Some recent favorites:

AA Bondy - When the Devil’s Loose

Grizzly Bear - Veckatimest

Kurt Vile - God Is Saying This To You…

Castanets - Texas Rose, The Thaw and The Beasts

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart - The Pains of Being Pure At Heart

Listenlisten - Hymns From Rhodesia

Soulsavers - Broken

A poster advert for upcoming Bottletree show featuring Vandaveer, one of my favorite local DC artists.  His new record, Divide & Conquer, is really great.

“Wanna know what my DJ name is, man?” he asked. “It is the best.  Proud of it.”

“Yeah, of course,” I answered.

“DJ Honky White Cracker.”

“Uh, wow, how about that.”

And so went my conversation with Thomas the strip club DJ/Doorman/Bartender, as we stood – or rather as I stood and he sat on the curb – at the streetcar pickup on St. Charles and Common St.  It was around 3a.m., and he had just given me a Budweiser from a 24 pack he must’ve taken from the club.  The beer was cold, and the cardboard case was covered in condensation, making a little pool of water there on the curb.  As he cracked open his second beer he told me that he was a writer and that he had taken the job in the French Quarter to do research for a book.  

“It eats at your soul, man.  It eats at your soul,” he said.  “You see these girls, and they come in – they ain’t nothing but a bunch whores.  A bunch of fuckin whores.”

I asked if he still fell in love with them anyway.  You know, in the ‘you’re a damsel in distress/I’m a knight in shining armor’ sort of way.  He laughed in response and called them all whores again.  I’m sure he had had a thing for one or two.  How could a man not?  And I’m sure there were a few that had liked him – he was affable and decent looking, with sharp features and intense eyes.  Unfortunately his good looks were hidden under some questionable sartorial choices: a panama jack hat, hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.  Good smile, though, and he had an endearing Matthew McConaughey kind of accent.

“Well, there was this one girl, man,” he said with a slow, drunken shake of his head.  “You know, working her way through med school.  She had it, you know, you knew she might make it out and not get sucked in.  Thought she was special – that she might be my lead for my story, but before long, man, she was up on the third floor after her shift suckin’ cock.  Disappeared a few weeks later.  Never saw her again.  Whores man, they’re all whores.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  “That’s terrible.  Really sad,” I said.  I then asked, “So are you, like, one those dudes that stands out in the street and tries to get me into your club?”

“Yeah, I do a little of that.”

“I hate those guys.”

He laughed.  “Yeah, kinda annoying I guess.  But it works.”

I asked how long he had been at it.  

“About 8 months, I think,” was his answer, but he spoke as if he had been doing it for years.  I’m sure it felt that way.  

And about that time the streetcar’s light caught both our eyes and diverted our attention as it rumbled around the corner of Canal St.

“Well, there’s your ride,” I said.

“Yep.” 

He stood up, and I thanked him for the beer.  With a few swigs left for us both we raised our cans to each other, said cheers and chugged.  A moment later he was stumbling up onto the streetcar and I was left looking for a garbage can for our empties.