On the recommendation of a friend, based solely on the weight of his musical taste and a few youtube videos, I accompanied said friend to a concert-ish event last night.
Concert-ish definition: music was played, people listened. The vibe was more street corner performance art, with mandatory donations to the guitar case or hat. (Not that I have anything against street corner art; I love it, done right.) It didn’t have a lot of energy, which is one of the first things I think of when I think ‘concert.’*
The first act was just odd. The bongo drum/bells/banana player had lost her voice, the singer asked perfunctory questions of the audience with limited response (except for flirting from a wasted guy who turned out to be half of the next act), and the songs were about such things as roadkill, house meetings of hippie communal houses, Kurt Cobain killing himself, and muttonchops. A few lines were good for a laugh, but it wasn’t something I’d listen to again. As was stated, “It’s one of those things that would be cool if it were your next-door neighbor, or your daughters’ dance teacher or something, but . . .” Intermission #1.
The second act had minor potential, which lasted about 2 minutes. Potential is all it will ever have unless the aforementioned wasted half of the brother/sister combo can A) get over his overinflated opinion of himself and 2) stay at least sober enough to see straight long enough to play a set. Plus the sibling bickering wasn’t really funny, more just awkward.
Intermission #2. It took Birdlips (yes, this is the headliner band I went to see) a while to get everything set up. People milled about, went out for drinks and brought them back in, ate the free watermelon, enjoyed the artwork, freaked out over random spiders; normal concert-ish activities. I had time to ponder my life choices. Why media? Why Wisconsin? Why red-and-black color theme in my living room? Why did I choose to come to Madison to see a band completely audio-unheard, based on the opinion of one of my least-sane friends?
When they started playing, all my faith was restored (in the concert choice and friend’s taste. The Wisconsin thing not so much). They weren’t just good to listen to, they were enjoyable to watch. Sadly, their set was even shorter than the first 2 (or did the others just feel like a half-eternity?) but it was completely worth the price of admission.
My lesson learned: Life’s better when at least some of the small things are crapshoots.
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*Along with thoughts like ’awesome’ and ‘potential for way too many strangers to be touching me . . .’
grassrootsmovement
Posted by dale on Sunday, 2 August, 09 at 14:53
it makes me unspeakably happy to qualify as one of your least-sane friends. also, that your faith in my taste was restored.