Photo by Mark Sarfati
Please. One more hit. Just one. That’s all I need. Another song, another act. It won’t hurt. It can’t hurt. I promise this will be the last place we go. Four hours later, we wake up on a subway train in Brownsville, Brooklyn.
Live music can be a dangerous thing. The thrills of a live show, the blending lightshow, the stomach-shaking bass, the spit and the sweat, are irreplaceable, but the life of the live music junkie can drain one’s energy and bank account. Fortunately,…