The Shout House, seriously, go
When Jules calls me about this plan for Saturday night I’m skeptical. “The Shout House. It’s dueling pianos.” Pardon me? Will the pianos be armed? Should I be worried about getting caught in the crossfire? After several cracks about the pianos settling a mob vendetta Jules tells me to shut up and be there so I am, 4th and G, already half drunk because I figure if I’m going to enjoy piano music on my Saturday night I’d better at least be sufficiently loaded. I have an immediate and horrifying flashback to my baby sister’s piano recitals, 200 untalented kids playing variations of the same song while their tearfully proud parents applaud deafeningly in my ear.
The Shout House is nothing like this. The Shout House is awesome.
We walk in and in about 20 seconds I’m rocking out to Metallica, except it’s not Metallica, it’s Metallica on the piano. Anybody who doesn’t think this is the coolest thing on earth by definition hasn’t been to the Shout House, because after one night there I’m completely convinced that no song wouldn’t sound better played on those dueling pianos. But wait, there’s more. Not only is the piano totally sweet, but the lyrics are changed up to be hilarious. Is it risqué? Uh huh. Dirty? Oh you bet. Will you hear things you won’t be able to repeat at the church social? Most definitely. Throw in a group of dancing waiters, excellent booze, and personalized birthday songs guaranteed to make your boss/brother-in-law/roommate piss his pants in humiliation and you’ve got maybe the best joint in the Gaslamp district.
Dueling pianos man. Bring some dollar bills for song requests and leave the prudey friend at home. You won’t be disappointed.







