Outside Graceland, a pack of hungry out-of-town journalists mill about, powdering their own egos with grunge foundation, eager to report on Seattle, 10 years post-breakout. Inside Graceland, a crowd of roughly 25 mills about waiting for a show, sipping beers and cocktails just like every other night of any other year. Only grunge is about to hit the stage again, albeit post-grunge (or whatever you wanna call it).

There will be loud music and candy and fires. But more on that later....

Wouldn't it be great if exbestfriends could reinvent grunge and send all those out-of-town journalists scurrying back to their laptops for a repeat of Seattle 1992? No, not really, but they probably could. When they take the stage, Ryan Davidson (singer/guitarist) looks a little like Kurt Cobain--the same hair, a similar stature, that streak of charisma. Not to wax his car too heavily, but he's magnetic on stage, or so everyone seems to think. His shrill voice rattles around, on-key even when his lungs seem to be coming out along with it. Is he Cobain redux? Of course not, who could be? Does he remind you of the Shotgun Prince? Pretty much, yeah.

Still, exbestfriends probably hate being called grunge. I dunno, I didn't ask them. But this being the 10-year-anniversary-clusterfuck and all, the old days certainly spring to mind. The excitement that occurs when a band plays a show and actually gazes up from its shoes every once and a while, for instance. Or, in exbestfriend's case, spits out candy and blows fire (again, more on that later). Exbestfriend's music is heavy, of course, but there's a tightness to it, like Helmet, only not like Helmet. Something else. More organic, less mathematical--big, chock full of power chords, and dirty. They are tight and sloppy at the same time, which sounds stupid, but who gives a fuck. It's how they sound. On top of that there's a keyboard, and some arty moments, such as when Davidson drags a bow across his guitar strings, which is really rather pointless other than the fact that somehow it works, makes you smile. At any rate, it's rock. Fun rock. The way rock should be.

Which brings us to the shenanigans. (And who doesn't love shenanigans?)They begin as follows: Teensy Wright beats the hell out of his drums, making twitchy, excited faces, and the bass and second guitar are having at it. The crowd is really loving the whole mess (when the song ends, everyone applauds--spontaneous, joyous applause, not the standard, Hey that was okay, thanks for the effort applause), but for some reason Davidson ain't happy with what's going on. He's clutching his throat, which must be like sandpaper, or, even worse, a Brillo pad, and tells us that his voice is fucked. Then he eats a bunch of Nerds (© Willy Wonka) to take care of it. Why? Who knows, but he makes a big show of taking a mouthful. Then the band members launch into a silly little punk bit where they all play and alternately scream. When Davidson screams, of course, he loses all his Nerds. People laugh because it's stupid, but it's nothing compared to the fire.

Ah yes, the fire. It floods the ceiling like a blanket, then disappears. Those in the audience grow giddy, standing on the balls of their feet, laughing and screaming like young girls tanked on wine coolers. Given, it's the same fire Davidson blows at nearly every show, but expected or not, it's always an impressive sight to see a sheet of fire flood the ceiling of a rock club, and even more fun to watch an entire audience shriek and step back like a herd of cattle, followed by much disbelieving and laughter. It is a scene that makes exbestfriends one of those great young bands that are truly dangerous. Not because of the music, or the fire (which is actually quite safe), but dangerous to the other local bands forced to play with and around them. Who, for example, would want to follow an act this energetic and entertaining? Death Cab for Cutie? Yikes. Exbestfriends are really big. And funny. And young. And if Davidson doesn't burn his mouth off before they get to do bigger shows, people are sure to be griping about them as sell-outs within a year or so. And that, after all, is the rock 'n' roll dream.

When the show comes to an end, a friend goes to take a piss. Davidson has already made it inside the bathroom, is leaned up against the sink, gasping, shoving water into his mouth. "Are you all right?" my friend asks. "Yeah! Fuck!" Ryan replies, "This is the... closest... it's... ever... gotten...." Evidently, he seemed pleased.

Neat.