A moment ago I got in the elevator and as the door closed some guy tried to join me and the group of students, but the door shut as he fumbled around. Everyone laughed a bit as he looked like a jackass, and I said, "You've got to willing to lose a hand." A British student in the elevator replied, "You've got to be a bit of steel," which epitomizes the journey that was my Thursday night.

The evening began when Meredith stopped by the apartment before we headed over to Clinton Street Bakery for some dinner. Rachel was supposed to join us, but she ran about an hour late so we had drinks (Blood Orange Jalapeño Margarita) and soup (Mushroom Bisque) before she arrived. We (read: I) was a bit nervous about the time so we ordered our entrees without Rachel, but she showed up in time to score some grub. My dinner was totes (props to the girls + Del) best evs! Seriously, take your silly ass down to Clinton Street Bakery and pray to the god of skinny punks that they have this special on the menu: Seared Cod with Creamed Spinach and Lump Crabmeat. I nearly licked my plate clean. The Cod came on a bed of unbelievable creamed spinach and was topped with crab meat that had been tossed with light marinara sauce. Cap the meal with a shot infused mocha, and you can call it a day.

Somewhat unfortunately, I couldn't go home to couch surf the night away. Instead the three of us met Beach in front of the Mercury to split a cab out to Southpaw. I've only been to the Park Slope venue a few times, but each time has been aces so maybe I'll lift my hateful ban on Brooklyn, (not bloodly likely). We were greeted by Doug as we entered the club, and quickly found our place at the head of the bar, (the same spot where Dr. Shitfest previously heckled Magnolia Electric Co.). After a couple songs by The Subjects (who reminded me of The Changes), a pile of hellos were dished out to the numerous familiar faces in the crowd. Congrats to Ramie and everyone involved for putting together a successful night - Southpaw was packed.

Now I want you to take all this with a gallon of salt, but you should really give it the proper attention. Sam Champion is a massive rock force. Fuck the haters. Last night blew the shit right out of my pants. Their entire set was extremely impressive. It was my first chance to see the boys since their month long tour as I had to work the night of their Mercury Lounge show. Something happened on the road. Something clicked. Someone must have attached a massive set of balls to Noah, Jack, Ryan and Sean in the Northwest. I don't know how to explain it, but it's something everyone should see. If you're one of those people who didn't dig the album too much because you think it is slow or sleepy, give Sam Champion's live show one shot. You'll be converted. Fuck - seriously - Fuck, I can't get over it. It's nearly inexplicable. You see a band 100 times, and it's a rarity that on the 100th time you finally realize that you are a superfan. Last night I filled out my application to become a certified Sam Champion Groupie, (get in line girls).

I mean shit, the entire set was good, but they straight up went for it last night. The second half of the set was like amazing sex after a two-thumbs-up blow job. They took the set out in this order: "Mexican Rags" (my favorite jam), "Cheadlebug" (a crowd favorite - Noah slipped a "Jay Belin" or two in the song - so awesome), "You Can't Do That" (requisite Beatles cover for a sad anniversary), "Jealous Shakes" (Jack was so fucking tasty) and "TV Fever". Sam Champion's last jam included some drop-to-your-knees and ceiling-pipe-raking guitar work. As the curtain pulled shut, I nearly collapsed in complete fulfillment, but there was more rock to see.

Beach and I ducked out of the club and headed back to Manhattan for a set by Dead Meadow at the Bowery. We rolled up as the band took to their third song, but for some reason it all seemed second fiddle to the mind blowing shit I'd just witnessed in Brooklyn. We had a drink, said hello to Dan, Kyle, Christine and Erin, collected Christie and jumped right back out to Park Slope. Don't adjust your screen. You are reading correctly; I made two trips to Brooklyn last night. What gives? I hate Brooklyn and after Sunday I will have made three trips out there in one week. I'm getting soft.

As we rolled back into the Southpaw, we took our spot at the front of the bar and proceeded to embark on an onslaught of tequila that would make legions of Mexican folks proud to know us. Beach is currently telling me that George Micahael (yes, that one) was at Southpaw, but I don't remember him nor do I remember any handys in the bathroom so I can't confirm. Regardless, we took the night up a couple notches as did Apollo Sunshine who fucking killed it. They were all over the place, but damn that kid can play some guitar. Outstanding stuff. In the near future you should be able to purchase a copy of last night's outstanding gig at Rockslide. You'd be a fool not to drop the coin. I wish there was more to say on Apollo, but the evening was mildly hazy at this point and my veins no longer pumped blood - they were pure tequila.

Serious compliments to everyone last night for making it a fan-fuckin-tastic run through town - even this kid was there:

Thanks to Beana for hooking up some awesome shots of last night. You can read / see more at Productshop NYC. Oh, one more thing - my apologies to Builder for grinding him at the Voxtrot show. With that cute muffin ass, who can resist?