Once upon a time, I worked at summer camp, and while working at this summer camp, I wore a decrepit pair of moccasins that were probably never intended to be worn outside. I liked them despite their impracticality and wore them on the walk to the waterfront every day. Inevitably, a huge hole appeared in the right and shortly after, the left. The day the first hole materialized, another counselor named Bret, undeniably the biggest tool I have ever met in my life, suddenly surprised me with a moment of profound sincerity. As I raised my defeated shoe in mourning, he rested his hand on my shoulder and looked at me.
"All good things must come to an end, man," he said.
While I never wish to see Bret again, his corny pseudo-philosophical instance of empathy has stayed with me to this day. I still have the moccasins somewhere. They're wearable, but remain embalmed in a kind of stasis, preserved in a bubble of fond memories. To take them out again would be a violation of their retirement, a breach of the unwritten code of old shoes. Extracting any more use from them would only result in their needless destruction. It's best to leave them in a nice dry spot, out of view, simply for the thrill of discovering them years later. I remember these shoes. I had a lot of fun in these shoes.
All good things must come to an end.
Walking into The Union, I felt like Keanu Reeves after waking up from the Matrix. Dripping umbilical fluid across the black and white floor, all my friends were there and I felt really good about that night. Drinking some beers with the boys. Everything was great.
Busy Busy, a noisy, mostly instrumental band made up of a bunch of my good buddies, started off the music with a short but ear-splitting performance. Forgoing their usual sprawling sound for a tighter, more concise set, they sounded great and I couldn't stop smiling. They'll hopefully be playing the odd show now and then, so be sure to catch them if you get the chance.
After that, I went across the street and ate my first chicken waffle. While it was certainly unlike anything I've ever eaten before, I can't say I enjoyed it the whole way through. The bizarre honey mustard/maple syrup sauce they drench those things in kept me coming back for more, but when it was all over, I immediately regretted touching my lips to that evil nectar. It felt like I just eaten a brick of fiberglass insulation. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to vomit and the beer didn't help much, either. In spite of this, both
Slut Castle and Night Stalker were great. They are both relatively new local bands you'll probably see a lot of this year. There was an older lady wearing a pink cowboy hat who was really loving it. She would dance nonstop around the bar, get another drink and be back on the floor, ass shaking and waving her hands in the air.
When
Method Air finally went on, everyone was ecstatic. I felt so proud seeing Sam and Danny up there. We all became good friends over the summer and they have remained one of my favorite bands, period. They opened with a new song, “Noise Violation,” which was inspired by the fun-hating, party-ruining, cop-calling lady who lives up the street from us. I looked around and the crowd was an ocean of smiles. Instant magic. Ripping into a
Guided by Voices cover, Sam played his guitar and sang with the care and finesse of a father quieting a crying baby. When Shower Beers' Jon Gordon joined the band on stage for a rendition of the
Smashing Pumpkins' “Starla,” IT happened.
IT is when everyone is perfectly in tune with the music, when the separation between audience and performer completely disappears. IT is when every component of the experience becomes important, which is a fragile thing, but there comes a realization that everything is perfect--a visceral connection with the music and the people around you. Each person in the room becomes essential to the moment and everything falls into place. My face started to hurt and I realized I had been smiling like a fucking goofball from the second they took the stage.
They finished the song and the crowd immediately screamed, "ENCORE!" Sam looked like such a rock star as he strummed the opening to “Election Day.” “Every morning I forget the night before / Emptiness is swept up off the kitchen floor,” he sang. Everyone joined in. “What's the deal with everyone? / Why do they look that way?” To see my friends up there, playing music that means so much to them surrounded by people with unwavering love and support for their art, suddenly brought from me such a tide of emotion that I felt like crying. This is IT, I thought. This is fucking IT. Sam wailed on his guitar until his face was red, Grant's hat flew off, and when the song ended everyone screamed and cheered and hugged. It was the most beautiful thing I've seen in a very long time. I left the bar last night in a strange euphoria, intoxicated by the energy of the show and my friends around me, feeling like anything is possible with a clear head and a chicken waffle bubbling in my tortured stomach.
