It is Inauguration Night, and you are jubilant but trepidatious, devout in your joy but still somehow disbelieving, and you'd like to be out among other tentatively celebratory people without necessarily having to talk to them, or even see their faces, really; this moment of flagrant public zeal feels distinctly private. You want to revel in the moment without getting all ostentatious or smug about it, in other words. To Bushwick, then, for a Todd P show at the delightfully decrepit Market Hotel, nearly pitch-dark save for the ambient glow of open cell phones, crowd interaction bluntly discouraged by a rickety PA that at the moment is blasting ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down" for some reason, the wall behind the makeshift stage more or less just an upturned mattress or two. Headliner: Fucked Up.... More >>>