We saw Vanaprasta tonight. In a venue that I would describe as Venice’s trendy dump-hole, the Townhouse. The place used to be a respectable stink-box where gutter-trash could wash ashore to breathe in the sniff of stale beer and salty arm-pits. Now it’s a stink-box with $11.00 drinks and well primped fellas. Whatever, I won’t judge, made no difference to me what anyone wore. I was there for the band and for certain company.
As for said band, they brought the stank. They didn’t mind that it was hotter than the Jam Van in that mug, they love to sweat. Afterwards we caught up with them for a few minutes next to the taco truck. I will re-assert here that these guys are solid dudes, and everyone should listen to their shit, buy their record, and see their show. Thanks Vanaprasta, for givin’ us some shit to do on a Thursday night in Venice.
As for the people of Venice themselves, poor form. Poor form all around. There wasn’t even a semblance of a line to see these guys, and I could pitch a tent at the front of the bar. It was Thursday night and a band that kicks-ass was playing, and granted, they announced it last minute, but still, fuckin’a people. There was no fucking line! I don’t go into the Townhouse when there’s a line, and so I don’t go in there often, because well, there’s always a fuckin’ line nowadays! Except apparently when there’s a fucking good band playing, a band that you know, one day I could be like, “ha, I was at the stank hole Townhouse, it was Thursday night and there wasn’t a fucking line in site to see those guys, and I had a damn good time (ed. note: fuck a run on sentence, I brought cash).“ So Vanaprasta, sorry that the room wasn’t that full for you guys. You brought it all the same. I guess if you want to fill a venue in Venice you better just tell people that you’ll be playing Beyonce all night and we can call it a sell-out.
Alright, before I step into my day job realm, I’m a just speak on another trending music topic as of late. I’m 27 years old myself (ed. note: maybe), so the highly publicized death of what was considered to be a very talented 27 year old woman does prove a bit of a thought provoker. Now, in correlation to last night (ed note: it’s someone out there rolling her eyes at this), this thought has nothing to do with the band, but rather a decrepit looking hobo that we saw on the way to see the band. This cat was three steps from croaking, caked in filth, bundled up in filth, sittin’ on the side of the road, clearly not right in the anything. I’m certain he’d put his body through just as much of a wringer as Miss Winehouse, and for many more years. Yet there he was on the side of the road shaking, doing nothing for anyone, including himself, and there she is in the paper, gone goodnight on account a mixing stupid with hurt and getting’ dead Where’s it sense in that?
Zero. Zero sense.
Which brings us to our moral. Party your face off. Do not second guess what makes you smile. That’s all we at the Jam Van can advise. Party your face off and hope that the things you close your eyes on come happenin’.
Night shit-finks. Morning sprocket-fucks.
Quote of the Day – Chach – “Your gonna win a Webbie, no doubt (ed. note: no doubt).”
Links for the Day: