Boom Boom Room

The bass is already rattling the curb on Fillmore before you even reach the door. It is loud, it is sweaty, and the line outside is moving at the exact speed of a bouncer checking IDs in the dark. Don't bother looking for parking around here because you'll just circle the block until your gas light comes on. Park three blocks up or take the bus.

Inside, the room is packed solid with people who didn't come to stand around looking polite. It's dark, it's sticky, and the stage sits right there at floor level so you're basically standing on the monitors if you're in the front row. They aren't serving fancy craft cocktails in mason jars here. It's tall boys of cheap beer and shots poured by bartenders who don't have time for hesitation while a funky organ solo is tearing the roof off.

You can't hear yourself think once the horn section kicks in. The crowd is swaying, spilling drinks, and shouting over the snare drum. There's no coat check, so don't wear a jacket you actually care about. Just shove your stuff in your pockets and stay on your feet.