I'm not sure exactly what it is that everyone's been doing these past few Mondays, but I can tell you that virtually no one has been at the Detroit Bar. Which means that y'all have missed out on what is easily the most good-natured and entertaining pop-rock show this side of, erm, Sesame Street.


I know this because I've been there, quietly sipping pints of Pyramid Hef and perfecting my Come Hither™ stare at the bassist for The incredible Moses Leroy. As Detroit Bar's resident artists during August, the Leroy boys have been parading their unbelievably adorable blend of sugar-sweet vocals, day-dreamy lyrics, and goofy smiles for an audience that could maybe fill a high school gym shower. On a really hot day. You know, so everyone actually has to shower.

And it's just not fair!

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Because they're fantastic. Sure, they might never become so famous as to be known only by their first names a l Mick, Sonny, or Ringo, but I dare you to sit through one of their sets without smiling. It's impossible. In addition to their intermission dance—bouncy choreography set to a children's instructional song about sneezing etiquette—the boys also do a profoundly addictive and inviting rendition of the Hokey Pokey that involves both an electronic megaphone and drumming so tight you'll swear it's prerecorded.

The boys have but one night left at Detroit before heading back to their far-off homeland, San Diego, so whatever plans you've made for Monday night, cancel them and join me at the bar for a night of childish indulgence and great beer. And maybe—just maybe—if everyone brings along a pillow, the band—and by band, I mean bassist—will agree to a post-show pillow fight and fulfill my strangest rock star fantasy since the dream I had about Art Garfunkeland Nutella.

As for the rest of your week, I suggest you start off Thursday at the Liquid Lounge for New Wave, their brand-new, soon-to-be-passe night featuring the best in—like, duh!—new wave, funk and electro. The club even proclaims that their drinks will be "priced in the 1980s" at under five bucks a pop. And I thought their now-cancelled Hip-Hop Thursdays, mentioned here a mere month ago, had so much promise!

Then on Friday, if you're not at the Coach House chowing down on their fabulous mud pie dessert and catching the Zombies' Rod Argent and Colin Blunstone, you'd be wise to head over to Fitzgerald's in Huntington Beach for a few pitchers of Killian's and a show by The Stitches and Broken Bottles.

However, Killian's is known to leave one with a wicked case of the sickies, so go easy Friday night, because you most definitely do not want to miss The Program's debut at the Bamboo Terrace in Costa Mesa on Saturday. Tending to the turn tables will be the super smooth and mellow DJ collective Elsewhere—I mean, really: who else has the cajones to spin Edie Brickell?! Really, now!!—along with guest DJ Sublyminal.

Conclude the weekend on Sunday night at the House of Blues' Detour, the official hip-hop burial of their former offering, S.I.N. And if the thought of shakin' yer ass in the shadow of Matterhorn Mountaindoesn't put you in a mood for dancing, then by all means stay home. You'll need your rest for Monday night's pillow fight.

On Tuesday, when you've sufficiently recovered from your night with the Moses Leroy boys, lay low with DJs Stalker and Macmoz at the Prospector for their Swanky Tuesday night. How, exactly, "swanky" could ever be applied to a bar whose dcor is styled after an abandoned mine shaft eludes me, but they do have friendly bartenders and more-than-palatable well drinks, so swanky it is.

Finally, on Wednesday, if you simply cannot make the emo-trendy Appleseed Cast show at Chain Reaction in Anaheim—and esteemed sources tell me you'd be a complete fucktard not to—then the least you can do is reminisce about your week's events at Memphis' Definitely Maybe in Costa Mesa. DJs TSC1 and Ashwill be spinning a retrospective of the best music from the 1960s through the '90s, so I'm sure we won't look too out of place if you sneak off to the corner and join me in the Hokey Pokey.

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