I decide that Pabst Blue Ribbon is 30% flannel the moment the inebriateted female on my right collides into me. It’s 8:30 PM, and this blonde (though perhaps unnaturally), 20-somethingish woman dances around in a 10 foot circle. The show hasn’t even begun, but here she is, flailing around as some mix tape the sound guy made plays over the master speakers. Wait, I know this one. Are you shitting me? That’s Pavement. She’s dancing like that to Pavement? That’s gotta be like trying to build a treehouse to The Smiths. I mean, maybe it’s just me, but lyrics like “Well focus on the quasar in the mist / the kaiser has a cyst” don’t really evoke uncontrollable gyration. Get a grip, woman. Actually, revise the last sentence. She just stole her boyfriend’s beer, emptying the contents into her unfavorable bouche.. That makes four adult beverages in the ten minutes she’s been bothering me. I’m not a betting man, but if I weren’t me, I’d say that her liver will probably murder her by the time Cursive takes the stage. That gives her two opening acts to live. Oh me. It’s not her, it’s the alcohol.
The drunken she is gone. I think she’s somewhere in the back, or maybe in the bathroom. The intoxicated tend to get pushed around pretty easily at concerts, especially ones as packed as this. Sobriety equals controlled force! The first opener was a local band. The guitarist/singer and the drummer were both pretty solid, but there were two keyboard players, one of whom was one of those skinnny, self-righteous,vegan type kids. He bobbed his head off-tempo and slapped the keys like they slept with his best friend, who, aptly enough, appeared to be the other keyboardist. I’d replace him with a bass. The Love Language showed up next. I’ve got their LP. It has a pretty lo-fi aesthetic, which translates well in small concert venues. There are seven people in the band, two women and five men. I’m not proud enough to deny trying to pick out which band members are or have been in relationships with each other. They played enthusiasically, but the rhythym guitarist kept chewing on his pick and I was afraid he’d swallow it. The drummer knew his stuff, though. He practiced. The singer sang expectedly, and ven though he had really long hair blocking his face, he positioned his microphone uncomfortably high, so every time he looked up to sing it appeared as though he were emerging from a dark forest. I think it was deliberate. It’s really packed now, and I smell mountains of PBR and flannel. If only facial hair were hollow. That’d be the perfect hipster straw. The set-up crew is tuning everything up, but no recognizible member of the band has come onto the stage hitherto. I’m in the front, a little house-left, stage-right.
That’s fucking Tim Kasher, the guy next to me explains. I know, but I don’t tell him I know. He seems to find pleasure in letting me know. Tim Kasher is Cursive’s singer/guitarist and the only permanent member in the band, and I’m surprised by how affecting his lyrics are in a live setting. We all know art is hard, especially when the artistic medium is routinely stabbed and beaten by whining men in eyeliner, but Cursive’s a welcome throwback. His is emo with the whole emotion part inherent. I’m getting punched in the kidney by some incessant asshole who want to touch Tim, but I’ve got one foot propped up on the corner of the two foot high stage, so there’s no way in hell this kid is getting near him. The crowd undulates like a single entity. Back and forth. During one of the songs, the bassist spits straight up into the air and catches the descending round in his mouth. This cat has cojones. Encore, two more. I like those songs, but I can’t find the energy to show it. I’m still up front, wading through discarded cans and spilled PBR. If you passed out and fell to the ground, you’d get drunk all over again. That won’t work, though. I’m waiting for the songs to end. Last chord…reverb and distortion and feedback. Lights go on. I’m exhausted, but I wait in line afterwards to shake Tim’s hand. I can tell by the grip and the eyelids that he’s trying to fix the art.
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