I went to this show solo to support a friend's band whose name escapes me.The fact that it was St. Patrick's Day didn't really register until i got there.
In New York City, which is surpassed only by Boston in terms of rowdy Irishness, this day is celebrated by drinking heavily from the morning onwards.
By the time I got out, all the amateurs had either gone home or passed out in the streets and only the veteran drinkers remained.
My friend's band featured a sexy lead singer, but that's all I remember. The next acts left a deeper impression.
Lonesome Jack was the type of Irish folk ensemble that makes you want to guzzle Guinness and dance a sprightly jig.
Memphis Crawl played the kind of southern swamp rock that can kill you in a plane crash and featured an cane-wielding Jim Morrison wannabe front man. He still managed to climb all over amps and chairs with his supposed bum leg.
On the way home, a bus replaced the 7 train and I drunkenly dialed all my Irish friends to conclude an unexpectedly raucous evening spent alone.
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