I went to the much-blogged, much-debated Franz Ferdinand show last Friday night at Volume in Williamsburg, and it blew me away.

I saw them at the Bowery Ballroom a few months back, and while that show was also incredible, something about Volume's glorified high school gym feel and sweltering temperature made Franz just that much better. I rocked out. I rocked out hard. I was tipsy, sweaty and rowdy. It was a fucking rock 'n' roll show -- perhaps my favorite of the year.

That's why I couldn't believe some of the comments posted on Stereogum's thread about the show, including several by attendees who were horrified - horrified - that people would actually (gasp!) dance at a concert. Just check the first comment for a good example.

And like my Richard Gere in shining Armani riding his trusty limousine, Jason Persse comes shimmying up my fire escape to rescue my opinion of New York music fans.

The South Shall Rise Again

"How many activists does it take to screw in a lightbulb," Isaac Brock once asked, before answering his own question. "It doesn't matter how many, activists can't change shit."

But there's good news for people who love bad news -- bad news for big business, that is. Either New York's activists are really tough, or their leaders are just plain pussies (or maybe a little of both), but whatever it is, twice this month local opposition has stared directly into the monolithic eye of corporate America, and twice they've come away with a victory.

Plans for what was to be New York City's first Wal-Mart got dropped after some outcry from neighborhood, labor and environmental groups. Now, Cracker Barrel has had their Evite revoked after those cute little minorities got all in a tizzy.

Of course these upsets took place in Queens and Brooklyn, respectively -- anybody can run a train on Manhattan as long as an awkward and stupid photo op for Bloomberg is provided -- but these small battles will not win the war. That outcome is already decided. The red states are knocking, boroughs, and it's only a matter of time before they're banning your Daily Show books and selling you a "salad" topped with four pounds of bacon and cheese. And if you know what's good for you, you'd better stop watching Bravo and start thinking Toby Keith is the only one who really understands you.