Of all the bands I've seen live, and there have been many, there are a handful of acts that have delivered as visceral experience as The Amazing Snakeheads, thanks mostly to the feral presence of Dale Barclay. He prowled the stage, eyed the front row like a Tiger would a steak, a scrawny, shirtless, shiny shoed battler. Like the Snakeheads, who imploded before they could capitalise on their debut album, Dale has gone to soon.
RIP
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