gas on the fire

I'm a big fan of Gaslight Anthem. I hadn't seen them live and figured the chances of seeing them live - outside of a festival, or a 20,000-seat amphitheatre - seemed unlikely. Their success is such that even a venue like the 9:30 Club here in D.C. is probably too small to hold the real 'tour' crowd. The impending release of their fourth album Handwritten  has apparently driven them out on the road for a short tour of smaller venues; shaking off the rust? Getting back to roots? Brian Fallon admitted about mid-set that they'd be back in town later this year so we can assume it'll be a venue holding 40-50 times as many fans.

Last night they played the relatively new U St. Music Hall in NW, a place that holds a cool 500 - think biggish, underground bar. It was my first foray to the music hall and it was well worth it - its size is reminiscent of the Fine Line in The Cities, where they also played, and Slim's in SF. This (early) show - there was a DJ set/partly later in the evening - blasted out of the blocks at 7:30 with Dave Hause ripping through a 35-minute solo journey, a set that was simply fantastic. I didn't know Hause before the show, I can't know them all, but his CD was in hand at the end of the show. He immediately reminded me of seeing Bob Mould solo: power guitar, strong vocals, great songs. I couldn't be happier to have come upon Hause and his music.

Gaslight Anthem followed quickly on the heels of a somewhat hilarious 15 minutes soundcheck on stage. I have no idea why I found it so funny, and I know they were in Baltimore earlier in the day for an in-store, so I can only guess there wasn't a load of time to get everything in order in the afternoon. The lights dropped, the band stepped on stage, and the next 90 minutes was packed with great songs blasting into the faces of a hypnotized crowd. It's a rare occurrence, even in a smaller venue, that you get 500 people acting as one - it can seem strange at first, but eventually the sweat, pogo-ing, and arms in the air will overtake everyone. You don't get that with a festival crowd, or even at a 1,000+ venue: those don't give you the distilled mayhem of a 500-person crowd - all there for the exact same thing.

The band managed to hit every high mark in their discography over the 90 minutes. As an aside, Fallon pointed out early in the show that with the planned 10pm DJ show they weren't going to waste our time - one set, no breaks, no encores; when it was over, we were all done. Not only is that the way I love my shows, it really opened up the crowd because there wasn't any worry about holding out some energy in reserve for the 'encore'. Open up the throttle and let it go - no off switch. If you know all the Gaslight's songs then you have only a few real favorites and the rest are near-favorites. What you don't do during the show - or what I didn't do - was wonder about when they'd play x or y song because they'll get to them all before you stumble out happy and complete. The current five-piece was perfectly balanced on the very small stage and the sound was overpowering - I'd guess that Gaslight fans don't go to the shows wanting a quiet evening, and they weren't disappointed.

At about mid-show I knew that was experiencing a show that I'd choose to make anyone else's only concert of the year, or years. There's no substitute for a bar band...in a bar. You'll never get the same feeling in a huge venue, and it's hard to bring someone to a Slobberbone show (my all-time favorite band...bar band) if they don't know the songs. That's not the case with Gaslight Anthem because the songs - a tight, pure mix of punk, pop, and rock - are strong enough to carry any person willing to open up and enjoy. They truly put on a show that could be the benchmark for most to say it was the best show they ever saw. For the fans that didn't manage to squeeze into the small joint, I almost want to apologize. And, for the jackasses on Craigslist asking $175 for tickets? Fuck you.

One last award: the 9:30 Club (who booked the show) sent over the big security guy to work the front of the stage, and he was busy. This guy is so big that as the body surfers periodically tumbled towards the stage, he simply stepped to his left, caught some random 220-lb guy in his arms like a baby, and set him to the side. Over and over with nothing but a straight face.

A show that gives me the security of knowing I'll never need to see them again. It won't get any better. Sort of what music is suppose to do to people.

ps The band did a live one-hour online show at the Ed Sullivan Theater last month - they sounded great, but the venue isn't good and the crowd was a bunch of stiffs, probably for security reasons, who knows. Trust me, not even close to the same vibe. Not close.

spicy review

Time for a wrap.

X is still studying for the Bar but is within about 10 days of having the entire mess behind her. She’ll be testing next Tuesday and Wednesday down yonder.

We all headed to the Farrah Olivia portion of Kora for dinner on Saturday night and were pretty disappointed, at least The Eleven was. If I held up his restaurant at the old location as a 100, I gave this iteration an 85; X gave it an 80 as were driving home. Her stance was solid since one of her four courses was completely off. Pure math on that one. Of course, there’s no way this idea of hosting nights in a largish room inside his brother’s restaurant was going to work well from the get-go. From just a logistical point of view, I don’t know how they separate the kitchen for work even though I tried to peek and catch a glimpse of what was happening in there. Second, Kora isn’t a good restaurant by any stretch of the imagination so weaving something fabulous within it presents all sorts of issues. I’ll give you a few examples. The bathrooms aren’t very nice. Seems petty but when you’re dropping $100 per person then there are some expectations. The bread, though good, was served in the crappy Kora metal baskets with big placemat-sized crinkly paper with maps of Italy on them. The dishware, though it appears to be the same set from Farrah Olivia, wasn’t presented with nearly the detail (or the staff didn’t know how to serve) as the old place. Lots of finger prints on the edges and overall they just weren’t up to shiny snuff. The wait staff was questionable, at best. I know it’s probably impossible to get his old crew back but our section of tables (four) had one waiter and he struggled to keep up….severely. And finally, I held my bitter, pointy tongue to this point…I gotta hit the hostess. I know how catty this sounds, but they are sharing the hostess between the two ‘restaurants’ and her Saturday night apparel was shocking. I need to really sort out the right vocab here – cover your ears or eyes if you are easily offended: she had on some sort of cat-like print skirt that pretty much enabled me to date, to the day, the last time she had a Brazilian. I didn’t need mirrors on my shoes or pretend to drop some change in order to catch a look. Considering that she spent every other step yanking down on the skirt as she walked might explain something. What I found completely strange about the entire ‘skirt’ situation was that as we were leaving, and the hostess station was vacated, she had changed from her ‘skirt’ into a pair of jeans…on a Saturday night. At the hold place, I believe his wife acted as manager/owner/hostess and it was a pleasant, high-end experience; this was more Lady GaGa. Or S*&*chy Spice (that might have been offside) Overall, the food was familiar as Morou’s but it was off a by some margin. C. said he didn’t see him in the kitchen when he peeked so we have no confirmation of his presence. The more I think about the night the lower my score goes – it’s probably more of a 75 by now. Hopefully, there will be a new place soon because there are two serious strikes in the books: the first being the claim that he was ‘cooking’ at Kora and now this misfire in his ‘relaunch’. All of us have Cedar easily jumping to the top of our favorite list.

L. and I saw a fantastic show, The Cripple of Inishmaan, at the Kennedy Center on Saturday afternoon. I’d bought through the half-price booth in D.C. and we ended up in the front row, stage right, which is generally too close for my taste, such a snob. But, upon further review a bit of slumping down made it easier and I had about seven feet of legroom which easily overrides our proximity issue. Every stinking one of the cast members was memorable, exceptional, and dreamy. Perfectly delivered lines with impeccable timing and character-ly enclosed. I’d say it’s probably the best show I’ve seen outside of Streetcar and Lost in Yonkers. Quite pleasing.

** If you’re a North Parker, stop reading.

We had pizza last night that was solid but not quite perfect. The problem was that I was wearing a skirt that was way too short – oh, never mind, that’s another story. The problem was that I tried to build up from my initial idea of Gorgonzola dolce and didn’t quite make it to the summit. I came up with spinach, leeks, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, Kalamata olives, and a parmesan/gouda white sauce the roast pine nuts. The taste of the cheese didn’t really come through but not because of the other ingredients – the whole thing just feel steps short from my goal. The only other time I started with the Gorgonzola I was able to move on to fresh figs and then have the entire thing come just right.
Right. I’m blabbing.

I’ll leave.

t

** There are no guests at Pizza Night until after the Bar Exam. Time restraints and whatnot.