October 5, 2013
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Written: October 5, 2013, Gaithersburg, MD
About: live music on H street
Last night I went to see a friend’s band play at the grungy Rock n Roll Hotel on H Street in DC. My friend’s band was playing, along with two more that I have never seen before. Between the black walls and under the struggling speakers, they tore the air apart. No one does the jubilant, mad wall of sound quite like punks and gypsies mixed on the same stage.
The Unknown Bands rock the stage, their fame emblazoned on bathroom walls and small-run posters that will disappear before the next sun is out, a carnival of outfits and unrelenting commitment to outlandish antics. Their brilliant voices bust the speakers, and their instruments pound the amps, hanging on by the last strand of exposed wire. There is a throng of them up in the holy altar, wringing every last drop of sweat and wine out of the night.
The Unknown People fill the hall as a tumultuous sea. The waves of humanity crash about in reckless, beautiful dance, leaning toward the lights and the musicians, no longer tired, no longer poor, no longer alone. The crowd boils and steams and breathes fumes of fuel into the bands, jumping, dancing, hands stretched high, voices hoarse and unified.
For these hours, no longer Unknown, they are Royalty, come to pray in the Hall Most Hallowed.