April 6, 2006
A difference of opinion
Since when does a DJ take precedence over a live musician?

Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

When I'm not daydreaming or mind wandering -- and sometimes even when I'm doing these things in unison -- I'm listening to music.

Last weekend I dragged Love Interest to The Vogue again, qualifying him soon -- like, right this minute -- for my boyfriend.

He said he'll get me back once the Speedway opens, but I'm thinking he was kidding.

The Vogue should pin a medal on me, because except for the manager and the girl who works the front door, I must hold some kind of attendance record.

This time we caught Mike Doughty, of whom I've been a devoted stargazer since his Soul Coughing days.
INtake said the show began at 8 p.m. To skip the advertised opening band, a reasonable deduction was we should arrive around 9:30 p.m. I'd been through this a few times before.

Arriving and purchasing tickets at the door, we learned the show began at 7:30 p.m. We were then told: "Welcome, and by the way, Mike Doughty is almost finished, but you're more than welcome to stay for Tease." (Lucky us.)

The rhythm that was gonna get the Vogue got the Vogue a long time ago, in that South Beach-wannabe kind of way (present staff was grandfathered in).

Translation: Weekend concerts end here by 10 p.m.

Dance clubs are unique and all, but concert attendees in their right minds wouldn't think a Saturday night act would end before Law & Order did; hence, friends I ran into at the show said they'd seen no more than five Mike Doughty songs, either.

Our bad for not arriving for the opener? I think not. After four songs, Doughty thanked everyone for coming.
As if the sand wasn't already kicked in our faces, the sound guy switched on that crazy Conga beat just as the savvy, hey-I-can-even-play-an-instrument Mr. Doughty took the stage for an encore.

He stood patiently before a cheering audience, a mature version of his former irreverent self. (He once publicly scolded me for flash photography, but I don't hold grudges.) When the house music failed to cease he shrugged and left the stage.

Venues represent the heart of a city for traveling bands and, wow, Indy really showed this guy a great time.
For minutes equaling five, the same number of songs I would hear this particular evening, the dance music relinquished and Doughty played one last song.

Trip the light fiasco.

When it was over the live music lovers, baffled, left as the clubbers increased in masse. A bad night for The Vogue, but I'll be back . . . oh, I'll be back.