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how to milk a three-day weekend
Jan. 16th, 2023 09:27 amI have today off, so I hit Capitol Hill last night with the eventual intention of going to Flammable, the house music night that just moved to the recently renovated Chop Suey. But in typical nunly fashion, I was early.
No 'Rose. Oh noes! Luckily, around the corner is Cafe Racer. It has a long history that started in the U District and includes a mass shooting. But I respect it greatly for the variety of acts that play there, many of which are just starting out or never could be hugely commercial. Such was the case last night, as I walked into the last fifteen minutes or so of what sounded to me like "outside" jazz: sax, clarinet, drum kit. I got to talk to the organizer, and she (?) said that a) the night is called Racer Sessions, b) it's every odd-numbered Sunday night from 1900 to 2100, c) and it's not jazz, it's "improvisational music". Whatever. It could be a good highbrow date night.
The bar staff sold me a beer with some reluctance. They really wanted to close. Well, excuuuuse me for not knowing how that night worked. Thence to the near-empty Mercury to get out of the wind. I actually liked the music, but I personally started out as 25% of the patrons and ended up as 100%. Not my jam.
Thence to Flammable at Chop Suey, where I found A of Merc fame. We like what they've done with the place: they've separated the bar from the stage with curtains and given the sound system a much-needed upgrade. I talked to one of the promoters, Dane Garfield, and we agree that Chop Suey is a better venue than its immediate predecessor, which was too dungeon-like even for me. Booty was shaken. Snark was snarked. Eye candy was consumed.
I beat it shortly before midnight, after getting a pitying hug from A, in an attempt to catch the last train home. Ha. The last train is around 0045 on Saturday nights, but 2345 on Sunday nights. I ended up calling a ride share anyway, and I could have spent an extra hour at least at Chop Suey. Ah well, at least I learned something. And my lower legs are complaining about the heels I wore, sensible though they were – Fluevog Gladstone.
I have vanquished the FOMO.
No 'Rose. Oh noes! Luckily, around the corner is Cafe Racer. It has a long history that started in the U District and includes a mass shooting. But I respect it greatly for the variety of acts that play there, many of which are just starting out or never could be hugely commercial. Such was the case last night, as I walked into the last fifteen minutes or so of what sounded to me like "outside" jazz: sax, clarinet, drum kit. I got to talk to the organizer, and she (?) said that a) the night is called Racer Sessions, b) it's every odd-numbered Sunday night from 1900 to 2100, c) and it's not jazz, it's "improvisational music". Whatever. It could be a good highbrow date night.
The bar staff sold me a beer with some reluctance. They really wanted to close. Well, excuuuuse me for not knowing how that night worked. Thence to the near-empty Mercury to get out of the wind. I actually liked the music, but I personally started out as 25% of the patrons and ended up as 100%. Not my jam.
Thence to Flammable at Chop Suey, where I found A of Merc fame. We like what they've done with the place: they've separated the bar from the stage with curtains and given the sound system a much-needed upgrade. I talked to one of the promoters, Dane Garfield, and we agree that Chop Suey is a better venue than its immediate predecessor, which was too dungeon-like even for me. Booty was shaken. Snark was snarked. Eye candy was consumed.
I beat it shortly before midnight, after getting a pitying hug from A, in an attempt to catch the last train home. Ha. The last train is around 0045 on Saturday nights, but 2345 on Sunday nights. I ended up calling a ride share anyway, and I could have spent an extra hour at least at Chop Suey. Ah well, at least I learned something. And my lower legs are complaining about the heels I wore, sensible though they were – Fluevog Gladstone.
I have vanquished the FOMO.
