French-Kiss the Black Lips with a Closed Mouth

If you're not at Churchill's this Friday night for the Black Lips show, we'll know why. Because you drive a BMW. Because your soul has been crippled by the weight of your bourgeoisie possessions. Because you don't feel like riding the steel-and-teak elevator 20 floors down when you have Sushi Samba on speed dial and there's a new episode of Ghost Whisperer starting in ten minutes. Because you still feel guilty about de-pants-ing Louis Adams in the cafeteria freshman year because he dyed his hair red.

Because rock is dead. Because Miami sucks, and as soon as you finish up this PR gig and unburden yourself of the Brickell condo you bought at the top of the market, you're totally jetting to NYC, where they have, like, real concerts that don't involve having to park in Little Haiti. Because Churchill's is loud. Because you can't charge the ticket to your AmEx. Because you don't know the two opening acts — the Jacuzzi Boys and Gentleman Jesse — are better than anything Williamsburg can dish out. Because.
Fri., March 27, 9 p.m., 2009