Young Widows at the Turf Club
We get there and the cover is eight bucks, which is a pretty quality price for an awesome band like Young Widows. I haven’t seen them in a year, I’m excited. We shell out the cover and go to the bar. A tallboy of PBR is four dollars with a weak tip. The first band hasn’t started playing yet. The bar is starting to fill up. We go back outside to smoke a cigarette. A guy with a moustache looks at me and laughs to his friend. Go back inside. Let’s have another PBR.
We manage to get the big important booth normally occupied by women you can’t have. My friend gives me a back rub. It feels pretty good. Hot girl at the table across from me makes “bleh” face at her friend. Get up, enter bathroom. Nobody around me, score, easy pee. Exit shitter, walk towards bar. I see cute girl from history class. She has a nose ring and studies “gender shit.” I told a bad joke first day of class and never talked to her again. I walk by and she glances at her wrist. Another PBR. First band is up. They’re mathy, angular, clear and accessible. Guitar is delayed and bass is dirty. They’re really good. One rhythm sounds exactly like “Formerer” so rest of set spent shit-talking band with friend. Cigarette. Girl from history class comes outside and smokes cigarette into a wall five feet away from me. I talk all loud and smart to my friends.
Go back in. Words like “moog” and “alesis” are scattered all about the stage. Big afros, big facial hair. Eerie lights. PBR, Yukon. They start and I know I’m supposed to be scared. Oscillating vocals and guitar solos and big, old music machines and the drummer is standing up, dude. Incredible; sends ocd-addled brain into powerdrive. Slam half of friend’s PBR. Cigarette. Brain going wild, bar super full. Everybody here is much, much cooler than I am. Lungs hurt. Throw up in road. Take a deep breath.
Re-enter hell where a drummer has been playing the same beat for 10 minutes. PBR. Bass has been playing for three. Guitar for zerHOLY SHIT THAT’S THE LOUDEST THING I’VE EVER HEARD his guitar looks just like STEVE ALBINI’S dude. Right ear = tinnitus. Bassist repeats “there are others like you” over and over and over again. This show rocks. Girl with nose ring still at bar. Tall guy standing up next to her, talking loudly. She looks up at him expressionless. Gotta pee. Middle slot open. Gotta cig. Pee on side of Turf Club. Cough. Cough, cough.
Re-enter. She’s finally here. Pretend not to notice. Air drum until band ends. Our eyes meet. She’s drunk so she talks to me. She’s wearing blue jeans and a bright shirt. She does not have a nose ring. I sit and for the first time tonight, I’m psyched. How’ve you been? Good. We laugh about I don’t know what and then she talks to my friend. Get out of here. PBR. Cigarette. I’ll do it myself and I don’t care who comes with me. Young Widows are up. I go up front. Thick bass shuts everyone up. Those cabinets are huge and have lights in them. Guitars cut through the crowd like a rusty saw through a stray dog. It hurts. The crowd stands still. Nobody knows the words. Everything hurts. I’m instructed to Just Forget ‘Em. I turn around for a final look. She’s in the forbidden booth yelling loudly into friend’s ear. Girl with nose ring is nowhere to be seen. Guy at the bar yells “sad dude sausage party!” Entire band looks at bar. I look at myself. “Nothing new, right,” replies the guy holding the coolest-looking guitar you’ve ever seen.




The concert was an all-around humbling musical experience, which showcased the raw vocal and instrumental talent of Cope. “Bullet and a Target,” off the album The Clarence Greenwood Recordings,
“Whenever I see that, it’s really frustrating as a violinist,” says Holm, who does just the opposite in Marvelle. The violin comes to the forefront, belting attentiongrabbing leads without becoming overbearing. The band manages to retain a sound that is captivating while not overly bombastic. Marvelle’s songs, which stray from the standard rock format, often resemble waltzes and incorporate multiple time signatures.
Quacking microphones, awkward pauses and an overall enticing performance marked the release of Now, Now Every Children’s first EP, Not One But Two, last Saturday, February 16. The show was hosted by The Beat Coffeehouse in Uptown Minneapolis.