Two Fridays ago, as the clock neared 2:00 a.m., I stood in the men's room of the Turf Club. Kraig Johnson and the Program had just finished their set, and I was joined by a couple of revelers at the urinal--which, in my experience, has always been a post-gig sanctuary of sorts, a place to ruminate on the night's events. But one of these guys had already moved on. "Bob Dylan is coming to town, my friend," he said to us, or himself, as he peed and looked up at the tiles and graffiti on the wall. "Bob Dyyylan. Yes.... More >>>