The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

It's four in the morning, and the party isn't quite ending, but it will soon. You're not quite sure how you got here - at some point during the night you were drunker than you thought you were, and an adventurous friend who probably shouldn't have been driving convinced you to ride shotgun to this warehouse-cum-loft. The music is still playing but it's quieter now, or maybe your ears have just finally built up their tolerance for it. That one attractive-in-a-goth-way drunk girl is dancing by herself, the last one left on the concrete floor. Still the speakers spew techno-ish music.

The music filled the room. Emanating from a trio of guitars, chords resonated with chords and dispersed throughout the Turf Club on Wednesday night, thick and palpable as the fog that periodically came out from the fog machines. Steady percussion from bass and drums crept under the noise to make it danceable (or at least head-nod-able). Though many were sitting stoic at the bar or in the venue's booths, no one could ignore it: The Warlocks were playing.