Dive In

I don't know if you think you've ever been to a dive bar, but I'm here to tell you that if you haven't been to the Red Blood Club in Deep Ellum, you have not. Last night my hometown buds Prayer For Animals played a gig there, along with Denton noise-rockers Eat Avery's Bones. I think I was the only paying customer, which is a shame. PFA played a damned good set, complete with new material. I missed EAB, but I hear they were on and off the stage in a matter of minutes, playing a frenzy of sweet, experimental goodness.

One of the reasons I missed EAB is because I spent about a quarter of a tank of gas driving around the block trying to find the club. I knew the address: 2617 Commerce St. I found 2615. And then there was an empty lot. And then there was the ass-end of Club Uropa, to which girls in mini-skirts and peasant tops were running at top speed.

Finally, I just ganked a metered spot on Commerce, found the nearest available hipster and asked for directions. I was only a few yards away. The long, Christmas-light-lit tunnel leading to a skeevy patio with a large bearded man should have screamed "underground rock club" to me, but honestly I had been hoping for at least a sign outside.

Available beer? ZiegenBock. In a red plastic cup. I'd estimate it at roughly eight to 10 months old in a keg with a minor air leak. The bartender? Approximately 68 years of age, appears out of nowhere at random wearing a Members Only jacket with the kind of hair Einstein only wished he could have pulled off. The sound system? Not bad, except for the constant buzzing. I didn't even attempt to enter the bathrooms, as one of my friends told me beforehand: "Go to the bathroom as often as you need, at home, before the show."

I am definitely going back. --Andrea Grimes

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