Clubs aren't taverns; they don't grow finer with age. It's better to have a steady, sustainable turnaround of clubs and venues. It helps keep the music scene itself from stagnating and compartmentalizing. There's nothing more depressing than a club reaching mythic 'legendary' status with 45-year-old, original patrons -- trying to relive old memories -- throwing lecherous glances at the 16-year-old noobs who go there because it's the cool place to be. The best thing that can happen for a club is to close before it gets tired and becomes a caricature of itself. Clubs best live on in the slightly hazy, alcoholic fog of memories of past patrons.
The Three Imaginary Girls are asking for your favorite Crocodile memories, and people are listing full lineups of shows they loved.
I've been to the Crocodile plenty of drunken times, but I don't think I can remember a single full lineup that I've seen there. However, one memory does stand out, not because of the show itself but because of an embarrassing conversation I had about it the next day:
A few years ago I told a coworker about my previous night out, at one of the Three Imaginary Girls' Christmas shows.
I told the person: "I don't remember a lot, but I do remember getting up onstage and singing 'We Are the World.' Oh my God, I must have been really drunk. Oh, yeah, I got free drink tickets because I won a dance contest!"
Another coworker who'd also been in attendance overheard us and reminded me: "You were the only contestant."