At Long Last, The Philebrity NYE Recommendations
Here at Philebrity, we treat NYE in the fashion that time has taught us: It’s fucking amateur night. Too many people, too many people you don’t wanna see, too hard to get around. Lest we sound like a bunch of whiners, know two things: We’ll feel a lot better when we’re spreading psychedelic mushrooms on toast Friday afternoon, and, if you must, here are our highly informed recommendations for the still-undecided-but-hell-bent-on-engaging-with-humanity. May God have mercy on your soul.
We’ll tell you what to do after the jump.
- The obvious choice would have to be Making Time at Transit with special guests !!! (Chik Chik Chik). It costs 40 bucks for open bar, and you can definitely manage to have sex with someone in the bathroom. The downside: You might wind up hearing/seeing !!! unknowingly ring the death knell for discopunk. Again.
- ?uestlove at Fluid. Also 40 smackers, or bones, or clams, or whatever it is you people call them. This one comes with a hail mary that ?uest will actually spin and not demur like he did at the Fat Albert party. Unlikely, though: Even though he’s got his Squarebiz cronies in tow, he’s the star of this one. Highly recommended.
- PlainParade and RockTits at Tritone. Confidential to RockTits: It’s not funny anymore. Seriously. The whole loud-metal-records in a nightclub thing? Let’s put it this way: Moderation. The only people you’re impressing otherwise are your buddies from your tattoo shop/rockabilly band/recovering ex-skinhead Xbox cabal. Luckily, the Plain Parade gals will be shooting some much-needed estrogen into what would otherwise be the biggest sausage party this side of the City Paper editorial happy hour. Highly recommended for girls looking to bed down inked-up semi-hipsters, and then never speak to them again.
- Brian Sokel is spinning at Johnny Brenda’s; 700 is hosting an anti-NYE for those among us that cherish drinking in silence for the greater good of stopping time.
- Dark horse favorite: Helen Back and the Str8 Razors at the Dolphin Tavern at Broad and Tasker. No cover, all the scummy gay punk rock you can eat. Plus: Strippers! With weird boobies!
Other than that, friends, you are shit out of luck. Enjoy, and remember: NYE is just another way to say, “God, my year sucked ass. Let’s do drugs.”
