First, read this.

Then know that we went last night to see the grandeur that is Momo the Clown!

beep beep ritchie

The Uptown, fairly packed but far from sold-out, with old-school goths (still goth in their mid-40s with 10-year-old children in tow), with former mod/alt-rockers turned insurance agent, real-estate broker, VP of finance, with late-20s-early 30-year-olds who came of age during the alt-music explosion, and with late-teens who know they should pay tribute, welcomed the aging, asexual, alternative troubadour, Morrissey.

We went on a invitation and Sarah did fear for her life. We saw no gladiolas. We saw no one trampled by knee-high leather boots or buried under boobs bursting from Hot Topic corsets. The couple who took us with them got drinks poured on them by a gay boy doing some sweet DDR moves then, when said couple turned to ask the lad to watch out when he came back with a new drink, said lad ran to get security and our couple got escorted to the anti-gay dance section for the rest of the show.

I’m not much of a solo Momo fan. I like a few of the singles he’s released over the years. But Momo’s solo songs sounded just fine last night. His voice is still solid and strong. And, much to my surprise after hearing Sarah’s tale of Momo woe, he had a fine sense of humor. The production in general was pretty sweet. Very loud – I’m not going to shows anymore without ear plugs – and very tight. The Smiths’ songs, however, that Momo deigned to play, those were the highlight. Girlfriend in a Coma? You better believe it.

We left before the encore, so maybe someone else who went could comment as to what we missed.

Someone just forwarded a picture they snapped at the show of when Sarah and I hopped on stage to rock with Momo:
the more you ignore us


Sock it to me

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