If the Creator has a hell scripted for alternative-weekly music writers, he's running previews at Cafe Balaban. The fog of Polo, Obsession and money is as lethal as DDT, and though leopardskin will likely never go out of style, it will likely never evoke more than petulant desperation on the booth-tanned and StairMastered bodies of women who, on the wrong side of 30, occasionally betray the charming appetite of cats watching canaries. Well on the wrong side of 40, the men stand like boys in batting cages, eyeing every delivery from across the bar, smacking the letter-high hard balls with loud thwacks and thuds of conversation and chortle. Don't forget the... More >>>