Tomahawk and Syrup at the Black Cat

(this entry has been edited due to an outbreak of stupidity on my part)

Should we just skip ahead to the part where our cars got towed? Nah, we’ll get there.

I liked Tomahawk well enough, but I felt it was more-of-the-same Mike Patton, less of a band.

The opening band, Syrup , was a pleasant surprise.

Although they had a few axe-bobbing synchronization/choreography issues in their first number, once they got into the groove they had those Motown dance steps down. They played honest-to-god Southern Rock. It was a fine and wonderful thing. Except that the crowd didn’t know what to do. So they stood there motionless. (Moment of duh: Syrup was a pleasant surprise??? Did I really write that? Syrup toured with Nashville Pussy. I know who Syrup is. The short-term memory loss is clearly much worse than I realized. I blame Husband. He kept jabbering last night about a German techno outfit by the same name. He caused my confusion.)

Sometimes, during Syrup’s set, members of the crowd would yell for Mike Patton or Mr. Bungle. Really, I don’t care how much you don’t appear to wish to see the opening act, yelling for the headliner through their set is obnoxious as hell. I felt sorry for Syrup, I felt like we should get up and dance on stage. Anything to let them know that not everyone in the crowd was a jerk.

They weren’t done yelling stupid things. When Tomahawk took the stage, they were still yelling for Mike Patton. And Mr. Bungle. And Faith No More.

  • You are at a Tomahawk Show. It’s lovely that you know the names of Mike Patton’s other bands. Your mother must be very proud. Now please shut up.
  • You are at a Tomahawk show. Has it occurred to you there are other people up on the stage? At one point, after Loud Guy yelled “Bungle Rules” in my ear for the 10th time, I contemplated climbing up on the bar and yelling odes to the Melvins and the Jesus Lizard. Other members of the band have resumes, too.
  • What was up with the groupie shopping for Tomahawk?
    I just want to go to the ladies room. I’m not looking for anyone to blow, but, uh, thanks for the offer.

    • Somewhere in the confusion that followed I lost my notes from the show. If they turn up I’ll revise this.

    So, after the show, we all walk to our cars together. Or I should say, we walked to where are cars were. Our cars were gone. For one brief shining moment I thought someone had stolen my car. No such luck, they were all gone. That means they were towed. Towed in DC. I’ve never been towed, but I know that the words “towed in DC” are not words for the faint of heart. When they tow your car in DC, they take it to a mysterious location in Northeast, and you frequently can’t retrieve it for days (while the fees add up and up). To compound everyone’s anxiety, Nisa had 2 hours to get to a plane and other members or our party were hitting the road
    Saturday morning, as well.

    We located the cars without too much trouble. Now, most people get towed OUT of Adam’s Morgan, a very crowded, parking-deprived area of the city. Not me. I get towed FROM 14th street TO Adam’s Morgan. What’s that about?

    I’m not complaining (too much). We ransomed our cars (at 180 dollars each. One Hundred Eighty Dollars. Each) and were on our way. It sucked, but it could have sucked so much more.

    I need more coffee. I suspect that this is incoherent.

    (I was right. Now I’ve edited it. It’s still incoherent, but the spelling is improved).