It's pushing toward dawn when the caffeine shakes kick in, eerily synchronous with Josh Johnson's own rattling garage rock as it pushes the limits of my tiny computer speakers. His one-man (sometimes with one woman, too) band Pinche Gringo is soundtracking the swells of the bags under my eyes. Short of actually seeing the punk-blues barrage in person, it couldn't sound better. Lucky, then, are the souls who venture below the Cave's low-ceiling for Pinche Gringo's presence. Bryan Reed Indy Weekly