Last year, I presented my resolutions for the Twin Cities nightlife scene-- i.e. my recommendations for ways to make the scene better in 2009. Did anyone listen to me? Let's take a look back and find out.

Did they listen? Yes. Oversized nightclubs met their maker in 2009, when several closed and none opened. Myth, the 4,400-capacity megaclub in Maplewood, was the largest casualty. Two clubs with identity issues -- Trocaderos and Visage -- also shut down. With the Twins ballpark coming, there are rumors of new superclubs on the horizon. My suggestion: Don't bet on big.

Did they listen? Half-heartedly. Owner Peter Hafiz told me he would finish remodeling the iconic gay club by the end of 2009. That didn't happen. While he did give one of the rooms (the Happy Hour Bar) a gorgeous facelift, the rest of the place is still waiting.

Did they listen? Barely. The homogeneous sound of Top 40 radio still rules the club scene. It's what the masses want, so it's hard to blame the clubs for giving in. I had hoped that mainstream clubs would take a chance on DJs such as Soviet Panda, Attitude City and the Moon Goons.

Did they listen? Yes! After the Bulldog in 2008, Barrio's opening this summer solidified Lowertown's status as a nightlife hotbed. And there's more to come: Cities 97 radio personality Brian (B.T.) Turner is still planning his downtown music venue, and Bin Wine Bar will open soon.

Did they listen? Yes. Bars such as the Muddy Pig and the Happy Gnome continued their campaign for good brews by promoting festivals, dinners and release parties. Boutique beer also pushed its way into unlikely places, such as ethnic eateries (Ngon Vietnamese Bistro) and the suburbs (Three Squares in Maple Grove).

Did they listen? Yes and no. La Belle Vie bartender Johnny Michaels is the Twin Cities' best cocktail maker, leading the charge for local mixology. The niche scene got a big boost in 2009 from Bradstreet. While the excitement seems to have tapered off there, every new bar or restaurant is promoting some form of a "beverage program." They get an "A" for effort, but many get an "F" for faking it.

When the Dave Matthews Band can't save your festival, then you know it's time put away the guitars and Frisbees. The 10,000 Lakes Festival, a multi-day staple for rock fans for the past seven Julys in Detroit Lakes, Minn., is taking a hiatus in 2010.

"I've been deciding this for a while," said founder Randy Levy, a longtime Minneapolis promoter. "It was an artistic triumph but the show doesn't pay for itself."

The $4 million, 50-band festival drew about 15,000 to see Matthews on July 25, Levy said, but fewer people attended on the other nights headlined by Wilco and Widespread Panic.

Although 10,000 Lakes "survived financially" from 2005-2007, Levy said during the past two years his Upper Midwest event was affected by the economy as well as competition from similar but bigger festivals in Michigan (Rothbury) and Colorado (Mile High).

"Those festivals were not [financially] successful this year, either," said Levy, who also promotes We Fest, the Warped Tour and Soundset. "With the economy, people travel less. It was tough for the festival business. But the lower-priced festivals like Warped and Soundset totally worked this year."

Like a lot of Twin Cities rock fans, I first saw Vic Chesnutt as an opening act for Bob Mould in the late '80s and early '90s. Those first few times, I have to admit: Vic scared me. I was too young and too vanilla to get the ocean-deep context and river-rapid outpouring of symbolism and poetry in his songs. Of course, as I grew up and his albums got better (or more sonically accessible), it became clear he was one of the tenderest and rawest songwriters of our era. While he put out a lot of terrific albums -- "Silver Lake," "Is the Actor Happy?" and last year's "North Star Deserter" are among his best -- they were no match for seeing him live. His November show at the Cedar Cultural Center featured an intoxicating wall of sound, with three guitars, cello and organ parts that would suddenly build in volume and then just as quickly crumble into Vic's softer solo sound. He seemed in good spirits and joked about flying into town with a bunch of flu-frightened passengers in surgical masks. His only defense against the virus, he said, was to give himself a pep talk: "Come on, little white blood cells, kick their ass." R.I.P., Vic.