White Rabbits at The Bluebird

Written by  //  June 30, 2009  //  It's Alive, The Conservatory  //  3 Comments

It’s a beautiful Friday evening on Colfax and the Bluebird Theater is slowly filling up with good-looking youngsters.  The smell of alcohol is in the air, everyone’s happy to be alive and out in this amazing world, and I just want to punch someone in the face.

Now, I can’t be positive about this, but I think maybe my latest break-up with cigarettes might have something to do with the incredible venom I want to spit at anyone who would dare to look in my direction, or offer to buy me a drink.  Or maybe it’s the completely sub-par meal and service I just experienced over at Mezcal (yeah, I’ll say it since no one else has the balls to:  I really don’t like the fucking food at that fucking restaurant).

Or maybe it’s the sounds (IF one could call them that) coming from the stage, where duo from their mom’s basement Crocodiles is putting forth messy messy bedlam unto mine ears. They’re both wearing sunglasses and look like they spent four hours picking out their perfectly unstyled Urban Outfitters frocks.  Tell me, non-smokers, what does one do when one wants to escape a band’s set but can’t go outside for a smoke?  I feel trapped and very VERY mean.

OK Ivyy, relax.  It IS a beautiful night, and I’m out with JB, who we all know is the awesomest, and we will imminently be watching White Rabbits, one of my favoritest bands ever (EVER).  Pity, then, that we have to patiently and graciously suffer through the first two bands in order to get to that point. OK, maybe “suffer” is too strong a word here, but remember, Loves- TRAPPED, NO CIGARETTES, oh and did I mention I have to be at work at 8am the next morning?  On a SATURDAY?!?!  Everyone feel sorry for me right…..NOW.

But don’t cry for ME, Argentina- White Rabbits comes onstage and they are the best, THE BEST.  They play a whole bunch of new songs which have like 3-part harmony but still rock.  And they play their old hit single “Kid on My Shoulders,” which they dedicate to “everyone who was at the Larimer Lounge for the first show White Rabbits ever played in Denver” (that’s me!!!  I was there!!).  I go down into the dance pit to get some pictures, and holy cow they start playing my all-time favorite, “The Plot”. Ivyy is a dance machine.  And they play a few more, and the pianist is going crazy, and the lead guitarist looks like if Steve Carell’s character from The Office were dressed up as a member of Vampire Weekend, and they come out for a great encore, and then it’s over.  Yay yay happy happy!!!!

And THEN. We have to battle the young’uns up to the bar to close out our tab. And everyone is annoying. And it’s too loud. And the air conditioning in this place is making me cold. And something smells weird. I’m getting too old for this, man. Somebody get me a cigarette? Or maybe just the new White Rabbits album?

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About the Author

Ivyy Goldberg, Esq.

Ivyy Goldberg, Esq. is Research Director and Writer of both Denver’s Most Fuckable Rockstars and Handjob and a Reuben. Part time sex columnist, part-time Supreme Court Justice-inspired superhero.

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3 Comments on "White Rabbits at The Bluebird"

  1. Team Donnybrook
    godonnybrook June 30, 2009 at 12:28 pm · Reply

    I am SO glad someone FINALLY said something about Mezcal! Really! Luckily they have good tequila, so you don’t care what you’re eating.

  2. julio July 1, 2009 at 8:02 am · Reply

    Mezcal had everything you would want in a restaurant, great ambiance, location, stylish interior, except one thing’s missing….oh yeah, the shitty food. I have tried to force myself to enjoy their less than subpar food, and it sucks not some of the time, but all of the time…. it’s pretty bland and forgettable…. i’ve had more memorable dining experiences at dollar scoop restaurants….

  3. Father Guido Sarducci IV
    Guido Sarducci IV July 1, 2009 at 11:59 am · Reply

    I know Mezcal is all fancy and shit but there’s some great food to be had just next door at Goosetown. Oh, and they have Patron if that’s what you’re in to.

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