Dear Dickheads,
I go to shows at Urban Lounge pretty frequently. It’s a relatively clean, intimate venue where I know the sound quality is gonna be consistent, I’m not gonna break the bank buying a ticket, and I can grab a drink while I listen to my favorite bands. However, the drink part of the Urban Lounge experience is starting to become a problem for myself and other music lovers, and someone’s gotta bring attention to it. I went to a couple of shows during a two-week span in September—the first being Baths and the second SLUG’s September cover story: Chelsea Wolfe and True Widow. During Baths, the people drinking at the bar and on the outskirts of the “dance” floor were talking to each other so loudly that Will Wiesenfeld literally “Ssshhhhh”ed into the mic. During Chelsea Wolfe, it got so bad (shout-out to the big-mouthed, big-haired, bleach-blonde cosmetology school types in the back—wtf were they doing there anyway, amiright?) that she quietly thanked everyone who wasn’t talking. I get it, these people take advantage of the cheap ticket price, knowing Urban Lounge is a cool place for cool people, have a few drinks too many, and since they’re only there to be seen, end up talking loudly through the whole show. What’s a true music fan supposed to do? At this point, I’m getting ready to ask those S&S guys to double their prices––I’d much rather pay $20 to watch Chelsea Wolfe with a group of people who are going to appreciate the opportunity than with a bunch of dumb airheads having girls night at “da club.” Oh yeah, and that ONE super-drunk guy who thinks he has to yell something between every song—maybe we could build a sound-proof cage for them in the back?
Thanks for listening—quietly, THAT Girl.

Hey Gurrrl,
Talk about #firstworldproblems, huh? So lemme get this straight: You think that the answer to shutting up those shithead loud-mouths at Urban Lounge is to double the ticket price? Are you sure you’re not one of those bleached blonde hairstylists who’s huffed too much aerosol? Reading your letter with a grain of salt knowing it was written by a butane ‘tard, I can now respond accordingly. Maybe your rich, trend-seeking ass can afford to pay $20 every couple of weeks for a ticket to the latest indie darlings playing at Urban, but, as hipsters who eat, sleep and breathe music, we sure as hell can’t fork over that much. I can think of a better way to get the job done, and it’s called good ole communication. I’ve seen a lot of people clack their teeth about Urban’s noise problem, such as yourself, but I’ve never seen any of you whiney babies actually approach the drunk bastards to let them know your fuzzy feelings face to face. So, next time you’re standing in the back trying to look intimidating with your arms crossed, squinting your ears to hear over the din of #girlsnight … Get your buddies together and let the bachelorette party know they’re disrupting your musical experience. Shame goes a long way—especially in this town.

Fax: 801.487.1359 • Mailing Address:
Dear Dickheads c/o SLUG Mag
351 Pierpont Ave. Ste. 4B SLC, UT 84101
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