In high school and early college, I used to spend my Thursday nights at a bar/club called Don Hills, in a weird part of New York City that was sort of Tribeca, sort of Greenwhich Village, full of exhaust from the Holland Tunnel (and sometimes exhausting people from New Jersey), club kids in baggy pants and neon, androgynous models with dark lids, fabulous drag queens in glitter and teenagers with terrible fake ID’s and amateur drug problems. Thursday was known as BeavHer, hosted by the legendary local DJ Frankie Inglese, and it was a night of glorious 80s tunes played straight from vinyl in their entirety; hours of Blondie and Queen and Grandmaster Flash and Guns N’ Roses – the good 80s, really, and my friends and I would tire our feet from non-stop dancing and simultaneous belting of lyrics to songs like “Sweet Child o’Mine,” so much so that when I hear that opening guitar lick I still hear the chorus of Al, Maritza and Tyler in the background. We’d all do our Axl moves, skinny legs and black pants and wooden heels – it’s all in the knee rotation and hip-swivel, I think, but I never got it quite right.
Thursday was a night to dance, and Thursday was a night to celebrate music, even if it meant groggy Friday mornings clinging to the bar on the cross-town bus while trying not to pass out on the way to school, stuffing a bagel in your mouth with a free hand. Don Hills has since closed, but Thursday’s have always retained a sort of musical mystique, a gaping hole left in that weird part of the Village and my brain, too, always wanting to be filled in with beats and songs and friends and joy. It never feels right to sit out a Thursday on the couch, watching Twilight Zone episodes on Netflix and pouring red wine, as I am wont to do on occasion.
But tonight, I’ll be doing the only thing that should be done on Thursdays: dancing to music with friends at Exit/In, for Lockeland Springsteen presents ::: The Felice Brothers, with Cale Tyson and Taylor Brashears. We’re in love with the new Twin Peaks-meets –Tijuana tones at the beginning of Taylor’s new track, “Won’t Be Found,” blushed with bluegrass. On Cale, we’ve said “the reason you should listen to Cale Tyson is because in no way does he try to appear as anything more than he is. He loves whiskey and wild women. He sings the praises of the outlaw country movement; the combination of a pedal steel guitar and wailing voice stands as a quality tribute to Waylon and Merle. His sense of humor is part self-deprecating and part-narcissistic; in other words, he is relatable.” And you can read our full feature on the great Felice Brothers right here. Tickets are available at Exit/In, or at the door.
Come out, drink and dance with us, because Thursdays are supposed to be about music. Just don’t ask me to show you my Axl moves. I won’t. I can’t.
Lockeland Springsteen 