Patty Costello takes a little off the top.
Sometimes, the simple recipe is the best recipe. Powerchords, powerdrumming, powerdrinking, a tiny stage, a couple hundred close friends, some black Carharts, a few dozen fixed gear bikes chained to the light posts outside the 7th Street Entry, and boom-- you've got yourself a Friday night.
Dillinger Four, as filmed by metrizzo.
Dillinger Four, well into their second decade of activity, can best be described as tried and true. Sure, there will always be the whiny pipsqueak complaining from the rear of the room about formula, about arrested adolescence prolonged into perpetuity.
But fuck them. Until they've seen a half-conscious Patty Costello make that fateful face first pitch off the Entry stage, they really have no right to comment. A Dillinger Four show is a puke party you can set your watch to-- loud, sweaty, and loads of fun. By now, the lads' discography is deep enough that you can bet on more than a few surprises in your average set list. But surprise has never been a big part of the pop punk ethos when you think about it. And that's part of what makes a Dillinger Four show so enjoyable.
The added bonuses of tonight's show are the cozy confines of the 7th Street Entry, and the budget $8.00 cover charge for peeps on a shoestring. Don't kid yourself-- it's going to sell out quick, and you'd better be prepared to hold your jumbo Newcastle over your head like a grunt humping through a waist high river. But the bruises and stains you'll wake up with on Saturday morning? Worth every moment.