My bar scars have mostly worn off. I picked them up on Monday night at the Black Cat, for a show by Juliette and the Licks. A good rock show by any definition. But some of the stuff going on around the show kind of stuck out. The Juliette headlineing this band is Juliette Lewis, of many, many seriously fucked up movies. I first heard her sing on the Strange Days soundtrack. And she’s pretty good. But they aren’t exactly on TRL yet.
So when they tell me at the door that I can’t use my camera, (I know!) I thought it was awfully conceited. The “no still photo” thing at concerts is pretty stupid to begin with, since it doesn’t actually affect the performers bottom line in any way. And for the most part, it can only build grass roots support. And I’ve never met a band yet that tries to sell their own concert photography. So… you know… whatthefuck? Especially from a third string band on their first US tour playing a second string club on a Monday night.
When the Licks finally come on stage around 10, the entire band came out and took their place except Lewis. She followed in an incredibly forced entrance after the band started playing. Her “show lines” came out like lead weights between songs. Only when she seemed to forget her lines, or stop caring about them, did she seem at all interesting or real.
The show only truly excelled when she shut the fuck up and started singing. Angry, skinny, little woman songs about being … well… and and horny. Good shit, that is. Thankfully that’s all that’s on the CD I picked up afterwards.
But you always pay for it the next morning. There really should be some service that comes around after club nights and picks up your laundry for you. That mixture of cheap cigarettes and expensive beer is nowhere near as charming the next day.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
Reminder: Monday is the Juliette and the Licks show at the Black Cat. I’m going, and would hate to go alone. I’m not above guilt trips, if it comes to that. Don’t make me do it, man.
Monday. Opening band starts around 8:30. Tickets are $13 at the door.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
I should be too old for this. But I don’t care. I’m having fun, despite myself.
By 10:30 tonight, I was ready to go to bed. But that’s when Kier called to let me know they were headed for the Black Cat. Aaron was celebrating his birthday with a crawl down 14th Street, finishing the fun at the club during their Brit-pop night.
It’s obviously going to be a good night when you walk in the room and see your friends surrounded by beautiful girls.
And sugar. Lots and lots of sugar tonight. Candy on the tables. Cheap sodas at the bar.
God help me… even though I’m a skinny white boy with no rhythm, I danced for the first time since college. Danced terribly, no doubt. Probably the person people nudge their friends to look at. But it was fun, and who cares what people say about you when you’re having fun.
Got my ass pinched twice, too. Never saw exactly who did it, but I’m fairly certain it was guys both times. You know… no one has pinched my ass since I was in Puerto Rico.
That’s this week.
Last Saturday, a really fucking-cold night… we were at Chiaroscuro; a one night Goth club down in Southeast. Didn’t dance, so it wasn’t as blood-pumping. But I was surrounded by hot chicks in fetish wear; so it had it’s benefits. Cool clothing shop on the premises, where nothing is over $20. But the best attraction was probably the really hot, freaky lesbians making out in the back. Straight out of really cheesy porn.
If only I didn’t reek of cigarettes when I got home. Not even cigarette smoke… just cigarettes. Tobacco… filter… paper.
Please keep in mind that this post is more than 6 years old. Who the hell knows what I was thinking back then?! Damn kids... get off my lawn!
