RoneBreak Contributor: dkrausse

Profile

Website:

http://

The Fight Between Good And Drunk

Racing toward this show, my first concern is the insistently blinking oil light on my dash, threatening to keep me from getting there at all, and secondly I am worried that the doors opened about an hour and a half ago. I turn up just in time to catch the last few songs of the opening band, Only Crime. They’re supposed to be a no frills, straight forward rock outfit, but really they’re just a Face to Face rip off that have the added bonus of being really preachy. Before their next song the lead singer informs me, “This song’s about how to tell the good guys from the bad guys from yourself,” and then goes on to tell me that I need to wake up. I silently wonder if the Monster I pounded on the drive over will be enough to do the trick and meander over to the bar for a Newcastle. Other than unoriginality these guys are also doing their best to pull off wearing shorts on stage, which anyone knows only ever works if your in a band called AC/DC.

Waiting for some music worth listening to, I revel in the rather unique atmosphere of what’s left of punk. The crowd ranges from early teens who can’t stand still to people about my age. Everyone except myself apparently got the memo to stock up on visible tattoos and torn clothing. At least I remembered my muscles and spiked hair. Every girl In the place is showing all the cleavage she can muster and hanging on the arm of some guy who, as she gazes deep in to his eyes, beams back at her with a look that says, “I’m a douche bag, but because I’m in a band, I’m still going to get laid tonight.” I’m not the least bit bitter. Read more

Oh Hollywood, Can’t We All Be Cool?

This evening I find myself sitting in a venue that is obviously far too trendy for me, but I have ten dollars I borrowed from a friend, so they let me in anyway. Tonight’s subject is Gregory Alan Isakov. He’s a singer/songwriter from Colorado that I was turned on to by a friend who lives out there. We’re catching the last show on a small tour that he’s doing, and it’s at The Hotel Cafe in Hollywood. This is an early show, which is actually nice. The uncrowded room and relaxed atmosphere fit the music much better than a few hundred screaming teenagers and a giant stage. As I order a couple of beers I look over at my friend Beau and notice that he, unlike me, is wearing the correct attire for the occasion. He’s got on jeans that cost more than everything I’m wearing, a faded t-shirt from a record label he used to work for, and a corduroy jacket that suggests he should probably be reading a very tragic novel. Read more