Ligayaの4つ星レビュー:
Welcome to the grimy heart of hipsterdom where the PBR gets slammed in record time, Tecate is served out of a vending machine, and the music is so raw and salty, even mackerel sashimi is envious.
Throughout the ages, this building has been transformed many times, first from dairy creamery to recording studios graced by esteemed artists like James Brown and B.B. King, to Black Panther den in the '60s. (Thanks to Eric O for this background info!) The most current incarnation, a hazardous jumble of dilapidated rooms offering several stages and practice areas, a gallery space, and bar of randomness, is in itself a joy to navigate.
Add some ribcage-rattling noise (oh wait, that's music?), fur coats and leggings, boys with pants so tight it's a wonder they haven't cut off circulation to their balls, turntables on folding card tables, four foot tall Peaveys, unbalanced mics, empties that spread like moss on every surface, three decades of grime, and of course, a smoky dose of ennui, and you've got Ghost Town Gallery in all its bizarro glory.
What's that? You want five bucks to cover the band? For an experience such a departure from the norm, it's a guaranteed steal.