Why metal shows at the Bottle rule:
1) Smoke machines from the stage combine with Pot Haze everywhere to make the entire place a morbid, snack-fetishizing zone. My coat collar smelled like it had been born in the prop closet during the shooting of Cheech and Chong's Up In Smoke.
2) The five headbanging dudes that always stand stage right by the alley door swirling their mighty tempests of mid-back length locks IN SYNC. It is a sight both beautiful and terrible. I want long hair or a dece wig so I can join in next time.
3) Kevin Drumm, one of Chicago's noise/improv mavens, always shows up at the metal shows. I have never spoken, smiled at or made gestures at Kevin Drumm, in any communicative fashion, but the sight of him always warms my spirits. Maybe because he has roasted my eardrums so many times that my Aunts have to ask me questions three times over the table at Holiday meals and I still can't understand them and then I think *ah, Kevin Drumm, thine deafness delivered is so sweet*. Or something like that.