This is not a Brother Reade fitted.

This is not a review of a Brother Reade performance.

Inside, Brother Reade was sporting the Most Stoned Looking Percussionist I have ever seen: a dude playing some maracas or shakers, eyes drooping, mouth fixed in a dazed grin, head lolling around like a bobble-head doll. The many-membered band played an appropriately stoned but ably held together brand of funk, with Spanish vocals, and lots of percussion. Nothing spectacular, but well groovy enough to soundtracking drinking afternoon Tecate. They ended their set marching out through the crowd (to the bar) led by a conga player and chanting a chorus.