Suzi PrattJarv Dee, Nacho PicassoIt was during the tail end of his killer closing set at the mid-sized outdoor Vera stage on Friday night–in the ballpark of 11:15, when it happened: somewhere between the chilling, punch-line-laden “Numbnuts” and the hardcore, character-defining “Bad Guy”, or maybe the neck-snapping “Bloody Murder” and the syrupy “The Gods Don’t Favor You”, Seattle’s bespectacled rap antihero Nacho Picasso cocked back his mighty arm like a tattooed–and very stoned–Dave Krieg; reaching deep into his reserve energy; gaze no doubt affixed on an unfamiliar, yet somehow kindred badass stationed knowingly mid-crowd; then moving his arm forward rapidly so as to set the object off on its journey through the air toward its predestined resting point. Seeing this action, and reading his intention more than clearly, I positioned myself in the athletic position to hold up my end of this unspoken, yet virtually iron-clad bargain, and when the time came, I lept mightily with one hand over my head for the grabbing, and came down easily, toes in bounds, with a brand new Nacho Picasso “Moor Gang” T-shirt that, despite being at least two sizes too big, would be worn–and of course flexed in–quite shortly after. To Nacho: I see you man, thanks for the shirt.P.s. Listen to Nacho, he’s way funnier than that other crap you’re listening to.Exalted by Blue Sky Black Death and Nacho Picasso