SHARING THE SHOWS
I was never fully immersed in the punk movement, but I can get into the music when the mood suits me right. I had bought a cassette tape of All Ages, a greatest hits compilation of Bad Religion’s songs when I was in high school, and my angsty teenage self played that tape multiple times, along with albums from other artists like the Ramones and the Sex Pistols. When I saw Bad Religion would be performing at a venue near a Metro stop, I thought, why not? That seems to be a gauge for whether I go to a show these days. I mean, I can enjoy music and relax on my favorite mode of transportation not have to deal with the hassles of traffic and parking. For me, that’s just a no-brainer. I had been running on about four hours sleep due to the intrusive nature of my late-night thoughts, but that’s never stopped me from a show before. One of my favorite things about the Metro is the opportunities to observe human behavior. On this Red Line trip out to Silver Spring, conversations included law school stress from a group of 20somethings and a girl talking about how her female friend had a crush on another friend’s sister, even though said sister was not gay. I also saw some cool costumes, including one of the Joker, a young girl wearing cat ears, another with Playboy bunny ears, and one wearing a blouse made out of the British flag. I arrived at the stop about a half hour before my planned dinner outing with my friend Jason. Silver Spring is a pretty up-and-coming place; I dug the downtown vibe (minus all the chain stores), but it was cool to see a street performer singing R&B, accompanied by skateboards in the pavilion down below. Jason lives there and was able to give me an interesting history of how the town has developed in recent years. Having lived in DC for over thirty years, he’s also filled with knowledge of the history of punk rock in DC, which I love. I never got into Bad Brains, Fugazi, or Minor Threat, but I would have enjoyed seeing their shows in DC back in the 80s at clubs like The Black Cat (I’m hoping the Circle Jerks keep their April date for that show). He informed me of free punk shows at Fort Reno Park, walking distance from me. Even better than Metro! There also used to be a walking tour of DC Hardcore History, and I now have a new book add to my queue: Dance of Days: Two Decades of Punk in the Nation’s Capital. The conversation was even better than the food, and with Pho, that’s saying something: At around 7:40, I was met with a long, long line going around the corner of the Fillmore. One line: “I tore my whole house apart looking for my vaccination card!” Another conversation involved a young woman looking to paint bricks for Bad Religion. The line did move fast, and I was in the hall promptly at 8, and met by a woman screaming. I couldn’t’ quite understand the lyrics, but I loved when the singer yelled, “Fuck white supremacy, fuck the patriarchy!” They’re all about activism, and while I couldn’t hear the words, I loved the vibe. I learned the band was called War on Women, and they’re a “feminist ,co-ed hardcore punk band from Baltimore” as Wikipedia described them. I don’t normally buy CDs, but I was hoping to support them. Sadly, nothing of theirs at the merch table.
There was plenty of gear from the second band, Alkaline Trio, at the table, but I didn’t care. They mostly sounded like a generic early 2000s band, a la Blink 182 or Sum 41. Many in the crowd knew the words to their songs, and for the first time, I felt like a true outsider in the scene. Not saddening, but humbling, and I started to wonder how many times I made people at Phish shows feel like outsiders with my yells of “Wooo!” and “Boy! Man! God! Shit!”. I thought of this clip. I was pretty spent by the time Bad Religion took the stance, but I was determined to last the entire set. I did see people walking out, which made me feel less like the “old guy at the shows filled with post-millennials” and more like “a badass older dude at the shows filled with post-millennials who can’t hang.” Okay, enough peacocking on my end. But I perked up during their set, which included social commentary-infused tunes , such as “No Control,” “I Want to Conquer the World,” “Better Off Dead,” “Do What You Want,” “The Enemy Within,” “Los Angeles is Burning,” and my favorite, “21st-Century Digital Boy,” which I sang along with them. That song was released in 1994; its relevance today has only multiplied (do I contribute to that with my blog?). My enjoyment of people-watching was satiated by all the T-shirts, costumes, and other paraphernalia, which included a Hanson Brothers jersey, skeleton makeup, a Beavis and Butthead T-shirt, and a jacket sporting a pin that read “I Don’t Wanna Be a Pinhead.” I talked to a dude named Jeremy who asked if I was a reporter. I love getting that question because it gives me a certain identity at shows. I told him about the blog, which includes observations; he pointed out a dude nearby looking at the stage with a small telescope. The show ended with “We’re Only Gonna Die (From Our Own Arrogance,” and I felt satisfied as I headed toward Metro with several other concertgoers. I felt like one of the smiling zombies I’ve seen on Misfits T-shirts as I headed home. When I got there, I did my favorite post-show thing: Netflix and Chill. I was out like a light by my third Seinfeld episode. Happy Halloween!
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My first exposure to the Velvet Underground came when I heard Phish play “Rock and Roll” for the big Y2K extravaganza at Big Cypress. I then heard them bust out other tunes like “Sweet Jane” and “Sunday Morning” which I heard with Drew/Brometheus when they played it for the Baker’s Dozen. The theme that night: Velvet (i.e., red velvet donuts). As I thought of that, I devised a joke. If I bought something with velvet, and buried it underground, would I have “velvet underground?” I LOVE those lame puns!
At any rate, I love rockumentaries, as indicated by my last post, so when I saw a movie being released on the Velvet Underground, I figured, why not? I prepared by listening to their self-titled debut (as indicated by the banana up top), and kinda dug their psychedelic vibe that was indicative of the late 60s/early 70s. The interview with Sterling Morrison indicated that he was one of the main facilitators behind the sound of one note extending for several beats, which was a feature of psychedelic rock (hear the extended G on Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man” for an example). After a morning conversing with fellow aces and aros at a Meetup and a short hike at Rock Creek Park, I returned to E Street Cinema and was, once again, delighted to find mostly solo theatergoers, along with two couples in the theater. This is my element. I didn’t know much about the Velvet Underground, but I learned they were managed by avant-garde artist Andy Warhol (who I’ll always associate with Crispin Glover’s portrayal of him in The Doors) and were intertwined with his films that often utilized their music. We were treated to a bunch of shots of 1970s New York City, which always has character for me, along with some of their performances, most notably at the Boston Tea Party (I would have loved to hit a show there back in the day).. I learned some other interesting things about the artists, such as Lou Reed growing up in the suburban landscape of Freeport, Long Island, him breaking his hand before a performance and being told by a manager to play anyway because his guitar would sound “just as shitty” as with a functioning hand. They also hated that “flower power garbage” that came from the 60s hippies. “Handing out a flower’s not gonna stop some bozo that wants to shoot you,” is what one band member said. During the film, I got to hear some of the songs I’d been prepping with: “Run Run Run,” “Heroin,” “Rock and Roll,” “Sweet Jane,” “Sunday Morning” (which was in my head as I woke up this morning), and many others. The movie closed with Lou Reed giving an acoustic performance. All in all, I wouldn’t go out of my way to see a Velvet Underground tribute or spend money on them, but I gained a newfound appreciation and respect for their artistry or musicianship. Tom Petty, Somewhere You Feel Free - Landmark E Street Cinema - Washington, DC - October 21, 202110/22/2021 My weeknight routine usually consists of me eating dinner, watching TV, and reading, so I like the occasional break in it. I was stoked to see Somewhere You Feel Free. I always liked and respected Tom Petty, but was never a diehard. My first exposure to him was when he released his hit, “You Don’t Know How It Feels,” back in 1994. I was a sixteen-year-old metalhead; my gods were Megadeth, Iron Maiden, and White Zombie, and judging from that song, Tom Petty fell into the “wuss rock” category for me. Of course, I gained a little respect when I heard the rocking “You Wreck Me.” Over the years, as I became exposed, I started to like him, and I witnessed Widespread Panic perform some kickass covers of “You Wreck Me” and “Honey Bee.” I got off at the Metro Center stop to try a pizza place called &pizza. As a New Yorker, I wasn’t expecting tip-top pizza, but I was disappointed. All crust, very little cheese and sauce, and what kind of pizzeria doesn’t sell diet soda? And why wouldn’t they have plasticware? Surely, when one orders a grilled chicken pizza, those chunks of chicken will fall, right? And the patron will want to scoop them up with a fork, or barring that, a spoon? Anyway, I’m glad I tried it, but not my cup of tea. I walked into the theater, and even though I’m a teetotaler, I was pretty impressed by the bottles of wine and champagne they had displayed at the concession stand. The showings were of independent films and sported titles by quirky filmmakers like Wes Anderson and Paul Thomas Anderson (who, as far as I know, aren’t related by blood).
I found a spot in the back of the empty theater, and I was elated to see mostly solo theatergoers. A few couples, one pair of apparently platonic friends, but mostly solo flyers, many of whom were reading something other than a phone screen. During that waiting period, I broke out Robert Boice’s Advice for New Faculty Members, a how-to guide for new professors trying to manage the trifecta of teaching, research, and service. Even though I’m relatively seasoned, I can still benefit from the advice. When the lights went down, we were met by a birthday tribute to Tom Petty from his fans, as well as Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder, set to a tear-inducing “Wildflowers.” I had heard that song many times before, but this was the first time my eyes ever got misty from it. The film is a documentary that revolved around the conception and production of his 1994 Wildflowers album, which spawned “You Don’t Know How It Feels.” It was compiled of found footage, which was edited in black-and-white (most films that go with B/W go up on the “hip” scale from me). I learned that it was symbolic of a transitional period Petty was going through. He wanted to break off from his Heartbreakers, at least for that album, so he could stretch himself artistically. He was also going through a divorce; his daughter Adria cited “Time to Move On” and “To Find a Friend” as having been inspired by his disenchantment in his marriage. Rick Rubin, his producer (as well as cofounder of Def Jam Recordings), showed up frequently to talk about the album and his friendship with Petty. The artist described Rubin as “not having a musical bone” in his body, but he loved music anyway, which has spurred a great career for him. A very interesting dude. We also got to see footage of Petty’s concert performances, which included “You Don’t Know How It Feels,” “Refugee,” and the little-known “Girl on LSD,” a cautionary tale that plays like an upbeat ditty. Speaking of which, we also saw part of an alternate version of “I Won’t Back Down” that sounded like a nursery rhyme. I love movies, especially movies about rock music. I viewed a Petty performance in preparation for the film, and I do regret never having seen Petty live. But…I’ve seen all these other groups, so I suppose that cancels it out. But I’m glad to have gotten a deeper look into an album I had only listened to while driving in rural areas. It’s complex and appears to have left behind a legacy that is still appreciated and loved. All in all, a great cinematic experience. Next time I go to that theater, though, I think I’ll try Harry’s for the preshow eats. Before we start, I just have to show this picture of my cat/son Chester trying to manipulate me into staying home. I know cats have servants, and he usually does call the shots, but if he thinks he can keep me from going to a concert, he’s sorely mistaken. So, it was show time again. I had heard of Perpetual Groove before, but hadn’t listened to much of their music before I got tickets to their show. I saw the announcement back in June, before all these bands started announcing shows in DC. I was jonesing for some music, so I just slapped the $25 down for the ticket. Upon listening to their music, I wondered if I made the right decision. It was okay, but didn’t really blow me away. But, I had already paid the money, and at the very least, it was an evening out and a writing opportunity. On the ride down, I saw a bunch of people getting off at the Gallery Place stop to see the Capitals play. I harkened back to when my good friend Ellen and I saw the Caps take on the Devils back in 2014, when I met up with her for the Society of Neuroscience Conference. I headed to the Waterfront for dinner, and I’d heard great reviews of Hank’s Oyster Bar. Sadly, the line to get in was crazy, and I was too famished to deal with a line to (more than likely) get a seat at the bar. So I settled for MI VIDA, a chic Mexican restaurant. I grabbed a seat at the bar, and the bartender/waiter, Arturo, introduced himself and shook my hand. I started out with that tried and true appetizer, chips and guac, and then chowed down on some Enchiladas Suizas. The sauce was a bit tart for my liking, but I still enjoyed. And an enjoyable exchange between me and a gentleman, who asked, “Wait, you’re leaving!?” “Oh, I’m just getting warmed up. Concert right down the street,” I said. “Right on,” he said, as we fist-bumped. I missed that type of interaction during lockdown. From there, I saw a stand advertising Smores. I had seen it a few times before, but this time, I thought I’d try it. I paid $3.50 to have a dude hand me a paper bag with graham crackers, a marshmallow, two pieces of a Hershey chocolate bar, and a stick. The fire pit was nearby. It was actually pretty cool to toast a marshmallow (hadn’t done that since college), but overall, not worth $3.50; for that price, I’d like my Smore to be already done. Still, worth a try. I got into the venue at about 10 to 8, and there was another solo traveler, along with two (apparent) couples. I ordered a club soda and lime, hung out by the bar, and wrote in my notepad, which is always a nice conversation-starter. I was met by two younger dudes, one of whom complimented my Grateful Dead shirt. We talked music for a bit, and they introduced themselves as Justin and Jim (the latter of whom hugged me during the set; conclusion: ecstasy). Jim recommended a group called Consider the Source, a jazz trio. I’m always up for new music, so thanks, dude!
As the band started playing, I immediately recognized my original thoughts about them weren’t accurate. I found myself really getting into their trancey style of playing, and the second song had me completely connected spiritually (sadly, there is no setlist available online, and I didn’t think to ask anybody what it was called). This brings me back to 10/11/20, when I totaled my car coming out of the Yonder Mountain String Band show. Since then, I’ve had some hesitancy about driving, but as a therapeutic exercise, I drove back to the exact spot where I had the accident, and without going into too much detail, I found that while legally I was “at fault,” I may not have been completely responsible for what happened. That being said, it felt good doing that, and during the song, I concluded that I’m a f****ing WARRIOR for doing that. And for other things, but I won’t brag too much here. During setbreak, I took a walk around the Waterfront, and the music was great. The only songs by the group I know by sound are “Teakwood Betz” and “Walking in Place” the former of which is my favorite. Those songs opened and closed the second set, respectively. During that same set, the band surprised us with the Beastie Boys’s “Paul Revere,” and they encored with Rage Against the Machine’s “Bulls on Parade,” which had me simultaneously banging my head and trying to avoid the tall guy jumping all over the place in anticipation that he might crash into any one of us. The show ended at around 10:45 (the introvert in me LOVES when shows end early, because I NEED that alone time after the show like people need air), and I winded down on the Metro ride home. I was feeling like some pizza after the show, but didn’t want to pay those outrageous DoorDash fees. Luckily for me, the Giant Food me near me closes at midnight, and I got to my Metro stop, which is right next to it, at 11:45. So I picked up a personal DiGiorno’s pie and some brie (thank you, Emily, for having it at your place last week, which has set me off on a brie spree). I enjoyed my munchies as I alternated watching Dear White People (a perfect show for our time) and Saved by the Bell (a show from a completely different time, and the jokes and portrayals of the characters indicate that, yet, for some reason, I just can’t stop watching, much like a car wreck). I’m glad to have been proven wrong about Perpetual Groove. I’ll definitely see them again if they come to town. It’s been too long since I’ve had one of these ticket stubs, thanks to eTickets, but I remember having a bulletin board full of these; this one will find a good home somewhere in my archives. It’s also been too long since I’ve been to a large indoor show (Silversun Pickups 3/5/20, just before the pandemic). But after a week of work-related stress (enhanced by COVID), I was looking forward to getting my groove on. After getting in my show gear, I hopped my favorite mode of transport down to the Waterfront and decided to avoid the waterfront dining crowd by going to Masala Art, an Indian restaurant near the Metro stop. Once inside, a gentleman commented on my shirt and before I knew it, we were talking music. I sat a small table across from him, and we conversed as we ate. He introduced himself as Pete. Retired, he goes to a lot of shows, shows I could never get to with my work; I want that life someday. We decided to head to the show, and I just can’t rave enough about those beautiful waterfront views. We had to present our vax cards to a kiosk around the corner of the venue in order to get a wristband, and then we were inside. Pete hooked me up with this membership to a club called Friends with Benefits, which gives you points every time you scan your ticket, which you can use toward a discount on a ticket (sorta like a supermarket card). You can also get a free cupcake if you go to a show during your birthday month. I can get on board with that. We staked out a spot toward the back, near the tapers. I prefer the back in larger general admission venues, as there’s generally more room to dance. The show was supposed to start at 8, but true to form, they began at 8:25 (IMHO, during COVID, bands should really try to begin as close to the scheduled time as possible so fans aren’t packed in for longer than they should be, especially tonight, as the place was full). Jon Fishman sat in on drums due to Russ Lawton being out with COVID, and there was no horn section due to trumpeter Jen Hartswick suffering from the same affliction. So it was essentially a Phish show. The band opened up with “Sand,” during which I was spinning. Over a month without live music will build all kinds of excess energy that leads to that very thing. I did the same thing during “The Moma Dance” and “Set Your Soul Free.” The band slowed with “Quantegy” and “About to Run,” two Trey tunes. “Carini,” a true rocker, closed the set.
During setbreak, I started chatting with a dude named Stephen, a local realtor, and I mentioned I was new to the area and might be looking to property in the next couple of years. Of course, I gave him my business card. “Everything’s Right” opened the second set; that one always gets my legs in gear. “Death Don’t Hurt Very Long,” “Farmhouse,” and “No Men in No Man’s Land” are tunes I’m neutral about, but they still played them well. “Blaze On,” always welcome, closed the set. “Wolfman’s Brother” made for a rocking encore and I sang “A Life Beyond the Dream” as Pete and I walked back toward the Metro and were met by a screaming group of drunk 20something young women. Ahhhh, DC nightlife. I found myself nodding off on the Metro ride home, but Pete inspired me to finally give in and order a ticket for Yonder Mountain String Band next month. I have some superstitions about them, which I’ll get into when I blog about that show, but this was one of the best nights I’d had in a long time. Good eats, great tunes, and two new friends. I got home at about 1, grabbed some munchies, turned on Seinfeld on Netflix (that good ol’ show about nothing) and drifted while I slept. I’d be getting up early for the Women’s March the next day, so whatever I’d do, I’d need to take care of my feet. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
April 2024
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