You know you are in for a night of indie rock when there is a line around the block of young adults in various colors and designs of vans and chucks, a multitude of black rimmed glasses, more than one kid who needs a shower, and a number of people who look as though they have yet to hit puberty. And this is great, fine really, unless this block and a half of people are trying to get into a club in which only about a third can fit. All of a sudden, your night of indie rock has turned into a bona-fide mob scene, where six months, a year, down the road, as Beirut is playing Black Cat or 9:30 Club, you will be able to say “I was one of the lucky few that got to see them at Warehouse Next Door in August ‘06, it was really intimate.”

At 9:45, after waiting since 8pm, I was one of the lucky few to get in. In fact, Warehouse Next Door closed the doors a few people after I squished myself into the one nook in the back that still had some breathing room. The management kindly put a live feed over at their bar/lounge/playhouse Warehouse (next door to Next Door) for those unlucky hundreds that failed to make the cut. (I overheard the door man, however, complaining that people kept turning down the speakers over there, and I noticed when checking it out myself that the “live feed” could barely be heard over the chatter.) Regardless, for those of us that did get in, we were in for a night of confusing sounds, sweaty masses, some moments of brilliant music, a band with energy to spare, another band with that needed a heavy dose of Red Bull, and a third band that seemed like a poor choice for this night.

Images by flickr user Jerr-Face