$13 ‘Gansetts Are My Copilot
Copilot takes the wheel at The Rockwell on Saturday, 1 March 2025.
Steve Rondo opens the night with a guitar slapping trio.
Cost aside, does anyone really want to lug around a 20+ oz. tallboy? I mean, I do – but does any normal person want to lug around such a sudsy behemoth?
Ace the Quiz, Win the Tix
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Hump Nights
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Ace the Quiz, Win the Tix 〰️ Hump Nights 〰️
Hump Nights
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Ace the Quiz, Win the Tix
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Hump Nights 〰️ Ace the Quiz, Win the Tix 〰️
Not trying to stir up controversy here, and maybe nobody cares, but the prices on beer at The Rockwell have skyrocketed to stratospheric heights. The bartender explained to me that the price increase was related to the increase in serving size. Instead of the usual 16 oz. Narragansett tallboys, they’re serving up beers at 20, 22, 24 oz., or thereabouts.
I’ve crunched the numbers. The Rockwell beer is still the most expensive serving of bottom shelf domestic beer per ounce in the Boston area. (That I’m aware of – and I’m aware of a lot.) What’s the deal? You can find comparable cost-per-ounce elsewhere, but it will always be ounces of microbrew, which presumably has higher costs associated with it than mass-produced, domestic suds. Love me some ‘Gansett, but nobody needs to be paying top dollar for it.
If I recall correctly, at some point in February ‘Gansett 16 oz. tallboys were priced at $9, which is bad, but the cost-per-ounce of the $13 version is actually worse. And you have to go thirteen dollars deep to enjoy that worse deal.
Rockwell, please stop the madness. I’m sure you have your reasons. Maybe jumbo booze prevents a lot of unwanted up-and-down traffic to the bar during shows where the audience needs to stay continuously plugged-in, like theatre and comedy? Probably also cuts down on a long slow beer line, if everyone is basically grabbing two beers at a time? All sounds reasonable enough, but in practice, it’s too weird and expensive and awkward.
Turning it over to the writeup for my Cambridge Day gig:
Copilot
The sweet and soulful pop of Copilot at The Rockwell last Saturday was nearly enough to take the sting off seeing “$13” listed as the price of a Narragansett tallboy. Nearly. I mean, yowza, even if it’s an extra “tall” boy at 24oz. Even if it’s the state of Massachusetts. Even if it’s inflation. Even, even, even. What are we doing here? Did DOGE just cut a domestic beer subsidy that I’m unaware of?
If the new beer prices lost you, maybe the house lighting will win you back. The black box theatre, home to music, drama, and comedy, has always shown a more profound respect for artful stage lighting than your average music-only venue. But lately it’s like looking at a work of high art. Rothko, to be exact. Color fields of deep orange, rich violet, luscious pink, and electric blue bathed the stage. Beautiful. I don’t just want to attend concerts in that light – I want to be buried beneath the stage and soak in the ambient glow of the stage lighting for eternity.
But before I die, let me catch one or two more shows by Copilot. The retro pop six-piece inhabits an atmosphere of perpetual joy, each member daring the next to live, laugh, and love to ever more perilous extremes. Am I crazy, or is there a faint whiff of soft-coded Christian rock to the proceedings? The audience, though, couldn’t care less about which tent is being revived. As long as the life-affirming playlist of The Voice-ready balladry keeps on trucking.
Speaking of The Voice, there are three voices: Maggie Hall, Ry McDonald, Jake Machell. The trio packs a harmony-laden wallop that few local acts can match. Ry is big on stage banter and splits time with a guitar. Maggie and Jake, on the other hand, are pure vocalists, and they focus their whole mind, body, and soul on squeezing every last syllable of the lyrics for meaning. It’s impressive. And no surprise that Boston Calling booked the band to perform in May. The three-part harmony will take magisterial flight on the big stage.
Steve Rondo opened with a distinctive laptop guitar-slapping method that will make you want to experiment at home on your own six-string. Just remember to take your rings off.
Steve Rondo
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Percussion like you’re chasing down a film noir villain.