Almost all of the indie rock bands I’ve become attached to over the last 30 years have gravitated towards performance venues that are warm and welcoming to the unique crowd that supports the genre.

I’ve been real lucky to live in places where patron-friendly barrooms operated by the likes of Richard King (Columbia, Mo), Bruce Finkelman and Sue Miller (Chicago) and Todd Patrick (here in New York) could be counted on for their trick-free door policy. The aforementioned show organizers and/or bar owners all cultivated vibrant scenes in their towns in part because of fairness applied to entry requirements at their establishments. For music fans who circle dates on their calendars to see a favored performer, the most crucial planning component before hitting the rock and roll show is determining how they’ll get in the door.

You either get a ticket or you don’t. It’s made clear in advance of some shows that you won’t need one.

I bring this up because my favorite band The Babies headlined a clusterfuck of a show Wednesday night at Knitting Factory in Brooklyn. It was a rare booking misstep by a band that has played dozens of local gigs at joints unencumbered by corporate involvement and even the slightest whiff of bullshit.

Billed as a celebration of area “bicycle builders,” I got word of the performance (sponsored by the whiskey-maker Jack Daniels) via the band’s Twitter page on 2-27-13. Fans interested in attending the free show were pointed to the web site “My Social List” to “RSVP.” A few days after expressing my firm intention to attend, I received an e-mail confirmation from L Magazine asking me to “join” them for the show.

Not having seen the band since their record release party and tour opener last November, I was excited as the night approached. I jumped on the train a little after 7 PM Wednesday and arrived in Williamsburg a few minutes before 8 PM. Still a full two hours before The Babies were scheduled to take the stage, a large crowd outside the Knit was lined up as I reached the venue so I had a quick cold one at the bar across the street with the idea it would thin out after the doors opened.

With the sidewalk still full in front of the venue about 8:15 PM, I dashed over to Trash for their special shot/beer combo and returned to the Knit. Signs taped to the door proclaimed the event “sold out” so I went to the box office only to be told the number of accepted RSVP’s had vastly outnumbered capacity. Entry to the show was denied. A genial bouncer forced into the role of diplomat told me overflow attendees could watch the performance from behind a near-soundproof glass partition in the outer bar. The opener Nude Beach was playing at this point. I tried for a few minutes to get in a frame of mind that would accept the limitation of watching a rock show this way but it didn’t work. I thought of good friends adept at the art of the persuasive schmooze and considered going that route but observed others trying that strategy without success.

To be fair, a second e-mail invitation delivered by L Magazine on the day of the gig included the disclaimer that “entry is not guaranteed.”

Also in fairness, Babies publicist Force Field made no advance mention of the gig. The band probably got paid a good guaranteed number and for that I’m happy. But part of what makes The Babies so lovable is the choices they’ve made along their creative expedition and the good will they build with their most loyal followers. Some of those folks were standing on the sidewalk Wednesday night looking in on a crowd lured by free whiskey and a deceptive invitation based on the possibility more people would show up than space would allow.

After stewing outside the Knit for a few minutes with a few dozen others, I gave up in a huff and walked down Metropolitan back to the G. I got home in time to see Carcillo score the game-winner for the Blackhawks.