In Which We Spend The Evening With The Original Hipster

Okay, so we are having a great run musically.

Sunday Geo and I ventured to our favorite South Side haunt, Club Cafe (I know...again with the Club Cafe. What can I say. We love it there.) to take in the early show of one, Mike Doughty. He used to be the singer of the 90s soul/punk band Soul Coughing, but we never got on board with him until his solo work blew us away. Thank you WYEP.

And man, is he cool. Like Hipster Doofus cool with his bald head, black rimmed glasses, long sideburns, copious tattoos and deep, resonant voice effortlessly spouting those complex scatty grooves. He's an original.

Doughty's had a demon or two with which he has battled, namely drug addiction and depression, but he has channeled all that into some truly memorable music. He creates these great rhythms that get in your head and set up shop for awhile. I find myself unconsciously humming his songs over and over.

Anywho, he shared the stage with his usual sidekick, a cellist named Scrap. It was just the two of them, but Holy Crap you would swear there were a couple more players up their from the fullness of their sound. They played Geo's favorite, I Hear The Bells, first:



One of the things I loveloveLOVE about Mike Doughty is he totally calls out the loud talkers in the crowd.  You know the ones. They think they're the most impressive thing in the room and everyone around them should be riveted by their conversation. As Geo always says, "don't you hate it when the band you payed money to see is so loud you have to scream to talk?" Yeah, that guy. That guy is why Geo doesn't like to venture out much.

Anyhaways, "talking guy" was in the house and Mike stopped mid song to challenge him, in a nice way, but challenge him none the less.



Oh SNAP!!

I love him for that. Sadly, he has to do this at every show because there's always "that guy" in the crowd. Me, I'd probably just tell him to SHUT THE F*CK UP because that's how you get and keep fans, yo, by being all aggro and bitch-slappy.

Or not. His way is probably best.

Later on some wise ass called out for Freebird (you knew someone would) to which MD stated, "the only other thing I hate as much as talking guy is Freebird guy." Adding his desire to start an "It's Raining Men" request campaign.

So next time you have the unique pleasure to see Mike Doughty perform, leave that trite "Freebird" request at home and bellow for "It's Raining Men".  Hallelujah.

Tremendous Brunettes

Bottom of a Well

And of course, perhaps the most peculiar cover to date...Casper, the Friendly Ghost