July 27, 2000 – Standing outside of Brownies, waiting to get in, some greasy dude sees me smoking my damp cigarette and asks if he can have one. Not wanting to go digging in my bag, anxiously eyeing the over-stuffed club, and watching Brownie #1 suspiciously examine my pal's dilapidated (yet very valid) ID was bringing out my merciful side. I quickly gave my smoke to the greasy man, nodded, and turned back to the line. Throwing his arms over his head, a jubilant Mr. Greasy shouts at me, "You are the bringer of light!!" Dude, if you only knew....

Brownies was about as comfortable as the 4 train during rush hour. ChickFest 2000 was reeling them in. I guess if you use the prefix "chick" for a rock show, even if most of the bands are co-ed, the turnout will be full of chicks and people hoping to meet a chick or two. Because chicks dig chick-music, right? And if you're a guy, it's cool to dig chick-music because that will make you seem more open-minded to other chicks. Lots of people were there.

I could swear I saw Kelsey Grammer sitting at the end of the bar talking to that blonde lady he's been dating. After ditching his stint as Macbeth on Broadway, perhaps Kelsey is becoming a fan of chick music, too. I would have asked him, except I couldn't squeeze myself through the expanding crowd. Maybe if I shouted loud enough he'd hear me. Something's rotten in the state of Denmark! Out, out damn spot! Oh, forget it. I don't like "Frasier," anyway.

The line-up: Holly Palmer, Susan Said, Patti Rothberg, Moxiestarpark. Nice variety. We go from folk, to punk, to pop-rock, to folk-punk-pop-rock.

Susan Said, performers at ChickFest 2000  I didn't catch much of Holly Palmer's set. It was acoustic and Jewel-esque. But the club was packed when she went on and got gradually thinner through the evening.

Susan Said fuck a lot. Oops, improper grammar. Susan Said said "fuck" a lot. Much better. See, I don't want to imply that the band is promiscuous. They might very well be a bunch of whorish boys and girls, but I don't know that for sure and slander is not my thing. Susan Said is about six feet tall and looks like she hung from the monkey bars a lot as a child. The lanky, glittery, pig-tailed blonde sang about penises ("Mr. Touchy-Feely") and got the whole place to chant "fuck, fuck, fuck!" Kooky.

You might know Patti Rothberg's album, Between the 1 and the 9. She received decent radio play a few years back. If the Go-Go's mated with Joan Jett circa Up Your Alley and let Susanna Hoffs baptize the kid, you'd get a sound similar to Rothberg: catchy melodies, energetic rock riffs, and sweet vocals. Break out the black-eyeliner and junk jewelry.

By the time Moxiestarpark took the stage, the crowd was cowardly thin. Brownies went from binge to purge. Silly, stupid people. NEVER pull out before ChickFest climaxes. Anyhow, the band didn't seem to care. Moxiestarpark, a.k.a. Moxiechaos, a.k.a. BioMox was formerly known as Moxie. Period. But then the law started knocking, and the four ladies were forced to rename. And they keep renaming. It's okay, though, because the band and the music aren't disturbed. Well, actually, they are highly disturbed. But only in the most wonderful of ways. After the second song, a mosh broke out and some guy with dreads almost ate the floor. People were flipping shit, running and dancing, finally exuding the spirit of the music. At the end of the set, the crowd broke into a "Moxie" chant, prompting an encore and more madness.

Climax over. Time to go. And that was ChickFest 2000.