Depending on who's headlining, the room converts from
a standard concert hall with folding chairs and small
round tables to an open floor for dancing and even moshing.
The acoustics are superb, equally pristine for the hard-rocking
thump of Danzig or the quiet bluegrass fiddle of Alison
Krauss. Sometimes the place can get overloaded (as can
many of the patrons), and you'll definitely pay for
the privilege of seeing an arena band in a 1,500-seat
venue. But when The Joint is jumping, it's the best
place in town.
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The Joint - breathlessly described by Rolling Stone
magazine as "the rock and roll equivalent of the
Grand Ole Opry" - has a warm cabaret feel, despite
its cavernous interior. Sight lines are decent, unless
you're stuck with standing-room-only balcony tickets;
fail to arrive early and you'll be standing on your
toes for two hours. Multiple television monitors mirror
the stage at all times, a plus while you await service
at one of three bars. The sound is crisp, clean and
absolutely stunning. Shows here tend to cost, unless
it's an all-ages gig; in that event, prices drop below
$20, security is tripled, waitress service is suspended
and you get what you pay for. A fabulous evening all
told, even before you're released into the Hard Rock
hotel-casino for an impromptu post-show blowout with
the prettiest people you've ever laid eyes on.
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