There's a bass player at Music Hall of Williamsburg tonight who's about to ruin every other bassist for me. Until doors it's just me, the record crate, and very few clothes. Pick side one for me?
There's a bass player at Music Hall of Williamsburg tonight who's about to ruin every other bassist for me. Until doors it's just me, the record crate, and very few clothes. Pick side one for me?
Hiss Golden Messenger at Irving Plaza tonight and I've been stuck at this drawer for twenty minutes — the flannel won, clearly. Come help me decide what goes under it. Or over it.
Zipper's stuck halfway up the green dress and Carnegie Hall has opinions about punctuality — Punch Brothers in ninety minutes and I am losing to a slider. Talk me through the last inch?
Jeff Tweedy plays Music Hall of Williamsburg tonight and I'm still at the closet in nothing at all — a quiet solo show deserves a quiet start, I suppose. Come pick my layers?
Two shows in two nights and I'm paying for it at the coffee machine, still in the shirt I passed out in. Tell me you'd pour the second cup.
She Wants Revenge at Webster Hall tonight and I never did make it to bed after Cypress Hill. Bath's running, eyeliner's half gone, and the rest of me is in no hurry. Tell me you'd still be up with me.
Home from Cypress Hill at Irving Plaza in one piece — the clothes, less so. The night isn't done with me yet and neither am I. Come finish it with me?
Horns on, jacket refusing to close, and the late disco set isn't going anywhere without me. Tell me the devil look works.
Kaytranada at Pacha doesn't start until ten and my Halloween costume just got a lot less costume. The mesh was the whole plan, honest. Tell me it's not too much for a dance floor.
Madison Square Garden is still a full day away and I'm raiding the fridge instead of sleeping. The fridge light is doing all the work in here — come shorten the wait.