Black Cat

DC’s most established disestablishment is a bumper sticker on every made-it band’s amp box.  The not-yet-made-its, too.  Sunbeams fail to penetrate black boarded windows drawing in the capital’s vampire populace.  That said, “cool” changes nightly—today it’s rock jocks jigging with glam girls, tomorrow it’s soul parade or high schoolers. Two floors and two stages mean there’s enough elbow room for every shade of lipstick. Screaming guitars and sticky bars are definites.  Serious vegan fare downstairs.