She came from somewhere in back, up through the walkway and over to the left side of the stage, ashed on the floor and nodded her head in time to the waves of fuzzed-out guitar. Song complete, she strode in front of Sparkler Dims’ Aaron Bredlau, pointed a wrinkled finger in his face and shouted loud enough for the entire Bunkhouse to hear, “YOU ... are GOOD!” The teal pantsuit, brown boots, pocket-watch pendant down to her waist and white hair styled à la Bea Arthur reemerged during The Pandas’ set, back against the wall, this time more drunk, more fluid, and waving one hand in the air as if she simply did not care. She was on her way out the door the third time, wrapped in a fur coat and carrying a huge sequined purse. Mid-song, she stepped onstage and planted one right on singer/guitarist Bobby Martinez’s lips. The crowd whooped. She sailed out the door. No telling how she would have reacted to Saturday’s headliners, A Place to Bury Strangers—“The loudest band in New York”—and their intense, innards-liquifying waves of distortion.