A Little Piece of Hipster Heaven: French Kicks play Union Hall

Union Hall. Bocce. Beer. Books. Bands. And lots and lots of hipsters.

What a perfect evening. Firstly, trekking 25 minutes in sub-zero temperatures is a joy. I can't feel my legs when I get there, but that's usually what alcohol's for, so tonight I'm just being more efficient. Besides, the large plate of pasta I've just eaten has pretty much guaranteed that no amount of beer will get me drunk. I resign myself to an evening of sober entertainment, surrounded by drunk morons. I am not disappointed.

The space at Union Hall is tiny. It's pretty much like seeing a band in someone's basement, because it is a basement and the decor is reminiscent of your creepy uncle's house, only you know, in an ironic way. My friend and I get downstairs before the big rush, and manage to claim a piece of real estate front and center, which, once people start pouring in, becomes smaller and smaller and closer and closer to the monitors. Add to this the fact that the stage is about .5 inches off the floor, and we are practically part of the act, for better or worse.

It's time. Opening band. A scary moment. Knowing you may be subjected to an entire 45 minutes of horrid, derivative crap. But lo and behold, the band is actually good. Very good, in fact. White Rabbits is their name and you should check them out if you know what's good for you. Their set ends and at this point my lower back hurts and I realize I am an old woman. Also, welcome to the sweet sensation of permanent hearing loss.

Despite this and the fact that I've had to bundle my 17 layers of clothing and essentially stand on them, things are going well. Then the crowd becomes denser and I begin to realize there is a trifecta of evil surrounding us. To our left: obligatory awkward sexually confused trio. It is clear immediately they will be dancers. Combined, their body mass probably quadruples that of mine and my friend's. This is a bad sign.

Bad sign #2: Another trio behind us. "omigod! look at this picture! I took it yesterday!!!" screeches a voice. A girl is walking her friends through all the photos on her camera phone. Scintillating, I'm sure. Her friends nod enthusiastically as she continues in the loudest voice I've ever heard. When you remember that I have already suffered a great deal of hearing loss, you will understand the magnitude of this situation.

The worst is yet to come. To my right is a duo. Breasts hanging out. Tacky, synthetic tops, purchased for "going out". Bad hair. Dark brown lipstick. The works. And we have another loud talker. Ok, maybe she isn't so much loud as speaking at an octave that manages to cut through the music they're piping through the sound system and go directly into my brain. I cannot figure what they are doing here besides trying to ruin my night.

As I am about to punch someone (I can't decide who is more annoying, the loud talker behind me or the total trian wrecks to my right), the French Kicks come on stage. The lead singer is 8 feet tall. I am not kidding. Dude is fucking huge. And he is standing directly in front of me. My face is essentially navel-height. He towers. I am slightly frightened. We make eye contact once and it's so awkward because of our physical proximity that he looks out over the crowd and never down at us in the front ever again. It is really hot down there. They play some awesome songs. 11:30 curfew rolls around (what? curfew? really? not cool, Union Hall) and they have to stop playing, anticlimactically. The big girl from our left grabs the set list that is directly in front of me, so I lean over and grab the one at the side of the stage. Yes! Set list!

After squeezing past the now insane crowd of more and more hipsters upstairs (cute boys! they are wearing glasses! their hair is mussed!) we go outside and immediately realize it is now not only sub-zero, it's fucking windy and oh yeah, it's really annoying catching a cab in Brooklyn. Somehow I manage it and here I am. I think I'm listening to music on my computer, but I'm not sure. I don't remember Beethoven sounding so much like a high-pitched whine...