Seriously, what's with the House of Blues downtown toying around with all our '90s modern rock nostalgia as of late?
In the past eight months or so since the HOB has opened, the folks on Caroline have booked almost every quasi-major alt-rock band of the last decade, that has not died of an overdose or succumbed to early senility (cough, Courtney Love, cough).
It was just last week that Gavin Rossdale of Bush trotted out his solo pony show to a packed crowd of aging Gen-Xers. Live came and pl
Photos courtesy of Kimi HernsbergerPicture yourself as a snail-sized shovel with the mind of an eight-year-old in the backyard of your parents' house during summer vacation in the suburbs, slowly digging in the dirt looking for nothing in particular, your mom yelling at you to stop or you'll dig your way to China. Gavin Rossdale's solo songs = the dirt. "Glycerine" = China.
Or you know that Seinfeld episode about muffin tops? Solo songs = the stumps. "Comedown" = muffin top.
Or in other words,
