LPD, WMD, the Haleys, [a little more than a] Cameo, James, me and other creaky throwbacks schlepped our old, haggard selves to the Paradise last night to see the Lemonheads, one of our favorite 90s bands.
On the ride into town, James and I wondered aloud what the crowd was going to be like. Would it be younger? Older? A mix of the two? We decided the club would likely be packed with aging hipsters with crows feet because “Kids today don’t know what good music is. Kids today listen to crap like Fall Out Boy. That isn’t even music. It’s just noise. NOISE!” I abruptly shut up after my 1995 self reached across the years and smacked me in the forehead with a meatball sub for sounding like a crotchety old hag.
As always, we congregated at T’s Pub pre-show where we raised a glass to our Tuesday night gathering. My jumbo hot dog intimidated everyone at the table. We talked about how the Paradise is still the best place to see a show. But then T-Bag sealed our fate:“Yeah, you know what sucks, though?” He spoke of that giant, obstructive-view pole that is in the middle of the floor at center stage. “Yes,” we agreed. “That pole does suck.” So, of course we got stuck directly behind it at the show.
We caught the tail end of the opener's set. He was ok but his lyrics sounded like they were written by a German Shepherd.
The Lemonheads were a blast, however. And after several plastic cups of Paradise Pinot, I even danced a little. Evan Dando was always good for a Big Star or Replacements cover at his solo shows so I was a bit bummed not to hear one.
Much to Jimmy’s dismay, there was no sloppy post show at T. Anthony’s involving greasy slices of pizza pie and playing the jukebox until they kick you out. On the corner of Comm. and Babcock, we all bid each other good night and fell back through the cracks from whence we came.