While the bankers and the lawyers drive our country to the wall.

There are two important takeaways from the Waco Brothers show at the Highline Ballroom this week: one, Tracey Dear can sell a holocaust joke better than David Cross [Or David Duke -Dana]. And two, it turns out I'm not racist after all: I'm just an idiot. [Not even! Just a drunk. -Dana]

The run up: after the tremendous successes of the Creativity Now conference (read: cheap material gold mine), we hatched an elaborate plan involving recruiting young, eager suckers, rehashing old ideas, and finding out more about Curt's 'interesting' manhood.

Though it's Internet Week, which I will ask someone about in a drunk and confrontational state before Sunday, and then interrupt even a cogent answer with unjustified bellicosity -- and I've already blown off the Thrillist party (sorry Curt!) -- it was important we swing for the fences and do something about our anemic music blog rank.

So Team YM went to the Waco Brothers show at the Highline Ballroom on Tuesday. Rhodia notebooks were left at home, but not that much drink was consumed (out of real wine glasses; remember that for the upcoming F Yeah Tour show), so all near quotes are verified. [How does the Highline Ballroom stay in business, incidentally? This is the second show I've attended there and both were fairly sparsely attended. -Dana]

Walking up, I had one of those "hey, that guy looks like... everyone I know" moments. Which means we marched right by without a glimmer of acknowledgment. Upstairs, later, I theorized it might be Alex Pareene, which is weird, since even though he's the most precocious human being ever, Jon Langford is too old for his mother. Ten minutes after that, I thought I saw Maura peering intently into a phone at the bar. Thoroughly chastened by my debacle at the media clusterfuck, I approached neither. Inquiring after both of them the next day, it turns out I can wipe away my previous shame with a towel of ignorance and lack of social graces (Alex, thank you, white brother!).

[I was thoroughly pissed off that these two were in attendance, because it means that I was no longer the youngest person in the audience. -Dana]

What this also means is that everyone who wasn't a portly, shaved-to-stave-off-balding man in the audience (me: "This is the only show in the world with a lower men to men who are getting laid ratio than a TMBG gig") was a blogger. But there is this: there's something sweet about watching people who are well past the point of giving a shit dancing because they love the music. [True. A Wacos show is a Safe Space for Dorks. This is why I have seen them roughly 20 times. -Dana]

The show itself was a fucking blast. Of course it was -- it was the Waco Brothers. If you didn't assume that, shame on you. We'll tell you all about it next month at Spitzer's. [And whack you with our canes. -Dana] Disappointment of the evening: they ran out of flasks at the merch table.

The Waco Brothers 'Do What I Say'