Dikes of Holland

Photo by Shelley Hiam

Dikes of Holland

This was a classic case of right band, wrong venue. On any other night, Dikes of Holland's psychedelic blues and rockabilly-infused garage rock hoedown would find a happy home several blocks east of B.D. Riley's. The astute local quintet locked down in a manner that should've had the sardine-packed minions congealing at their feet in a sweaty wad of catharsis. As it was, the Dikes were odd birds in a half-filled faux Irish pub. Drawing deeply from their stellar 2010 self-titled debut, they plowed through their 40-minute set like marauders, packing numbers like "Into the Ditches" into a compellingly ear-splitting sound wave that drew the attention of curious passersby. At times, the show's center of energy was on Sixth, not in the club. Credit vocalist Liz Herrera, a violently headbanging whirl of magenta-colored hair, for drawing sidewalk converts to the cause. Whether she was slapping a tambourine or precariously balancing on a handrail, Herrera consistently lifted the band's stage presence into hyperdrive. Lots of bands ply similar stylistic territory, but few manage to transcend pastiche to this degree. It only takes a handful of fervent believers to start a cult. By set's end, the Dikes had a few new recruits dancing with card-carrying abandon.