Last night I attended a live show by a bunch of local musicians that have formed their own record label and social club. They are a gang really, of drunken creativity and foul-mouthed fun. Apparently they also ride bikes as alluded to by their banner below:
The show was held at an overheated and under-appreciated record store called Crosstown Records which specializes in the resale of albums, yes the wax kind, and has an inventory that would make any DJ or country-bumpkin proud. The acts each performed on a small stage in the corner, except Deep S**t, Arkansas that played in front of a small stage in the corner, proclaiming, “I’m not good enough to play on your stage, but I’ll play on your floor.”
Also performing were Bar Lights, My Sistine Chapel, Booth!, Western Front, and … you will know me by the trail of beer cans, which sounded like Mike Ness fronting Old Crow Medicine Show. They were all good and lots of fun- despite my running a fever and having my head feel like I had just gone hunting with Dick Cheney.
The night made me reflective. It made me think of the empty pages and blank canvases that I have ignored far too long. Where did those visions go? It was an awakening. I’ve got some art in me still, and I’ll unleash it soon.
But not today. Today I am feeling crappy and watching football… and kids. They’re around here somewhere.