Tampa Bay Street Team

A stretch limo pulled up to Push Ultra Lounge Thursday with a load full of suits.

“What’s going on tonight?” one of the passengers asked the doorman.

“A reggae show.”

The limo drove away.

Push has quickly become known as the go-to St. Pete venue for cougars on the prowl; professionals who can’t stomach PBRs at “Nastry’s;” dudes wearing suit jackets in the heat of summer; and girls who want to have a wild girls-night-out at some place nice, then end up standing in huddles, straightening ever falling tube tops, and looking for a place to sit and rest their feet that are strapped into heels that are too high.

But like any good club, Push has tried to keep things fresh, especially on Thursday nights with live bands. 

The posh atmosphere was the same as any other night: Bathroom attendants waited with hand towels, and bouncers stood tall in all black as dance lights painted the walls of the club. But, the crowd was anything but usual. It was the kind you’d find at an outdoor music fest or selling hemp jewelry outside Jannus Landing — alright, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but it was a shock to see bare feet stomping on the Push dance floor. The club itself even switched a few things up to accommodate the reggae clientele. The bar served $2 Coronas and the booths (which are the only places to sit), were not reserved for patrons who bought entire bottles of liquor for what it would cost to start a small religious war.

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“I’m starting to cook more with beer,” said Katie, a chef-in-training and one of the 40 or so people who came to The Retreat Friday for the resurrection of Beer Club.

“I find that I cook more with beer the more beer I’ve had to drink,” I told her. “If I order pizza after a six pack, there’s a good chance I’ll pour beer on the pie, intentionally or otherwise.”

I went on to give Katie a list of other dishes that can benefit from a healthy dose of beer: day-old nachos with three different types of congealed cheese, top-shelf ramen noodles and Cheerios. Of course, the thing that goes best with beer is more beer.

“Everyone keeps trying to get more than their share,” said the Pepin pourer — dubbed “The Ticket Nazi” by a group of college kids who dubbed themselves “The Shizer boys.”

The fact was that we wanted people to drink more than four samples of the Michelob Porter, Widmer Hefeweizen, Landshark Lager, and Shock Top, but we wanted them to be creative in earning their extra drink tickets. Next month we’ll test out a rewards system for guys who bring more than two women a piece and hefty men willing to pull up their shirts and do the truffle-shuffle.

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“That ain’t even my beat,” Laws told DJ Knuckles, who he nicknamed DJ Unprepared for the night. “Fuck it. I’ll rap to it anyways.”

Friday at Crowbar Laws laid down aggressive rap that commented more on socioeconomics than hip-hop culture. He spent a good part of the show off stage, rapping face to face with the crowd while his hype-man, LA, stood on stage, doubling up on Laws’ lyrics.

Between performers opening for Little Brother, host Young Deacon kept the crowd lively while DJ Sandman made sure they had something to dance to. 

Before Laws, a tall, thin songstress owned the stage with her supreme confidence and songs that sounded like sped up spoken-word poems.

“She’s pretty AND she can sing,” people kept saying of Dynasty. 

When she yelled for people to throw their hands up, hands went up.

Saturday afternoon, nothing could have prepared me for the number of times I would hear “cornhole” during Tampa Bay Club Sports 1st annual Cornhole Classic at Ferg’s Sports Bar. The strange thing was that the term never lost its humor. It could be hyphenated with any word: regulation-cornhole, cornhole-free-for-all, Barbara Bush’s cornhole.

“I see some great cornholing going on,” announced the commentator over the PA.

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“Creative Loafing needs a sexual predator writing for them,” advised Nate Oliver of Have Gun Will Travel when he found me talking to his lady friend. “That could be your hook, Alfie.”

“Thanks,” I said, “but that’s basically what I already do.”

We were backstage at Skipper’s Smokehouse for WMNF’s “This is Radio Clash: a Tribute to The Clash.” Nate was jealous of my ability to talk to tons of hot women each night under the guise of investigative journalism, while his only pick-up line was, “Hey, I’m in a rock ‘n’ roll band” — as if women ever fell for sweaty musicians. Besides, Skipper’s was teeming with over 17 bands’ worth of musicians but only one erotic journalist.

The event was a success for the same reason that WMNF is the premier community-funded volunteer radio in the country: There’s strength in numbers and diversity. With 17 bands playing 15 minute sets, I expected the show to run late, but the volunteer staffers kept things moving with as much efficiency as they run their radio station.

“This is as close to country as The Clash comes,” announced the Urbane Cowboys, setting the stage for their clap-along rendition of “I Fought the Law.” However, when Blind Buddy Moody took the stage after the Urbane Cowboys, he proved it could get a little more country. He sat in a straw hat and a denim tuxedo strumming his acoustic and blowing his harmonica. He howled Clash covers like Irish ballads with a deep, bottom-of-the-barrel voice and just enough teeth to prove he’d taken some hits in his life and was still swinging. I hadn’t expected an old-time country singer to cover a Clash song and probably neither did The Clash, but I should have suspected it considering WMNF’s eclectic mix. I may not always keep my radio tuned to WMNF, but I always check the station to see what wild stuff they’re playing. 

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