The Rock and Roll Hotel is nestled on H Street in D.C., quite inconveniently placed more than a mile from the nearest metro. The upstairs bar is a cozy little abode, with three amputated mannequins overhanging the bar. Instead of heads, the mannequins sport cow skulls that leer over your drink like overbearing relatives. There were winged Stratocasters on the ceiling and some kind of ridiculous anime show on Cartoon Network playing on the tube. After a couple of drinks and a few minutes of pondering what the hell the deal is with girls and Blue Moon, I headed back downstairs for the show.