“Spendin’ almost a week in the hospital for somethin’ that could have been prevented was fuckin’ delightful,” Niall grumbled, letting out a pain stricken whine. His leg was in a cast and elevated on the bed as his eyes bore into the person in front of him. “What did ya come here for?” he whispered.
(A woman who is so she drunk she has transformed into a Walking Bottle of Vodka approaches the desk.)
WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: Hiiiii. There’s a man… (Long pause.) WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: How do I phrase this… (Long pause.) WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: Where is your bar? CONCIERGE: See those stairs about 10 feet from here? Right up those stairs. WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: But, like, is there a ground? CONCIERGE: The bar… has a ground. WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: No, no. Where is the entrance to the hotel? CONCIERGE: Opposite direction. WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: Great! The bar! CONCIERGE: I need to know what you’re asking me. Are you looking to go to the bar? We only have one. WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: Yeah. Someone has my stuff and he’s on the ground at the bar. CONCIERGE: Ok, so do you want to go to the bar? (She nods.) CONCIERGE: Well, that’s it. (She tilts her head in confusion: an inebriated puppy.) CONCIERGE: Right here… (She tilts her head more.) CONCIERGE: See where I’m walking these stairs? (She just laughs.)
(The concierge eventually walks her up to the bar.)
CONCIERGE: Do you see the man you’re meeting? WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: No, no, no. I need the floor. CONCIERGE: The entrance to the street? WALKING BOTTLE OF VOKDA: I just want my stuff, man. CONCIERGE: Ok. Focus—did he tell you to meet him at the bar of the [name of our hotel]? WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: Hmm. Let’s go for a walk and you can point things out to me. CONCIERGE: No. I have a line of customers at the concierge desk. Here’s the bar. Do you see him? WALKING BOTTLE OF VODKA: (rolling her eyes) I don’t know! Does this have a ground? Wait. You’re a concierge? Where’s some good sushi?
GUEST: How do I get to the Broadways? CONCIERGE: The street or the theaters? GUEST: The Broadways. The Broadway Shows. How do I go to that? CONCIERGE: Are you wanting tickets to Broadway shows or directions to the area where the theaters are? GUEST: Man, I don’t know. I’m not from New York. I’m from Miami! You tell me. CONCIERGE: Do you want to buy tickets to a show or do you already have tickets to a show? GUEST: I don’t know. Anything else to do in New York? Like, in Miami we got clubs. You got clubs? CONCIERGE: Just Broadway shows. GUEST: Ok. Cool. Thanks.
“Warpaint are the last act of the night, and also the warmest received. Warpaint are obviously happy with their new, self-titled album, and this satisfaction translates beautifully into their live show. They’re a talented and charismatic group, whose unforced eclecticism endears them to the crowd.
As they finish their set with a surprisingly brilliant, barely recognisable cover of David Bowie’s ‘Ashes To Ashes’, which they introduce with, “This is a cover of a song by an alien”, the band thanks the crowd and begins to leave the stage, only to be told they have to perform ‘Bees’ again thanks to a technical fault. The second time round, they make it half way though before something goes wrong again. These are mistakes that, were it any other show, they would have breezed past seamlessly, and their frustration at this desire for flawlessness is beginning to show.
"Do we have to play ‘Bees’ again? We have lots of others,” they beg to a man side of stage that they refer to as Mr. Mercury. Whilst Emily Kokal tries to fix her guitar pedal, and negotiate a different song with the powers that be, the remaining three begin to improvise an instrumental to fill the time. With their backs to the crowd, it’s clearly more for their own pleasure than anyone else’s, but it’s this passion for music which makes their live shows so mesmeric. It’s just a shame this passion is extinguished somewhat when they eventually decide to replace ‘Bees’ with ‘Undertow’, another song from their debut album which they have played “literally a hundred million times.”
A band who seem to thrive on a degree of ordered chaos are probably not best suited to the restrictions of this format, but it’s a captivating, sparky and industrious set nonetheless, and proves to be the most engaging, if not the most polished, of the night”.
The new Radio Milano is slated to open within the week.
“Located inside Hotel Sorella, Radio Milano brings a Modern Italian experience to Houston. Chef Jose Hernandez has created Italian masterpieces made from the finest imported ingredients with an infusion of Texas ranch and farm to table beef, produce, and dairy. ”