52nd City

She Wants Revenge

Thought the thought still confuses me, my favorite concert venue in town may be Pop's, the longstanding bastion of all-night carousing, located on that hideous Sauget parking lot, 'twixt two randy grindhouses and across the way from puff-puff-puffing smokestacks. Ah, Pop's, full of connotations for the oldsters, who remember the place as solely a waystation of the night, a place of brawls and beer and (cover)bands.

Last night, Pop's played host to She Wants Revenge, an LA group of dubious lineage, who have, critics are correct, perfectly co-opted the look-and-feel of bands old (Joy Division) and new (Interpol). There's nothing particularly original about She Wants Revenge, but damned if the act hasn't mastered the aggregated sound. Forgive me, but: they rock.

There were two notable things about the show, and I simply must pass them along.

First (well, second). At the end of the show, singer/guitarist Justin Warfield gave the most hilarious, "please don't make us play here" request I'd ever heard at a venue, all but begging for a date on the other side of the river, away from the industrial plants, pavement and stripbars. He said the comments meant no offense to the room, but the guess here is that management won't be booking the group back for show #3 any time soon. If brat-tish, it was very, very funny.

Second (second). You can go to many, many shows in St. Louis and unless you're a fan of jam bands, you can go to many, many shows without seeing people dance. She Wants Revenge was able to coax virtually everyone in the room to the foot of the stage by show's end, with, literally, 70-odd-% of the venue's audience in motion. Damndest thing I've ever seen.

Next Monday, Veruca Salt. See you back at... hmm... Pop's.