I hope you've all slept off your respective Halloween hangovers. I know I have. If by "slept off" I mean MOVED. TODAY. Like moving doesn't suck enough.
But let's just say I had a Halloween blast. Which is rare, and also ironic, because I HATE HALLOWEEN. That's right. I said it. But, suffice it to say, Halloween: 21; Meg: 0. I always say I'm not going to do anything for Halloween because it is just a dangerous, awkward waste of time, an appalling capitalist mechanism, etc, etc, etc-- but I always go.
But, it all started on the actual night of Halloween, when I was meeting my folks for a very low-key, very Mexican, very anti-Halloween dinner. But, as I was getting in my car, it dawned on me that this is the first year that I have not heard "The Monster Mash!" Anywhere! At all! Its hard to admit, but as a lifelong Midwesterner, I felt a secret pang of guilt for my blatant ignoring of our collective favorite nod to the occult. For some reason, this year I went off-the-rails crazy Halloween-Scrooge to a level that even I have not yet reached. So maybe I did hear it and just repressed it. But I don't think so. So anyway, I get to Mi Ranchito, and then there is this bartender (who, I regret to say, knows me and everyone in my family by name) dressed like Charlie Brown who pours me a shot on the house, a "Dirty Girl Scout" (hey-oh), and after that, I was a lot more in the Halloween spirit (and couldn't stop saying "hey-oh!" for some reason). And then, at one point, I realize I'm texting everyone I know asking what they are doing tonight, and although I was recovering from a cold, some Halloween miracle stipulated that the duration of my moonlight as Nastycough McSleepsallday was over (or something to that effect).
I wanted to see some music. So, one perpetually-grouchy doorman and a $7 cover charge later, I found myself at the Covert Operations show at Papa Pete's. After nearly an hour of watery drinks and almost-crunchy jams, I found my faith in Halloween yet unrestored.
Usually, I probably would have just settled for the usual drunken stumble around the student ghetto as a vacuous legionnaire of a pathetic college alcoholiday. But, I was in the jam band spirit. You see, I had gone to:
DISCO BISCUITS AT STATE THEATRE 10/28 (did you like what I did there? Segway into a heading?)
Ok, you're right, it's one of my cardinal Blog Rules of Thumb* that I don't write about shows I see not-sober. So I'm not going to go on and on about this vibe and this mechanical flawlessness and this meticulous execution and whatever else I talk about in this strange forum I've vainly and inexplicably created.
--I digress; the show. Um-- I haven't seen a jam band since Rothbury. And that was Umphrey's McGee, just after the Dead, backlit by an amazing display of 4th of July fireworks (and accompanied by a legit, widely-reported UFO sighting**). So, I wasn't trying to compare it to that.
Regardless, it was incredible-- 2 sets and over three hours of insatiable jams, a combo of electro/trance and straight-up rock.
Although at one point, the cops-- real, live, legit COPS; lots of them-- showed up and it got... not necessarily scary but real awkward.
But anyway. Before any "hippie" accusations are made, let me just say-- I have never purchased a recording of a jam I was at to listen to later; I NEVER LISTEN TO ANY RECORDED JAM. I am live-only with jam, as I am with jazz. I think listening to recorded jam, jazz and a few couple other things is kind of like watching Jurassic Park on mute: not quite worth what's lost in translation. So I just won't do it. But I looooove, love going to a good jam show.
This was the second time I've seen Biscoes; the first time was on the very first night of Rothbury. And, believe it, they wailed. Of course, in that context, they were completely in their element; jam and festies go together like peas 'n' carrots. And though it was certainly no Rothbury-- no half-a-million hippies, no men in skirts, no $9 beers (close, though) and no filthy porta-potties either-- the psychedelic lighting scheme, grotesque statues and general craziness of K-zoo's State Theatre definitely make a great backdrop for a jam band. I had a KILLER time and so did everyone I saw who didn't get dragged out by cops. (special "good luck" shoutouts go to the guy I nicknamed Hunter S. Thompson, hotdog suit guy, and white-jacket-and-no shirt-guy; don't drop the soap.)
WOAH! Speaking of my fellow stage-rushers, GUESS WHO I RAN INTO?
ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!
You might remember Angel from Rootstand at Bell's sometime last month! HE WAS THERE! Equal parts flamboyant, fabulous, shirtless and sweaty. Angel, if you're reading this-- you are my favorite fixture in the Kalamazoo music scene, officially. (Sorry, Rock and the Hive-- second place will have to do. Even though I lost a chunk of my left "index" toe at your last show. Oh, read on!)
HOUSE SHOW MONDAY 10/26
Ask "who parties on a Monday?" in the student ghetto and the answer will be a resounding "We do! Fuck class tomorrow-- fuck my future! Let's get wasted and watch music!"
Yeah, boi! I love this town. (Or, this part of town.)
Soooo... there I was, in a dark, extremely crowded basement, trying desperately to not think of Great White. I don't remember who the first band was, but I don't think they were good. So, anyway, the Rock and the Hive played-- awesome-- and the requisite crowd-at-a-show chaos commenced; at one point, it vaguely occurred to me that my toe hurt; after TRATH, we were heading upstairs, and I notice my foot feels sticky. I assume someone spilled beer on it-- which they may have-- but as we come into the light, I realize my left foot is completely covered in blood. I'm spare you the (literally) gory details, but a small chunk of the tip of my toe is literally gone as we speak. Sorry, Girls Whose House That Was; I'm hoping you didn't go downstairs to clean up after the show and find a floor covered in blood; that would have been unsettling.
Sorry for the gross toe story. I'm just saying. A good show is sometimes worth losing a piece of one of your appendages. I'm also saying, unless you are ABSOLUTELY SURE you are NOT going to a show later, don't wear sandals, even if it is unseasonably warm.
So... where do we go from here?
Oh!
The best part of that show! KOJI!!!
So, I walk into the house, and my friend introduces me to a soft-spoken Asian kid with glasses; fast-forward three hours later: I'm watching this kid; he is standing on a barstool in the middle of a crowd playing songs, singing his heart out. This was a good "expect the unexpected" moment in my life. I'm not entirely sure why he chose this particular way to exhibit his (amazing) musical talents, or even if it was entirely by choice (word on the street was there was some sort of gear malfunction). Because of this, I'm not really sure what form his music "usually" takes, but I would be fine if it sounded just like it sounded in that crowded living room: literally, completely organic acoustic-and-voice-only emo (hate that word!!! ugh). But, I tried to find some of his music so I could get a link to you guys and I can't find right anything now; I will let you know ASAP when I get a hold of something.
Ah. Those those were the Halloween-week festivities! It's over!!! In related news; they're starting to put up Christmas decorations at Macy's! (just kidding, but seriously, they probably are).
*1.) any recorded album gets no fewer than 5 listens before a review 2.) never review a show when you are drunk; you will take shitty notes 3.) keep it as real as possible and always maintain your swagger. 4.) no excuses, play like a champion
** this is true, documented and literally had nothing to do with psychedelics. (not sarcastic).
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment