I hooked up with some old friends last weekend for a laughter-filled evening of booze and music. Barb & Dave have been living abroad for the past few years and only recently moved back to the states, so it was good to catch up with them and compare notes and giggle uncontrollably all night.
We kicked off the evening with Pogo at Hofbrauhaus, then wandered over to the Southgate House to check out the Black Angels/Vietnam/Lab Partners show.
We ran into TC and talked and hugged for eternities. I told him about seeing a dude in the queue wearing a t-shirt for The Record Store. Just as I finished telling him, the cat cruises by and we both called out to him. He turned, grinning, and started over, only to realize he didn’t know who we were, so he turned on his heel and stalked off. We burst out laughing. The poor schmuck had no idea he was in the presence of greatness.
As enjoyable as Lab Partners were (even if they omitted "Magnify" from their set), by the time Vietnam was into their third song it was getting unbearably hot in the ballroom, so we made our way upstairs and hung out in Junie’s Lounge, watching a sweet rockabilly band shake the house. Why there were tables in the lounge is mystifying. Everyone wanted to dance! That thumping stand-up bass and twangy guitar forced feet to move, whether or not the body was willing. It was a completely different crowd up there—dressed as if 1955 never ended—and it was so refreshing that we couldn’t stop laughing and smiling and shaking that thang.
Back down the stairs to the ballroom, we were greeted by a blast furnace when we opened the doors and stepped into the inky darkness. The Black Angels took the stage a few minutes afterward, amazingly cool in the sweltering heat. Their mesmerizing drone captivated and enthralled, and for awhile we all forgot about the heat.