Thursday, July 3, 2008

Das Llamas @ The Comet 6/25

While roaming the crowded “Pride” filled streets of Cap Hill on Friday the 25th, I heard a familiar bass line drifting out from the Comet.

“What is this song-I KNOW this song-What the FUCK is it?!”

Thank goodness the streets were closed off for the upcoming parade or I would surely have been creamed by a car like a Hollywood starlet hopped up on coke. I was standing outside the Comet trying hard to figure out the song, as the lyrics were barely audible through the noise. I probably would’ve figured it out sooner had I not ingested so many vodka bevies…but alas…

“I am a patient boy...I wait, I wait, I wait, I wait My time is water down a drain”

HOLY FUCK, IS FUGAZI PLAYING IN SEATTLE AT THE COMET?! FUGAZI BITCHES!! I beg my drinking companions to let me play on the Hill a little longer, they only indulge my request because A.) there’s a hot dog cart right outside and B.) one of them was 86’d seven years ago and she was curious if she could get in.

I start peering through the door, but the crowd keeps me from viewing the band. So I flash my best “I’ll eat you alive” smile and puff up the love muffins towards the door man and gain admittance. Come on, with these Bea Arthur good looks, who could say no? Although, it probably helped that it was 12:30am.

Once inside, I discovered to my dismay that is was not Fugazi, but Das Llamas (not that they're bad, but I had a burning in my loins for the Fug). So I stayed to check out the band and enjoy the remainder of their set. The band was shoved into a corner on the upper level of the bar, so space was cramped for them to get too crazy. Nevertheless, they put on a pretty energetic show, jumping around, shaking their moppy hair mingled with sweat and got the remainding crowd moving. In all, I'll probably make a point to see them again, since the few songs I stayed for actually peaked my interest for a little more exposure. I might even make an effort to write a better, non booze infused entry of fluff about them.

The Comet is like the independent coffee houses/bars and old punk venues of my spent youth. The types of places where the sound is awful, you’re exchanging unwanted fluids of fellow patrons cause it’s so crowded and you could literally smell the band's Jack Daniels ingested breath cause they’re that fucking close to you. On the plus side, it gives you great people watching of the crusties, dusties and smelly hipsters. "Here pretty pretty hipster...let momma feed you a big mac to fill out your 13 year old sister's jeans".

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