My Life As A Battle of the Bad Bands Judge

Holy goodness, Tuesdays are getting rougher and rougher. I agreed to judge a battle of the bands competition for a certain tequila company on Monday nights. They’re keeping me well oiled with free tequila, tequishirts and tequichains, but it’s getting tougher and tougher to stomach these horrendous acts, to say nothing of stomaching the tequila.

Last night was week two. True story: By the time the third band came on, I grabbed the waitress and said

“see here.
if this last band is as bad as the last one
i’m going to need you to give me a jameson on ice, splash coke and then check on me every three-and-a-half minutes afterwards for the duration.”

She came literally running to the table within the first 30 seconds of the first song.

That was last night. The week before, I sat against the wall with my judge’s card and remembered the only other time I’d been in this place. October 2000.


October 2000, I opened the door to the gentleman’s lavatory and witnessed a scene that was pure David Lynch: two little people in leotards applying makeup. I quite literally closed the door, wondered if what I’d just witnessed was real, and reopened the door. They were still there. I walked in and proceeded to take a leak.

When the band finally took the stage, the little people ran around waving flags and causing mischief. The band chugged along as if it were no big deal. Meantime, a barrel-chested bearded man in jeans and a white tutu proceeded to go absolutely apeshit. With no warning he jumped off the stage and began screaming and hassling everybody until I was one of three people left in the venue. These guys literally emptied the room.

Sounds like something you’d see at the smell downtown, right? You’re watching a man in a tutu scream at you and shake you, and your buddy’s around the corner at the lonelyman bar on main, buying beers to go and sticking them in his backpack. Seriously you’d think I would have gone back to the venue again after witnessing a spectacle like that, but for whatever reason, I never made it back. These days it’s the kind of place you would just never think about going to if you are a guy like me. There seems to be an abundance of bands in town that all run in the same circles and basically tune out any rock trend that happened after 1989; for better or worse, this venue draws them like no other.


Me: I saw the Kings of Leon Saturday… fucking brilliant!
Tequila Promoter: Who’s that?

Me: This video is very strange (video: we will become silhouettes by the postal service)
Girl: Who is it?
Me: The Postal Service…
Me: You know…
Me: Postal…
Me: Ben Gibbard…
Me: Death Cab…….
Me: For Cutie……..
Girl: (Stares at screen and appears to comprehend neither video nor words)
Me: (telepathically) For chrissakes I’m not hitting on you, I’m a judge …. this is no picnic, this is work for me. Real work! …
Girl: Yeah, this is a weird video!

Me: What does the Nightlife Zagat say about this place?
Me: hehehehehe…

Stay tuned for My Life As A Battle of the Bad Bands Judge – Week Three . . .