Golden Grams

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Last night’s Deer Tick show at Clever Wine Bar was a showstopper — partly because of the price (free), partly because of the novelty of an electrified four-piece country band performing in the corner of a packed soignée spot no larger than an Old Metairie foyer, and partly because of this lady (pictured), a sexagenarian barfly who spontaneously combusted into a sex machine during every one of the band’s up-tempo numbers: limbs flailing and hands slapping the ground, hips swiveling and body writhing in the glorious agony of close-quartered rock, rhythm and blues.

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