We know D.C. Get our free newsletter to stay in the know.
31
S A T U R D A Y
When the Jakob Dylan–fronted Wallflowers take the stage tonight, I’m absolutely positive that lurking in the backstage shadows will be proud papa Bob himself. How I am so sure of this? How do I know that before the evening’s over, the Wallflowers will kick into “Tombstone Blues” and Zimmie will skirt the darkness and start wailing away with his darling boy? Because I can’t go to the show, that’s why. Because yet another college friend is tying the Godforsaken knot and just happened to pick this goddamn night for a piece-of-shit engagement party. Because my evil mother has instilled so much guilt in my head that any time I even think of doing the wrong thing, I start quivering and can actually hear her shrill threats of sending me to a “bad boy’s school.” That’s right: me, me, me. It’s all about me. As far as I’m concerned, everyone can just go fuck off. Except for Bob. I like Bob. With Maypole at 8 p.m. at the Bayou, 3135 K. St. NW. $10. (202) 333-2897. (Sean Daly)
Read more Arts stories
This isn't a paywall.
We don't have one. Readers like you keep our work free for everyone to read. If you think that it's important to have high quality local reporting we hope you'll support our work with a monthly contribution.