What Thursday Night Can Be in the Big D
7:47 p.m. Leave office. Head to Public Trust to interview Alan Palomo from Ghosthustler for upcoming story. When looking for him upon my arrival, decide to intentionally act dorky (masochism, maybe) by asking everyone I see, “Are you the Ghosthustlers?” No one thinks it’s funny.
7:58 p.m. Discover the Ghosthustlers aren’t there yet. Realize I have been in air-conditioned office all day, and didn’t know it was so freakin’ muggy. Start sweating. Cranky, low-blood-sugar girlfriend suggests we go around the corner to AllGood Café for food and to catch a bit of Kim Richey.
8:00 p.m. Halfway to AllGood. Damn, it’s hot! What’s up, October?
8:02 p.m. Get to AllGood. I love this place. Order veggie plate.
8:05 p.m. Realize I’ve left my phone in the car over by Public Trust. Get up, start trucking back to the damn car. Did I mention it’s, like, 8,000 degrees?
8:07 p.m. Spot one of the Ghosthustlers on way to car. Unlock car, get phone and tape recorder, go back to Public Trust.
8:10 p.m. - 8:25 p.m. Interview Palomo. Nice guy. Instead of asking coherent questions, end up rambling to him about Giorgio Moroder.
8:25 p.m. Return to AllGood. Am greeted by steaming plate of veggies, just what I need to exacerbate swamp ass.
8:30-ish p.m. Richey starts playing. I’m not the biggest fan of that sort of semi-Lucinda, middle-aged alt-country gal music, but she’s actually pretty dang good. She sort of follows the same trail as her genre brethren (sistren?), but her melodies have more hooks and are finely honed. Also, she doesn’t succumb to the desire to sound all breathy and country-angsty. Her voice is sweet but strong, and the tempo of her songs is enough to carry the room. The audience digs it—all smiles and Lone Stars. I’d see her again.
9 p.m. Finish up meal. Reluctantly high-tail it to Palladium, where Low is playing in the main ballroom and the Black Lips are playing the Loft.
9:15 p.m. Enter Palladium. It’s suspiciously quiet. Walk into ballroom and realize immediately that Low should be playing the smaller Loft and Black Lips should be holding court in main room, since there are, maybe—maybe—75 people in the cavernous space.
9:30-ish p.m. Wow, this is awkward. The three members of Low take the stage to applause that sounds like one hand clapping. They launch into a cover of Pink Floyd’s “In the Flesh.” It is beautiful and sweeping—this is a great band, but definitely not the most raucous crew in the world. They literally gaze at their shoes.
9:45 p.m. OK, Low is such a low-key band, you really need the energy of a massive audience to keep the energy up. Since this is not happening, I am starting to get antsy, though Low sounds great.
10 p.m. Hmm…this band should be called Slow. I’ll admit it, I am drifting off on a sonically narcotic cloud. But still, my feet are starting to hurt. But the ample air-conditioning feels good.
10:14 p.m. Drag girlfriend away from Low to check out the return of the Boca Tinta artist in residency/Thursday night bookings at Dada. There are about the same number of people here as at Low, but the energy is way up. Should of stayed here in the first place. Eastwood is not my favorite band—I always have a problem with anyone who covers Wilco, Whiskeytown or Ryan Adams—but, damn, the band’s lead guitarist can effin’ wail on his Tele.
Midnight Drag tired-ass girlfriend home. Crank air-conditioner. Drift off into happy sleep, dreaming of what musical surprises the weekend holds. –- Jonanna Widner