The Triple Rock is a venue that most commonly spells its name with double frame bikes, Black Label vests, and 2-4-1 vomiting marathons. But tonight's line-up, which adventures like a curious hitchhiker from door open to last call, wraps its brass knuckles in a velvet sleeve. From Black Blondie, who keep their steely grooves licking with reggae inflection, to Roma Di Luna, who ease a complex rap sublimity into beats that lumber and creak like an old rowboat, to Aby Wolf, whose electric acoustic shines with whispered confessions and road poetry, it's a night where the insight and the intellect flow as freely as the whiskey from the bar gun. The punches are still haymakers, and the jumbo Czechvars still pop like magnums of cheap champagne, but it's a show that engages far more id than ego. Don't forget to... More >>>