It was exactly a week ago that I awoke with a smile and an unfamiliar aftertaste in my mouth of pride. And stale liquor. But mostly pride. The reason? The night before, I'd once again broken a daunting metaphysical barrier and, in defiance of the forces of nature, had tread in two mutually exclusive realms like a character from Twin Peaks. Such a task demanded dedication, stamina, and drugs. That's right, friends: I saw Steely Dan and Steel Panther in the same night. Steely took the stage at 9 and again destroyed of course, this time with the aid of guest guitarist Larry Carlton. Hours later, post-concert fatigue set in as a result of the screaming, the strenuous high-fiving, and the evasion of the crappy corporate venue's shock troops, who materialized with headsets and command presence at even the faintest whiff of pot. But we needed more.
Naturally, we hotfooted it over to Sunset and Doheny to the aptly-named Key Club in time for two hours of Steel Panther (above, rocking Japan just days later/ago). I'd wanted to impress my out-of-town friends -- mission accomplished -- so HooM! Horns to McLovin, the even-hilariouser-than-usual Michael Starr, and of course his laser-precision eye for selecting the crowd's craziest, strippingest chicks. At one point, there were some freaking chicks on stage who aren't allowed to legally buy alcohol. Hey Nineteen, y'all.
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