There was a birthday party for me last weekend at our place in Michigan, and one of the invited guests who couldn’t make it was Alison True, the former editor of the Reader. She sent word that the Blisters were performing at Lollapalooza. Her son Henry Mosher is the young group’s singer and songwriter. So that’s where she’d be.
And thanks to an exceptionally nice turn of writing, I wound up feeling I’d been there too. Monday’s Tribune brought an account by Christopher Borrelli that planted me at that Blisters concert, probably “one of their last shows ever.” I’d been hearing about the Blisters since Henry joined the band some ten years ago and Alison’s husband, Rick Mosher, became band coach, sometimes—as Borrelli noted—playing guitar “standing behind a curtain.” The group had since lost its need for an adult coach and phantom guitarist, or for songs to cover. They wrote their own. Borrelli described their first record, released in June, as a “mature, accomplished collection of moody songs.”