We’ve already established that the encore comes after the main set.
The unhinged backstage depravity comes after the encore.
And the Crüe-ian tour bus funnery comes after the unhinged backstage depravity.
But the consensus on what follows next: a mystery.
Well, that or Rockography, a new musically inclined restaurant wooing post-concert crowds with gratis Jack, Deep Fried PB&J and rare archival Zeppelin footage, opening Monday.
File this under “places to shuffle into late-night after spending the past several hours letting the glory of one power ballad after another wash over you.” It’s a comfort-food-slinging eatery where you’ll pull up a stool by the 23-foot bar made of Marshall amps and use your ticket stub as legal barter for whiskey.
Much like a post–Chicago Peter Cetera or a Richie Sambora solo album, this place has just the right mix of heart, rock credibility and cheese. There’s the cigarette-charred ceiling. The collage of vintage rock posters. The 16-ounce F.U. Burger that’s topped with Velveeta, a fried egg and maple bacon (it’s sort of the bat head of bar food).
And then there’s the brunch (that most metal of meals), where you’ll peruse the Bloody Mary bar, browse the gallery of rock portraits and listen to some Beatles deep cuts.
Turns out “Rocky Raccoon” has the potency of 17 ibuprofens.
The unhinged backstage depravity comes after the encore.
And the Crüe-ian tour bus funnery comes after the unhinged backstage depravity.
But the consensus on what follows next: a mystery.
Well, that or Rockography, a new musically inclined restaurant wooing post-concert crowds with gratis Jack, Deep Fried PB&J and rare archival Zeppelin footage, opening Monday.
File this under “places to shuffle into late-night after spending the past several hours letting the glory of one power ballad after another wash over you.” It’s a comfort-food-slinging eatery where you’ll pull up a stool by the 23-foot bar made of Marshall amps and use your ticket stub as legal barter for whiskey.
Much like a post–Chicago Peter Cetera or a Richie Sambora solo album, this place has just the right mix of heart, rock credibility and cheese. There’s the cigarette-charred ceiling. The collage of vintage rock posters. The 16-ounce F.U. Burger that’s topped with Velveeta, a fried egg and maple bacon (it’s sort of the bat head of bar food).
And then there’s the brunch (that most metal of meals), where you’ll peruse the Bloody Mary bar, browse the gallery of rock portraits and listen to some Beatles deep cuts.
Turns out “Rocky Raccoon” has the potency of 17 ibuprofens.
