You know what a bunch of drunken punks, tattooed slackers and the Gene Simmons-looking guy with the full-length white coat and the black leather shirt want to see?

A deeeeeee jaaaaaayyyyyy.

The show was Gogol Bordello. And the opening act made my friend leave.

For those of you who don't know, Gogol Bordello is an absolutely insane gypsy punk band. They bust out the accordion, the fiddle and more ethnic diversity than a Benetton ad and the Burger King Kids Club combined. Ukrainians, Russians, Thai-Americans, Ecuadorians, a woman who Wikipedia says is "Chinese Scottish" and more.

They're loud, amazing and make me want to jump up and scream along every time I hear them.

I can't really listen to them in the car.

Here's a picture of the band:

Gypsy. Punk. Say those words and try not to feel the love.

Now here's a picture of the opening act:

See how they might not draw the same crowds?

Now let me explain something to you, DJs. I don't mind your existence, in the same way that I don't mind the existence of giant spiders that jump out of holes they dug in the desert sand.

But that (and the fact I sunburn easily) is why I don't go to deserts.

So I don't mind the existence of skinny little DJs charging people scores of dollars to watch and marvel at how well they operate a record player. But don't go to my gypsy punk shows and I won't go to your frat-boy jamborees. I get bars, you get those $3,000 a month apartments intentionally designed to look like converted factory lofts. Got it? Good.

I understand that DJs are needed. They're needed to play music when musicians can't be there. Sort of like I do. At home. On the couch. With the $30 I didn't pay to watch someone do the exact same thing.

Also, it was a VHS or Beta DJ set. As a much hipper friend explained to me, this is part of a new trend in music. Bands offer DJ shows now. So we were watching VHS or Beta spin VHS or Beta songs.

You know what would have been great, as long as those guys were there anyway? Playing their songs on instruments, rather than just showing off how they sounded at a time when they cared enough to actually lift a guitar.

I don't blame the Metro. When I first bought the tickets, the Ting Tings were scheduled to be the other act. I like the Ting Tings. Then, I was reading the Onion a few weeks later and I saw that the ad now said "guest TBA."

So I guessed something happened with the Ting Tings. I figured a fight. A fight between Ting Tings lead singer Katie White and "Caroline," a Metro booker I just made up. The fight was probably about the billing, laced with undercurrents of Caroline coming to terms with new and exciting urges.

So, I'll give the Metro credit that four southern boys trying to spin wasn't the first option considered. But they considered it an option.

How bad was it? Allow me to quote my friend Nathan, who goes by Knathan for short. I liked it so much I text messaged it to myself.

"To be honest, Paul, I haven't been angry in a long time. But this night, this bullshit ... I gotta go."

Then he left. Due to earlier cancellations, the party of four had become me. Alone. With Gogol Bordello.

I hung. I rocked. I pushed into the crowd as part of an experiment to see how far I could get. (Almost to the bouncer, it turns out). But I ended up going home before the show ended.

Not that Gogol Bordello wasn't amazing. It's just not much fun to be amazed alone.

It was a good night and I'm glad I went. But, with Chicago going all music-crazy during Lollapalooza weekend (read the Lollablog, read the Lollablog), it would be nice if people just took the two seconds to remember people like live music. Live music.

And I'm sorry, man. Just because you're standing in the same room while your record is played, it's still not a concert.

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