"Nightlife in Washington may bring to mind badge-festooned staffers from the Hill getting jiggy with retro rock, and if they are really going for it, repurposing a necktie as a bandana."
LOL! Oh, New York Times! I couldn't have summed it up better myself and I LIVE here! Go figure!
Oh, but hold on. It seems there's more to this article than what may be the most accurate topic sentence of all time. Let's see...
"But then you remember the District is home to one of the best nightclubs in the world, a place where Bob Dylan, a favorite of the incoming president, has been known to play unannounced shows, where Bob Mould of Hüsker Dü fame occasionally spins records, the kind of joint that will warm up the night before the inauguration with a double bill of, get this, the Beastie Boys and Sheryl Crow."
Hmm. I have two observations from that paragraph. Firstly, ew -- Sheryl Crow. And secondly, this reporter must be referring to the 9:30 Club.
"In a once bereft part of town in the former WUST Radio Music Hall at the intersection of 9th and V Streets, the 9:30 Club (so named for its former location at 930 F Street NW) is a bar with remarkable sound -- you feel as if you're sitting inside a good guitar -- great sightlines and a reputation among all kinds of acts as a musician's club."
Aha! I love being right (because I rarely am). And, in a surprising twist, I will not disagree with this reporter (except for his appreciation of Sheryl Crow). The 9:30 Club is pretty tight: the stage is really high off the ground; the sound is good wherever you decide to stand; there are four bars scattered about three levels; the tickets are fairly priced; and it's in a really easy-to-bike-to location for me.
But let's return to that first sentence. You know, the one that points out how DC is full of "badge-festooned douches, er, staffers." This is a problem. A big problem. In fact, the crowd is usually so gigantic of a problem that it negates all of the aforementioned awesomeness noted by myself and the New York Times (except for the whole Sheryl Crow thing). And this is why we (royally) hate DC.
While the city -- and in this case, the 9:30 Club -- has much to offer physically, its soul is bereft of genuine awesomeness because of the enhanced douchebag quadrant. In other words, its soul -- to no fault of the club's own, or perhaps even the physical city's -- is rooted in douchery. That is, large crowds here (eh, and individuals, too) largely blow.
And while I have some personal and specific examples of how a reject crowd regularly effs up shows at the 9:30 that you can read here, here and here, I won't spend the majority of this post slyly (or maybe just shamelessly) self-promoting. No, no. Instead I will simply provide a general three-step guide for future show-goers about the proper way to conduct oneself at a concert so as not to end up on some bitch's obscure blog that she is (now totally shamelessly) promoting on a slightly less obscure blog. Or something. So without further ado...
1) Shut the f*ck up. Stop effing chatting about your boring life loud enough so others can hear. If you want to do that, go to Adams Morgan. Haven't you heard? It's the new Georgetown.
2) Move your office ass. If you show up to a concert that's meant to double as a dance party, don't just stand there like an asshole drinking beer and getting fat. Move a little. It's good for your health, and by "health," I mean two things: Exercise is good for you, as is me not punching you in the face.
3) Have fun. I know it's a wild, wholly unconventional idea here in the District, but there's nothing wrong with having fun. Or at least pretending to. It doesn't take a genius (trust me on that one as I speak from the experience of being an idiot my whole life, obviously) to understand that a concert is meant to equate to a good time. So, unless you're at a Sheryl Crow show, please to turn that frown upside down, as they say. Oh, and maybe take the goddamn name-tag off, douche.