There’s nothing like arriving painfully early to the Urban Lounge on a Thursday. It’s dark, covered in the sticky residue of alcohol and/or sweat and sort of sad—like a teenage boy’s basement bedroom. I roosted in one of the decrepit booths and listened to an hour of sound check and A Tribe Called Quest being played at a shittily loud volume. Being a white girl from the suburbs, I take a certain pride in my love for Tribe. I felt like screaming to the three male strangers in the room, “THIS IS MY JAM, FUCKERS!” … read more