. . . and i'll wait on the far shores for you
This is more angsty than I thought. Skip it if you're not in the mood.
I don't even really want to go. I'm tired and it's hot and it's Lucero, and yeah. They remind me of other times and better times and people that have left.
Plus, the Hogan's been shut down because the bartenders were dealing crack out of the bathrooms again and who wants to see Lucero if they're not at the Hogan, right?
But Ben's playing a little solo acoustic promo at Independent Records before the show. So, what the hell. How often do you get to see the gritty boy from Tennessee sitting in the back of a warehouse record store playing your requests, right?
We stand in the Os and it's good. It would be better but I'm bitter about the company.
Then, Mel and I have to figure out how to get to the venue because the people who know give us money and disappear with an "It's on East Platte. The Darkside. It's new."
And here I'm thinking, Platte, hmmm. A club on Platte? Something sounds off about that.
About halfway down Platte, a little past the Babydolls strip club, I get a sneaking suspicion.
Yeah.
The Darkside? It's the apparently not-remodeled-just-renamed Industrial Nation. Nice.
The place was a garage at some point, I swear to god. It has no lights, one miniature mirror ball hanging from the rafters and a pervasive urine stench. Oh. And no AC.
It's sweltering. I mean it's hazardous-to-your-health hot in there.
We spend a lot of time on the retaining wall outside.
The Glass play first and from outside they sound alright. Then? The Honorary Title play and they sound like early U2 mixed with shitty cockrock. But in the middle of their set, Roo pokes me and shrieks, "ISN'T THAT MIKEY J?" and the night gets a hell of lot better from there.
It's screaming guitars, sweat, Southern angst, water bottle after water bottle dumped on us, and we're all singing along with Ben.
You know these are the best of days - won't you stay and dance with me while.
We have to fight our way out of the place when it's done and everyone's soaked and laying on cars and Ben's wandering around talking to everyone and for just a second it's what's summer is supposed to be like.
I don't even really want to go. I'm tired and it's hot and it's Lucero, and yeah. They remind me of other times and better times and people that have left.
Plus, the Hogan's been shut down because the bartenders were dealing crack out of the bathrooms again and who wants to see Lucero if they're not at the Hogan, right?
But Ben's playing a little solo acoustic promo at Independent Records before the show. So, what the hell. How often do you get to see the gritty boy from Tennessee sitting in the back of a warehouse record store playing your requests, right?
We stand in the Os and it's good. It would be better but I'm bitter about the company.
Then, Mel and I have to figure out how to get to the venue because the people who know give us money and disappear with an "It's on East Platte. The Darkside. It's new."
And here I'm thinking, Platte, hmmm. A club on Platte? Something sounds off about that.
About halfway down Platte, a little past the Babydolls strip club, I get a sneaking suspicion.
Yeah.
The Darkside? It's the apparently not-remodeled-just-renamed Industrial Nation. Nice.
The place was a garage at some point, I swear to god. It has no lights, one miniature mirror ball hanging from the rafters and a pervasive urine stench. Oh. And no AC.
It's sweltering. I mean it's hazardous-to-your-health hot in there.
We spend a lot of time on the retaining wall outside.
The Glass play first and from outside they sound alright. Then? The Honorary Title play and they sound like early U2 mixed with shitty cockrock. But in the middle of their set, Roo pokes me and shrieks, "ISN'T THAT MIKEY J?" and the night gets a hell of lot better from there.
It's screaming guitars, sweat, Southern angst, water bottle after water bottle dumped on us, and we're all singing along with Ben.
You know these are the best of days - won't you stay and dance with me while.
We have to fight our way out of the place when it's done and everyone's soaked and laying on cars and Ben's wandering around talking to everyone and for just a second it's what's summer is supposed to be like.