My first encounter with local garage trio Magic Milk happened when I mistimed my arrival at the Burlington, where I was going to see the Mind Spiders a little over month ago. I remember being all over the place that night, so that I had to remind myself to head over at a very specific time to catch Mark Ryan’s post-Marked Men project, which was on tour in support of the new (and predictably fantastic) Meltdown. But it turned out I was way early, because I’m old and paranoid and I didn’t remember that rock shows at venues with a capacity of fewer than 500 people typically start 45 minutes to three hours late.
I walked into a pretty packed room in the middle of Magic Milk‘s rowdy set. Front man Kenny Alden (sans pants) bounced around and taunted the audience, and his snotty rock ‘n’ roll flair came off as more endearing than obnoxious—I’m still surprised I think that, actually. Thanks to his kinetic energy, the band got the room dancing—honestly they put on a better show than the headliners. I left the venue pretty psyched about having accidentally showed up too early.