The stairwell was impossibly small and my stuff — desk, mattress, bike — was impossibly big. I sat down atop the stairs and leaned my head on the wall, tired of moving into a new apartment.

On the opposite door a sticker: “The Radiators.”

I had no idea.

The sticker’s just one of those things my ski bum house has collected over time; it’s one sticker of 100 on our doors and windows. We don’t know who put it there, just like we have no idea whose tele boots are in the crawl space or put that tattered University of Oregon sticker on the door.

Now, a guy named Travis lives in that room. Unlike me, he knew who the Radiators were until recently. 

“I have one of their albums,” he shrugs. That’s because the Radiators adhere to the rock gospel: an acid-washed allegiance to guitars — however funky — goodtimes lyrics and touring (they’ve played more than 3,000 gigs in their 20 plus years together, including some right here in the box canyon.)

Two other facts about the band: they have what could easily be the raddest nickname ever (The Rads) and don’t have a MySpace music page (which could be a testament to their fanbase or an indication of their age; I’m not sure.)

Either way, the band is a throwback to some of music’s better times. If you go you’ll probably find yourself grooving next to that one hippie who dances barefoot (and isn’t sure what show she’s at) in looping arcs and that one guy in loafers sans socks. (Why does that look stay around, by the way? Why!?)

The Radiators came together in a New Orleans’ garage in 1978.  The Meters had just split up and Professor Longhair — whose portrait adorns the Fat Alley wall to this day — had died. The world was ripe for a new sound. It needed it, you could say.

Enter “Fish Head” music, a sound as diverse as Queens and eclectic as the décor at my house.

The Radiators occupy this space well. Their sound is distinctly different than hair band rock but certainly relies on the classic random guitar riffs to get the job done. And while there is a distinct swamptone, the band doesn’t find itself adrift in the backwater too often; the sound is tight.

The stop marks one of a handful throughout the West’s upper-crust ski towns; before they were here the played in Jackson; after us, they’ll hit Belly Up in Aspen and The Eldo in Crested Butte, in case you wanted to travel.

The show starts at 8:30 p.m. and doors open 30 minutes before show time. Tickets are 22 bucks in advance (now you’re too late but it pays to shop early) or $25 day of show (that would be today.)

The show is seats out for a lot of bouncin; call 728-6363 for more info.

Tickets Available at the Sheridan Opera House Box Office, Wizard Entertainment, by  phone at 728-6363  and www.tellurideticket.com.