggled to build any meaningful momentum. File this under forgettable.
