Graham Smith stares up at the low ceiling as if he expects it to collapse at any moment. When his mic cuts out, the look on the singer's face is more pronounced, like the exaggerated expression of a silent film star. A silent film star wearing a faded blue Cubs cap. Technical difficulties ensue as Thunder in the Valley swing through each of their bluesy, vaudevillian numbers at the Dinkytowner Café. Then a curse-inducing electrical shock hits Smith from his faulty microphone, and when he returns to his showman vocals, he wails. He croons. He moans. A young couple with a dozen piercings between them attempt a clumsy swing step, uninhibited by the strangers they repeatedly jostle. No one in the audience seems to mind the occasional flying elbow or stepped-on foot. When the band starts playing a waltz not unlike an Irish drinking song, a few more people break from the standard stare-and-nod to sway in time with Smith as he serenades them from the stage, rocking his mic... More >>>