SHARING THE SHOWS
So after we got off the boat, we checked into a hotel for the night. My brother and Mom would head back to New York, while I would spend another week bopping through the Pacific Northwest. And, true to form, there was a concert tonight I wanted to hit.
I took a time machine back to the 90s to see Candlebox, and this was the first time in about a year I’d hit a show solo on purpose. I dig doing that. I wasn’t a HUGE fan of theirs back in the day, but I thought it would be cool to see them in Seattle, the birthplace of grunge, which provided about 90% of the soundtrack to my angsty adolescence. I also remember working in Blockbuster Video in the late 90s (pre-Huluflix days) and having to be subjected to a continuous video loop in which the company advertised specials, etc. But occasionally, they would play music videos. Shania Twain showed up, as did Leann Rimes. And I remember “Far Behind” being on the soundtrack (don’t ask me how). After navigating the Seattle bus system (pretty easy with the Map app), I headed to the Paramount Theater. It was the easiest entry ever; they didn’t search me. All I had to do was present my ticket. Getting to my seat was more of a challenge; the sections weren’t labeled. I had to talk to two different people to actually find my section, but I made it. As I used my phone as a flashlight to find my row, somebody pointed to the letter. No offense to my Phish tribe, but most of these phans are too drugged-out or drunked-out to notice these things. The first baud up was called Sweetwater, a rock band from 90s Seattle. It would make sense the lead singer had that “smoker voice” a la Kurt Cobain (and I use that term with great affection), and that one of the songs had the same rhythm as Hole’s “Violet.” Before the last song, the singer asked if anybody wanted to hear “Free Bird” in anticipation of that one drunk guy who always leads that chorus. After that set, I went to the line to get water. One of the cool things about hitting a show solo is that it forces me to pay super close attention to the details. Like the conversation going on between the two dudes behind me. One was talking about how their friend is constantly trying to “one-up” him in conversation. I remember having those friends; they’re no longer around. I felt like giving my experience with that, but he’s gotta find his own path. Next step: Green Apple Quick Step (pun intended). They were mostly a blip in my mind; I may have seen them on MTV back when they played music videos. But hearing them this time, I can’t tell what it was I liked about them, but I dug it. I think it just gave me that grungy “90s” feel I hadn’t really heard in a long time. So I went down to Merch to support them and Sweetwater by buying their CDs. As I walked down, I was happy about the fact that the eTicket was the only option for purchase. I typically prefer paper because one never knows with technology, but it’s nice not to have to keep track of my ticket. And the highlight of the night: being met with only cassette tapes of Green Apple Quick Step. I dig the novelty aspect of it, but I only spend my money on practical things. I mean, I haven’t had a tape player in my car since 2001, when I 86ed it in favor of a CD player. But Sweetwater’s upgraded. Now: Candlebox. Before they went in, the band opted to put snippets of a bunch of different songs on the loudspeaker, I’m guessing, to fuck with the stoners in the audience. I’m going, what the fuck? Anyway, they played their 1993 debut album. They played the ones I knew from the radio, like “Far Behind” (this one had a 10-minute jam worthy of the Dead), “Cover Me,” and “You.” Kevin Martin’s screams evoked memories of the flannel shirts I sported from 1994 through 1995, and his claim that “No Sense” was written under the influence of mushrooms brought My So-Called Life to mind for some odd reason. They encored with Jane’s Addiction “Mountain Song,” another regular on X107, the hard rock station that filled the speakers of my rusty 1982 Toyota Corolla as it drove to and from school, work, and the Spring Valley Marketplace and the piers of Nyack, NY (where my social group and I spent most of our time). As we exited the theater, Chris Cornell’s “Seasons” filled the auditorium. I first remember hearing this on the Singles Soundtrack, my first association with Seattle. God bless his spirit. It’s interesting how we look upon certain times with rose-colored glasses. While I would never go back to adolescence, the music provides a fun illusion of its idealism.
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May 2024
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