I Ate The Chocodile

I had high hopes for my first trip to Kansas City’s Record Bar, the former site of Molloy Bros Irish Pub. The kitschy theme of album-cover-bound menus, the new slogan “eat. hear.” and promise of “gourmet food in a comfortable atmosphere” sound great on paper, but fail in their poor execution. We arrived at the venue an hour before the show, just as the doors were opening. The parking lot was surprisingly bare, and the line at the door quite short for a “sold-out” show. I waited my turn behind three people for a wristband, and then headed in to find a seat…

If only I had known at the time how laughable of an ambition that was. There were about twenty-five people inside, and all six or so of the sparse wooden tables, as well as every bar stool were filled. The decor was dingy, with distressed wood paneling from floor to ceiling that gave the room a dirty, dive-bar feel. This was far from the “comfortable atmosphere” that I had envisioned; my hopes and dreams of a custom-created pizza and a cold Boulevard Wheat were shattered. (Insert pun about the dangers of serving beer in glass pint glasses at such an establishment here.) Reluctant to go stand right in front of an empty stage, in a more or less empty room, we stood awkwardly near the back, biding our time. The bar slowly began to fill up, more than a few of the patrons sharing the same bewildered look at the bleak setting as they trickled in.

After an hour of shifting from foot to foot on what seemed to be the hardest floor in the universe, I decided to check my ticket stub. 9:30 PM. The Record Bar’s website had the show listed at 8:00 PM, and we had been standing around since 7:00. If the show didn’t start by 8:15, I was going home.

And then a shaggy-haired, stocking-capped gentleman took the stage… not a roadie, sound technician, or spokesman of the venue, but rather a sort of emcee, testing the waters by tossing out a few jokes, and introducing the lineup. The format of the Hotel Café Tour was less like a concert with defined opening and headlining acts, and more like an Indie version of a Rat Pack variety show. Each artist would play three songs, spill a few quirky anecdotes, then head offstage again. The master of ceremonies would tell a few jokes and send on the next act. There was no time spent on equipment changes or sound checks between sets. After each artist had played a mini-set, the lineup would be repeated. As the evening wore on, the artists began to call their friends up on stage to join in the revelry, laughing and harmonizing, like a well-staged jam session among friends.

While the Hotel Café Tour seemed to go to great lengths to showcase each artist equally, Ingrid Michaelson was clearly the evening’s main attraction. The crooning vocals and piano riffs seemed to flow effortlessly from the petite singer, the strains coming out in album-like quality. She led the crowd in an enthusiastic sing-along of “The Way I Am”, and belted out a jazzed-up cover of Radiohead’s “Creep” that lent new interest and excitement to the old standard.

Dan Wilson’s winsome stage presence and self-deprecating humor put the crowd at ease, as he explained the concept behind his solo album “Free Life.” Though his introduction included cryptic allusions such as “you know him, even if you don’t know you know him,” for a good part of the show I was convinced that he was going to avoid mentioning Semisonic altogether, and go about playing his new material without giving away his smug secret; a sort of inside joke for the many fans in the crowd. During his last set, he broke out with “Closing Time”, and an accompanying story that seemed to soften the blow by making light of it. While it was a treat to hear him perform it live, I’d rather he hadn’t. The high point of his set was his performance of “Baby Doll”, an undeniably catchy and melodic love song from his new album.

Cary Brothers supplied a laid-back vibe and Bono-esque vocals, while Jim Bianco hammed it up with animated facial expressions and raspy, innuendo-laden comedy. In the culmination of the slightly more serious title track from his album, “Sing” Bianco asked Brothers and friends to join him in the center of the crowd, for an interactive and soulful jaunt. The hidden gem of the show, however, was Meiko. The former Hotel Café waitress’ unapologetic style was a folksy combination of Jewel, Bjork and Dolores O’ Riordan. Her songs were both infectious and relatable, detailing past relationships in “Under My Bed” and a song about hating Hooters girls because of an unfaithful boyfriend.

I ultimately had a great time at the Hotel Café Tour show. The artists were able to entertain in such a way that it made up for the shortcomings of the venue, my previous bad mood and even the drunken frat guy yelling “woo!” in the corner. At first, I thought that it was a bit strange, even potentially confusing to name a tour after a venue in which it originated, but for that evening, I wasn’t attending a show at the Record Bar, I was attending a show at the Hotel Café.

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