A Night Out (08/01/09)

"Don't cry, Don't raise your eye, it's only teenage wasteland ... they're all wasted"

-The Who, Baba O'Riley (Teenage Wasteland )





My blackout ended with me waking up on my friend Tony's couch, groggy and stiff. My cell phone was dead. I looked at the cable box. It was 2:30 in the afternoon on Saturday. The night before we hung out with an old high school buddy, and stayed up until dawn drinking Jamison and doing illicit drugs. My hang over was part Johhny Cash's Cocaine Blues and part Sublime's What Happend. In other words I felt like shit.

I then realized my friend Shooter was coming in from out of town. The three of us (including Tony) would be moving in together, in less then a week, and we wanted to get some loose ends settled. I was supposed to meet up with him around noon. That obviously didn't happen. Great way to start the day, sorry Shooter. I drove home, stopping on the way to buy the largest Gatorade I could find, which I choked down as fast as possible.

After charging my phone, I checked my messages. Shooter had called four times and left two voicemails. I also had one from my friend Ty. He was playing a show that night at Scarlet and Grey Cafe that he wanted me check out. I told him I would give him some pub, since we were both starving (aren't we all) artists. His band called themselves the L.E.S. Crew, and I had heard great things but never seen them myself. I also had a text from a girl I know asking if I wanted to work the door at a bar she tended. Fucking random. I called Shooter to explain why I stood him up, and we met for lunch (at 4 p.m., pathetic, I know). I had a Bloody Mary just to curb the hangover. The food helped, too.

We discussed the new apartment and figured out who would put what bills in their name and the like. I told him about the show and my job prospect. He said he didn't mind tagging along, besides he wanted to get more familiar with the city he would soon call home. He grew up in New Albany, Ohio, a small suburb outside 270. Ironically enough, I grew up in Gahanna, the next burb over, but we didn't meet until college. Both were towns with luscious lawns and cement geese. We were moving to the Short North; Columbus's art district in the heart of downtown, just a stones throw and a skip away from OSU campus, the Arena District and German Village. This would definitely be the biggest city and most urban setting either of us had ever lived in, and we wanted to get hip to our surroundings as quickly as possible.

Before heading out for the evening, I took a power nap and grabbed a quick shower. I had contacted my bartender friend and gotten more details. She worked downtown at Mynt. It was part club, part martini bar with a slightly relaxed (but still present) dress code. Apparently, they needed extra security help. I had never worked the door anywhere, but what the hell I thought. It could be fun. I pictured myself looking tough, telling some knock-out who thought her shit didn't stink to piss off; your ID has expired.

We met Stacey (the bartender) outside. She took us in, introducing us to one of the doormen and some of the other employees as we passed. Everyone was nice and seemed actually happy to be at work. Imagine that. We sat at the bar took a look around. It was before 10, so it was pretty dead, but you would have never guessed based on the music. House, trance, and techno beats reverberated off the large glass windows. I filled out an app and sat down with the manager on an ultra-modern white leather couch that was anything but comfortable. Well, at least it looked cool, right? This place was definitely not my scene, but $60 a night to break up fights and be a pretend bad ass sounded good to me. After my interview Shooter and I had a couple Rolling Rocks with my friend. She bought us a round of mystery shots and then we were off to the show.

The Scarlet and Grey Cafe was a dingy dive bar, with beer-stained carpets and that familiar odor of sweat and stale alcohol. I loved it. It was my kind of scene. They had pool tables to the left as you walked in and a modest stage to the right. Ty put us on "the list" so we got in free. I had to admit that was pretty fucking cool. The only lists I had ever been on were not necessarily the kind of lists that you wanted to be on (mostly for IOU's). We ordered a $6 pitcher of Coors Light, or as I like to call it, goat piss. At least you can't beat the price. Gotta love campus bars.

The first of three acts was playing, a Stretch Lefty side project calling themselves Rage on Into the Morning. They were jaming out Phish stlye, and it was obvious they were ad libbing on the fly. It was good but a little one-dimensional. They were pretty none descript looking guys accept for the lead guitar player who was strumming a gorgeous maroon and black Gibson es-335. Shooter and I plotted on ways we could possibly steal it when he wasn't looking. He also had a massive pedal kit set up, but we both got the feeling he was only playing to half his gears potential.

After their set we stepped out for some fresh air and to meet up with Ty. Outside, wholly by coincidence, I ran into my friend Cliff. His Band, Matt Reed and TGP, were playing the second set. I had seen them before, and I was a big fan. I even passed out some of their CD's at Bonnaroo (see my June posts). The night was shaping up nicely. Ty handed me a sack of green, a White Owl, and told me to get to work. After I finished rolling it, we smoked the blunt outside the bar on High Street without incident, the advantages of a sparsely populated summer campus.

Feeling buzzed and high, we went back inside to finish our pitcher. We struggled through the Coors and our reward was PBR, which was also priced at $6. Not only is it the adopted hipster beer of choice, but it is actually good; for cheap beer. We chatted with a cute blond who was there for some campus publication taking pics.

"Can you drink on the clock?" I asked her.

"If I want," she replied. "But I have to go to a couple more places tonight."

I implored her to stick around for TGP and L.E.S (Living Energy System) Crew. The bar was filling up quickly. I lost track of her, much to my chagrin, so I'm not sure if she stayed longer or not. I hope she did because the music only got better.

Matt Reed and TGP came out in full costume. Cliff was in his classic Rock 'n' Roll drummer ensemble; a head band, scarf, and cut off suite jacket. The DJ/keyboard player wore a teal sport jacket and khaki fedora. The bass player was wearing a full length grey Confederate Civil War jacket and matching pants. Matt Reed, the lead singer, was in a pinstriped shirt, tie, suspenders and black fedora. He sang into an old time metal mic that reminded me of Frank Sinatra. Their look was amazing. Their sound was even better.

All the members, other than the lead singer, were Gahanna Lincoln alum and it made me feel proud to see kids from my high school doing it big. Their rock/hip-hop/R&B infused tracks were marvelous. They would jam it out and mix in beat breaks and scratching with Matt's soulful voice pushing the crowd's energy up the whole time. He was a hell of a showman, and Cliff was a phenomenal drum player.

"He's a regular Keith Moon up there," Shooter commented.

At one point he did a whole song on a beat machine, live. Not an easy task by any means. Some tall she-male in tight skinny jeans, was grooving right in front of us. No joke "it" was about 6"6 and very thin with long hair dyed that terrible fake red. Coupled with the guy-liner, I wasn't really sure what satement was trying to be made. They finished up their set with We Got Style, one of the best tracks on their latest release. For more information, contact them at TGPproductions@yahoo.com

While waiting for the third and final act to start, Shooter noticed a beautiful, short-haired redhead. It was love at first sight. He pined over her for awhile, but before we could approach her and her semi-hot friends, we noticed she had a boyfriend in tow. Some overweight douchebag with a terrible goatee. Her loss, we said, no way is he as cool as we are.

While the L.E.S Crew set up the crowd doubled in size. It was obvious that most were there to see them. The sound was jam band hip-hop. Imagine if the Roots and 311 combined to form some magical love child of a band. Sprinkle in a dash of Grateful Dead for good measure. They had three vocalist/rappers, a DJ, lead guitar player, bassist, bongo player, and traditional drummer (Ty). Their rifts were very mellow which was in stark contrast to the raspyness of the vocalists. They rhymed nice and Was you Feelin' it stuck out most in my mind. Their guitar player was gifted, ever present, but never over-powering. Just enough. He stole the show in my opinion. I'll Go was also a solid track, but I found myself feeling they were crawling on top of each other with eight people on stage.

The crowd was loving every second. People bobbed their heads to the beat and some even sang along. There was some loser in a fanny pack, excessively head banging the whole time. That made me and Shooter lose it. What a clown! At one point James, of the Shaolin Funk B-Boys (a local break dancing crew) took the floor and tore shit up. A true element of Hip-Hop at its finest. Check out the bands web site for gig dates and more info; www.myspace.com/livingenergysystem

They finished up, we closed our tabs and said good bye. Over all it was a great night out, and I couldn't wait to mold my bar napkin notes into this post. We drove down High Street, passing our new apartment before stopping at White Castle for a slider night cap. Good bless all-night fast food. I felt great but I'd be Coming Down Sunday Morning, Kris Kristofferson style tomorrow. With another weekend binge in the books I looked forward to retreating into bed.


-J.R.


***This is going to be a regular thing, so if you're a local act, and you want free pub, let me know. My goal is to grow as a writer while helping Columbus's underground music scene flourish. Look for more post and good times to come and as always, keep reading and I'll keep writing ...