Last Friday promoter Joie Peña explained that she's trying to bring fun back to nights out. "I'm tired of people just going to bars, especially this one, standing around like this," she said, folding her arms over her chest and scowling. "This isn't LA—don't act too cool."
I'm not too cool, I scoffed inwardly. I'm too old for Connect Four.
And then Henderson quintet Molecules, who're too young to grow mustaches and look like they're pretty close to the appropriate age for the vibe, finally started up. What a pleasant surprise: These lads totally had their shit together. A slightly melancholy '60s garage-pop outfit, most of them shaggy-haired and stick-legged, they understood how to take it slow 'n' easy without shoe-gazing. It was the best use of flange I've heard in a long time, and most importantly, they weren't sporting eyeliner.
An hour later Joie was chewing on the hem of her dress, stepping on the crotch of a girlfriend who was gleefully twitterpating on the floor. An insanely cute UNLV sociology major was blowing bubbles, wearing boxy cardboard glasses. The booze kicked in, and a Plastic Bertrand track got me going like one of those young ladies who absolutely must bounce around to every sound, which my high school music teacher told the class is a sign of retardation. I was feeling precocious, and suddenly ... I was reaching for the crayons.