A week ago, I fell in love with new music for the first time since I stole my brother’s worn copy of Led Zeppelin’s Song Remains the Same album. I was fourteen and was smitten. Recently, a friend who road manages (I love his life), texted me, said he’d be in town with a new project at Marilyn’s on K Street, said he’d put me on the list—Tracy plus one. Normally, I avoid club bands I’ve never heard of, because they’re a dime a dozen and the best you can hope for is good in a sea of mediocre. But my LA pal is cool and has good taste, so I said why not. I wasn’t there five minutes, settling into a cush-backed chair, sipping refreshing water with bubbles, when they began to wail, and I felt tha