I’m no Lester, but just this once, fuck it. Cake Shop was filled with the local cast of regulars on Tuesday night. I drifted down into the basement just as the first few flakes of this ridiculously overblown storm were beginning to fall outside, and was greeted by an already busy downstairs with the now-familair guitar waves of Total Slacker emanating from the monitors. I didn’t bother taking pictures of Total Slacker because I don’t want them to think I’m stalking them; they just happen to keep playing with other really good bands. It must be rubbing off; they seem to get more and more adept each time they play. And with all of the faces starting to look familiar, too, it seemed like the basement was full of couples. People in the bands and their girlfriends. The band’s friends and their girlfriends and boyfriends. Fans and their girlfriends and boyfriends. Twenty-somethings who would be much better off getting a good night’s sleep and looking for jobs, out past their bedtimes to smooch each other and watch rock and roll. That’s why I’m so enamored with this troupe of Brooklyn friends and lovers and fans. They always seem to be out and watching music no matter how late it is or how much it’s supposed to snow. Maybe that’s New York, but all the faces are starting to seem familiar and it’s still fun. Really all that’s happening is a few friends watching their friends play instruments in a basement, but it feels like something else. My mind wanders up a few blocks and back a few decades to Max’s Kansas City and I let myself think about it just long enough to flatter myself that we may actually be repeating history, or at least doing something special, creating where we could be spending and toiling in nine to fives. You can never see from this side of history, but when bands like the Beets play that kind of show, you can’t help but think these sacrilegious wannabe thoughts. None of us bloggers are any Legs McNeill, but if any one of these kids can be a Tom Verlaine even for a second, then it’s all worth it, to me anyways. The Beets are fucking weird and intricate and they’re just the sort of band you can sink your sticky teeth into- artwork and banners and lights and sunglasses and sexy covers of “Do the Locomotion.” I think everyone present was a friend of sorts, but the show went on well past 1 am, jangly acoustic guitar three-way vocal ditties one after the other, the crowd delighted and a little full of themselves that they kept the band playing well past the end of their set list. These guys could be bone-fide rock stars in the making, if only everyone else in Brooklyn weren’t, too. Beach Fossils, too, looking just like kids (How am I already getting too old for this? Where was I all those years? Stuck in New Jersey sans fake ID?), jamming away on each song, excellent guitar riffs playing off of each other, even if each song is a formula of the other. Christmas Islands disappointed, but how could they compete with such friends and youth? Their song about being twenty-nine I posted the other day was the best of their set. None of the other tracks were quite fast enough or together enough. A good effort from nice-looking folks, but another group to chalk up to the good not great pile of derivative bands. I loved this night out at Cake Shop and even though it’s one of so many of the same thing, maybe it’ll be one of those unknowable nights to the kids twenty years from now, something that really did happen but was never explicitly described or recorded except in generalities from people who have moved on and grown up. I don’t know. I don’t really know anything at all. But here’s some pictures. Now go listen to some Beets and go see them soon!