A caught mention of a "secret house show" eventually leads to an address and a time. Somewhere around the Myrtle stop on the J train, a door to a basement apartment opens and immediately reveals a sweaty mass of thrashing bodies in the windowless front room. 40ozs being passed around among two distinct sections: the roiling bodies surrounding the band, and the calm socializing kids in the hallway of a kitchen. Moisture (appropriate for the setting, considering the amount of sweat dripping off of everyone) holds the room with their raw Nirvana-esque sound, followed by the "get active" set by Ritz Riot with lead singer Shirley Cruz bouncing around in the crowd and trying not to step on people on the floor.

Switch to the next night, heading over to see a friend's punk cover band play at a new bar in Williamsburg. F*cking Bullshit plays the hits (The Misfits, Minor Threat, Black Flag, etc), and expects you to sing along with them. Fist-pumping is encouraged, messing with the frontman is returned in kind, and like any punk cover band worth their salt, there's a little blood-letting and not-so-subtle nod toward Mr. G.G. Allin. By the time I left, I was wearing spilled beer and spit from the frontman, but no bloodstains that I noticed (another good reason to wear black).


• Ritz Riot - Dance Macabre Dance

Band here.

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