400 Hualani Street Suite 22
Hilo, HI 96720
Hawaii County
Phone: (808) 933-2667
Fax: unknownWebsite: no website on fileEmail: no email on fileHours: unknown
Uncle Mikey's Video Dance Club - About Us
No Description Available for Uncle Mikey's Video Dance Club.
Website Description and Information
No Website Description Available for Uncle Mikey's Video Dance Club.
by P. William G. on The room is abuzz. Maybe it is just in my head. The band is coming on soon. I am filled with anticipation. Maybe there's a hundred people in the crowd, maybe one fifty. I have a beer in my hand. There is a cute girl to the left of me. There is a cute girl to the right. I am alone. The stage lights go dark. The band walks to the stage slowly, right through the middle of the crowd. There are only two of them. One is wearing a hat, like a fedora or something. A tan leather jacket, too. His eyes are darting in a hundred directions. The other guy is more subdued, head down. Dark hair, dark shirt. The crowd moves a few inches closer to the stage. A couple of girls shout approval. There are whistles. There are claps. A guy in the back does some sort of woo-hoo. The drummer sits behind his drums. Center stage, the singer wraps an acoustic guitar around his shoulders and says, "hello." The crowd is receptive. "This first one is a new one. It's called Tragedy." And with that, these two break into a joyous noise, a triumphant rage, an archetypal rant, which I would guess was being made by five men. Or more. Still, it is just the two of them. They are tearing it up. They are lighting up the stage. The leader is shaking his head angrily up and down. Still, there seems to be a smile in there, too. The drummer's whole body is bouncing up and down on the stool. He is like Animal from the Muppets, but shorter hair. He is using sticks and brushes and tambourines or bells or I don't know what. He is making a hundred noises at once. His eyes are closed and I know he is somewhere else, just him and the drums. A few more songs pass and the audience is booming, dancing, aching for more and more and more. The band gives it to them. The lead singer rocks his head left to right. Sweat flies all over. The cute girls are shimmying side to side, shaking their hips, bouncing their tits, basking in the white heat of the band. A song finishes and the lead singer is smiling. "Thank you," he says. The crowd reacts. The lead singer reacts back. "Here's a new one." No drums. Just acoustic guitar and piercing vocals. It still feels like a bigger band than one guy. He fills the full stage. He fills the whole bar. He is bigger than Du Nord. He is bigger than San Francisco. His voice penetrates the club. The acoustics hug him. The acoustics are perfect. The room shifts and swirls. The music is sublime. The music bleeds from the walls. The music sweats from the ceiling. "You know, I just want to enjoy my life before I reach my date of expiration." The Ferocious Few. Cafe Du Nord. October 7, 2010.
by Michael T. on OK, it's not a real juke-joint--you were expecting the Ol' Bucket of Blood in downtown SF? Across the street from Ruby Skye? Not likely. That being said, it's a fairly comfortable spot and pretty much the only game in town for live blues. Part of me is still irked by the sit-down layout (aren't you supposed to, you know, dance to blues music?) and the two-drink minimum nonsense (Muddy Waters didn't tell jokes, he cut heads), but the sound system is really good and the atmosphere manages to be kinda cozy anyway. I still haven't eaten here, but the menu does look tempting--a sampling of Cajun, comfort, and soul food that is thematically appropriate.
