INDIAN WINTER?

I'm back in The Berkshires again after several weeks and before the big snowstorm they're supposed to get here, there's already snow on roofs and in yards from several days ago.

When I was a kid and we had a warm spell in November they called it "Indian Summer"—so should below freezing weather and serious snowstorms in October be called "Indian Winter?"

Whatever it might be, it's worth it to get to see my oldest son, Miles, play bass in a Black Sabbath tribute band last night at the local pub/restaurant. With a giant screen on the small stage behind them projecting Godzilla fighting Mothra, and the band in costumes, the guitarist [Rob Sanzone] as "Buckethead" (Miles explained that's an actual guitarists' guitarist who plays ripping ax in various bands and wears a mask-with-a-bucket-on-his-head disguise, as the guitarist did last night).

Miles wore a long black wig and grew a Fu Manchu moustache to look like the original Black Sabbath bass player. The singer [Scott Bartzch]was dressed as a mummy for a taste of pre-Halloween. Some folks came dressed appropriately as well in costumes that Miles had to explain to me echoed various Black Sabbath songs.

I never dug heavy metal or death metal or any of the categories of metal except for some of the guitar hooks and riffs. I know there's some great musicianship in some heavy metal bands and even some great songwriting, complex and original in some cases. But I just can't get past the general assault aspects of the music that often drowns out any and all subtleties.

I came home with my ears ringing more than they do anyway, and feeling like the air pressure was off in there too. But, and it's a big but, I have to say the set I caught was totally exhilarating. Couldn't have asked for a better way to get the ya-ya's out. Rob, the guitarist, is always amazing, the drummer [Ben Schworm] was awesome, the singer nailed it and Miles held it all together (from my perspective of course) with a solid bass beat and sound.

My daughter-in-law invited several of my grandson's friends along and they crowded the area in front of the small stage bobbing their heads ala metal bands and fans while two aging obvious Black Sabbath fans with little or no hair to throw around still bopped to the music and sang along to all the lyrics with gestures and high fives and all.

There's so much talent in the world these days, maybe always has been, that almost anywhere I go I get to experience it in full bloom. Like last night. Back to Jersey tomorrow on what hopefully will be melted snow or plowed roads.

And as I write this my youngest, my grandson and one of those boys (six boys including my son and his nephew slept over last night, that was a trip) are playing guitar, bass and drums down in "the music room" of the little old mill-town house Miles and his wife rent and it couldn't be more cool. Ain't life grand when we let it be?