I love me some Vintage Trouble. Last year, I was in full on groupie mode, making it a point to see them weekly for their residency at The Tar Pit, the pretty-decent-pretty-swanky-used-to-be-a-fuck-of-a-lot-cooler joint in my hood. 

The first time I saw them, I literally stumbled into the bar with some gal pals looking for a classier upgrade from my former watering hole, which had since become infested with an Under-21 crowd…especially when a 16-year-old I knew told me he liked to go there. So in hopes of better cocktails and a smattering of older douchebags, coupled with a delicious Jack and Ginger and some respectable sweet potato fries, I ventured in with my lady pals and well, havoc ensued. 

These boys rock the goddamn fucking house. Their live shows are goddamn fucking epic. And so I felt like a proud mama when they skiddaddled off to Europe, dropped an album, climbed the charts, are appearing on American tv this week and are doing a big fancy gig at the El Rey next week. Though the venue (and, possibly, sideburns) is bigger, I still expect a rollicking good time.