Billy Beale

Billy Beale

If you've spent time haunting Broadway-corridor dives like the News Room and Fitz's Blarney Stone, there's a good chance you've run across Billy Beale playing a gig. The 58-year-old has pierced ears and a white pompadour that he tends to cover up with a fedora. He favors a loosely buttoned shirt with a pack of Lucky Strikes in the chest pocket. Among the decorative ink stains that blanket his body are the words HARD TIME, tattooed across his knuckles.

But Beale is reluctant to publicly discuss just how much hard time he's done and what offenses might have landed him in the clink. For him, the real story is the blues. He refers to himself as a "blues preservationist," having watched the local scene evolve over the past 40-odd years.

Them Damned Young Livers

Them Damned Young Livers Accident'ly came into conception when Ryan and Jody met in summer of 06 and had the bright idea of putting together a cowpunk band. Jody knew Tripp from his days of fronting the long since gone Johnny Switchblade and playing shows with Action Figure. Needless to say Tripp was always mez'merized by Jody's ability to make a dagum fool out of himself behind the Shure 55. So a couple of 5ths of Jaeger and an all to temporary sibling sister drummer was added and formed Young Livers in November 06. This formation played shows around town for about 8 months and even made the venture to Denver and Vegas. Ya see, Vegas 07 is where it got funny. The Livers decided to play a game of roulette and their drummer foolishly rested her hand on the table, touching on red. Well, the ball landed on black and she was lost to the house. So the three fellers loaded up the green machine and made the long 33 hour trip back to KC, cancelling the rest of their shows. Once in KC they realized that partner in crime and bona-fide reverend, Bob Lyons was one hell of a thumper. He was brought on board, we bought a bad ass tour bus, had to change our name due to some fellas in florida with equally good band name taste and the rest is history. Them Damned Young Livers love mixing Jodys' old school, whiskey-bent country with Ryans' Cramps, Misfits era punk Rock. When ya shake in Bobs' Love for metal drumming, Tripps pop polished riffs and general badass'ness, it seems ya get some shit that most folks ain't ever heard before. Hell, we ain't ever heard it before. Anyways TDYL's are here to stay. We're gonna keep gettin loaded. we're gonna keep throwin' beer bottles. We're gonna keep shootin' snot rockets at the pretty girls in the front row. We're gonna keep makin' dad'blamed spectacles of ourselves everytime we get on stage. Get on board or be left out in the drizzlin' rain without a hanky.

"Let the Sin Begin, from local rockers Them Damned Young Livers, is a Pabst-and-ditchweed-scented piece of urban honky-tonk, the four-piece spins popified guitar riffs, punk-rock bass and Hendrix's charismatic sleaze into greaser gold. Think Captain Beefheart putting the Dick in Dixie"
– Berry Anderson/The Pitch

"This Kansas City band is steeped in rockabilly with a serious irreverence and more than enough bad attitude to cruise on, the four-piece kept their set moving and brought a great (albeit somewhat offensive) energy to the stage."
– Ben Mighty/The Speed of Silence.com

The Rot Gut Ramblers

After a long drunkin hellride through the gates of Rock n' Roll. Out stumbles a hellish creature called Outlaw JT. With songs of drinkin whiskey with the devil and playin with the ladies of the night. Drags himself off the pits of the gravel roads and swigs his last whiskey as he finds himself on yet another ride through those dark halls of sweat and blood, whiskey and women.

Taggin up the side of Edens corner bar is the one behind the rose. God called him BC, the Devil called him Knobs, and the Slave Drivers called him boy. Painting the stain of his fury as filth washed off the decaying story we call punk. Climbs aboard the last train to salvation with one hand holdin a beer and the other one slapin his bass.

Standing at the pole that waves a flag of fire is the one know as Ali Capone. She creeps and crawls with the devilish screams of natures wind gust. Hissing at the newborns with hope and just. She fears no man and will toast to there horrific death. Scream if you will. It will not help.

$7.00

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Billy Beale with Them Damned Young Livers, Molly Gene (One Whoa-man Band), Coyote Bill Boogie Band, The Bad Ideas, Th...

Saturday, July 6 · 7:00 PM at The Riot Room