Growing Up

This post, resurrecting the blog from death, is more of a response to this blog post by Patrick Stump than anything else, but if it's what brings the blog back, then it seems fitting.

Dear Patrick,

I've never written to a musician before, and I guess I'm not actually now. Hunting down an email address seems like too much of an invasion of privacy, even now when people's lives are spread across the internet for everyone to see. But your blog post struck me in a couple of important ways, and I thought you should hear from the other side.

Take This to Your Grave, From Under the Cork Tree, and Infinity on High hold important places in my musical collection. They mark specific points in my life, specific feelings. It's as though each of those albums can instantly bring me back to being sixteen, or driving too fast down the highway the summer after high school, or just wanting to scream my freshman year of college.

There's a sense of nostalgia that goes with those feelings, because I'm not sixteen anymore, and because I don't feel that way anymore. I'm nominally an adult now, with a college degree and bills to pay and a nine-to-five that makes sure I can pay my rent and eat more than ramen. I'm not that angry teenager who listened to those albums, and there's a weird pang of loss that goes with that. No matter how bad I felt at those times, I could relate so well to the music. I miss that connection to it.

You mentioned in your post that "I will never be the kid from Take This To Your Grave again." Well, I'll never be the kid who listened to Take This To Your Grave again. It's impossible for both of us, both you who made it and I who listened to it, to be the people that we were. And that's okay.

Because right now, I'm the adult who listens to Soul Punk. It's true that it will probably never hold the same weight in my heart as those other albums did, but only because I don't need the music now as much as I did then. But damn if that record hasn't been my driving album for months. It took two months for me to even eject it out of the CD player, because there is something so perfect, so spot on, and so fun about Soul Punk that mirrors where I am and what I'm feeling right now.

I saw you play at Great Scott in Allston, right outside of Boston, about ten months ago. I hadn't bought the record yet, knew the words to only one song, and ended up going to the show alone, but it was one of the most fun nights I'd had in a while. Looking back on what I wrote of that night, I'm so confused as to how you wound up here. My summary of your performance, taken straight out of that link, was "It's a little R&B, a little funk, but mostly just him pouring himself out through held notes and crazy guitars, drums and keys and dancing. He literally put everything he has into this music and it's like his heart is flooding out over the edges of the stage."

You need to find whatever it was that I saw, that the entire crowd saw that night and bring it back. It would be a complete and absolute shame for not just your talent but your obvious love of what you do to be stifled by people who will never be pleased. Would it be awful of me to direct you back to your own CD, to implore you to take some of your own lyrics to heart and just do what you want to do, what you love to do, no matter what anyone else says?

You grew up and stopped being the person you were when you made those records, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who has grown up and stopped being the person I was when I listened to them. And you making the music that makes you happy, making the music that you're feeling now, in some way makes it a little easier to admit that I'm not the person I was back then either.

I've never written to a musician before, because in a landscape of blog posts and emails and tweets it didn't seem like my thanks or praise or love of music would ever even be seen, never mind read. But maybe I should have, if only to counterbalance some of the hate. So here it is, possibly too late: I love Soul Punk, and it's obvious that you do too. Don't let go of that.

Alex

The Scene is Dead

Long Live the Scene <3

Mistletoe

The first time I heard this song was almost exactly three years ago, take one day. It's been in my head all morning.

But if I was being honest:

Kate

I was obsessed with this song when I was nine and heard it for the first time in years tonight. Both the cashier and I were singing along.

(No, nine year old me was not cool enough to be into Ben Folds Five. I had no idea who they were. But an odd bit of chance and the TGIF lineup injected my otherwise Oldies and Country music upbringing with some pretty decent indie pop, even if I had no idea.)

Three Years Old

Dear Blog,

Just when I think you're dead, you turn three years old. Sure, the past year has been rough - the number of posts halved, the shows dropped to almost nothing, and the CD buying dwindled down to barely there.

But here you are, limping along to three years, 54 (chronicled) live shows, 311 posts. The list of artists tagged is too long for me to even consider counting.

I don't know how long you'll last, but considering I thought you were dead and buried last November 9th...

And about those glasses? I might just have to bust them back out tonight.

<3 Alex

The Sounds, after DJs that almost weren't worth it

The Sounds at Royale in Boston, MA, October 30, 2011

So the tickets said doors at 6, and assuming a 6:30 show we arrived at six. Oh how stupid we were.

The music pouring out of the speakers was already loud, even though the crowd was only twenty people deep. We were only a few feet back from the stage and my friend feared for my ears later in the night as I'd forgotten to bring earplugs.

"Honestly, I've probably done so much damage to them over the past few years, one more night isn't going to hurt."

"That's like saying you've done so much damage to your liver, what's another night of binge drinking?"

So I paid a dollar, bought some earplugs, shoved them in my pocket and never pulled them back out. It's just not the same through little cylinders of foam.

First up, after a full hour of nothing, and oh my god up for too long, Kids at the Bar. Two dudes, two soundboards, one laptop. They DJed for 75minutes. I don't know that it wasn't all preprogrammed - sure they were turning knobs and hitting buttons, but it never correlated with what was coming out of the speakers. One of the guys, Red Plaid Dude, was at least a little excited. Dude in Black just stared at his board and drank a beer the whole time. It might have worked in a club of people looking to dance, but the crowd waiting for a band was... displeased. It would have been fine for 30min, but 45min in and everyone was antsy. After an hour and fifteen we practically applauded that they were leaving.

Next, Natalia Kills. I actually really liked her and her legging clad band. She had a great stage presence, a badass attitude, and the voice to back it up. Her live performance was even better than the recorded music on her site. She seemed a little stiff at the beginning of the set, probably from nerves and wondering how the crowd would react, but by the end she was smiling and captivating. "Free" and "Acid Annie" stood out, as well as her cover of "Fuck You" by Cee Lo Green. I might not go out to see her again, but I'd definitely be happy if she was opening for someone else I was seeing.



Then Kids at the Bar came back! As soon as their little DJ cart came back out the crowd let up a collective groan. This time we only had to put up with them for 30min, but that meant they'd been on stage for almost two hours total. It was brutal.

Then finally The Sounds. We were maybe two feet from the stage and it was loud and intense. We were so close to the guitarist's monitor that the mix was off, but it was still so amazing. The Sounds' songs are meant for crowds to sing out, with repeated verses and lots of yelling. Maja is an amazing front woman, strutting and kicking and singing in five inch heels. She has this aura of complete badassery, while still being gorgeous.

From a stripped down piano and crowd sung "Night After Night" to "Ego" to "Song With a Mission," the crowd and the show both pumped with energy. I'm not sure how to describe how having Maja Ivarsson singing about two feet away from you, staring at you, will make you sing out the words to prove that you can. The whole band was having fun and rocking out, and they're one of only a few bands to whom I'd give the label "rockstars." It's something about the presence and the all consuming energy, as though every point in that room was focused on the stage.

Stumbling out into the cold afterward and onto a broken down Red Line, we ran into other concert goers who shared our sentiments of bad DJing openers, attractive guitarists, and charismatic singers. As soon as it was over, I wanted it to start again.

Snow, Sharks, and Screaming My Heart Out

Panic! at the Disco at Lupo's in Providence, RI, October 29, 2011

This show started, like almost all Lupo's shows, with a gigantic line snaking around the block. It was pouring rain and the temperature was quickly dropping towards a point where that rain would turn into something else entirely. But then an awesome concert buddy showed up with coffee, and a good line friend returned. There was a discussion of past horrible line friends that, a year later, just made me laugh hysterically. ("As it turns out, 'Player' is bro-speak for 'has a girlfriend'." "Well then what's bro-speak for 'moved to Germany'?")

We finally got inside, only to be accosted by a security guard searching everyone for glow-sticks. I have no idea why, but this one security guard spent the entire night tracking down anyone in the crowd wearing glow-sticks. It was so ridiculous that we stopped a passing security dude later in the night to ask what was going on, and he shrugged and looked confused. We later saw him asking the glow-stick-hater about it, pantomiming in the onslaught of noise, but could not make out what the response was.

First up was The Tower and the Fool. It wasn't bad at first, rocky acoustic with alright lyrics, but then it quickly spiraled towards full on depression. It was past emo, into the "my heart is dead" region of lyric writing, and I spent the entire second half of the set wondering if they all just needed hugs. It was sad.

Now, at about this point, The Shark showed up. The Shark was a five foot tall, completely trashed girl in a felt shark costume. Face visible through the gaping shark teeth, hands covered in light gray fins, she was trying to barrel her way through the crowd. At every sticking point, she would turn to the offending body and scream "I'm a shark!" I'd never seen someone try to start a fight while holding up soft felt fins before. She was loud and screaming and actually really hitting some of the people around her. It was amusing for the first minute or so, but after ten, not so much. Finally some guy came and dragged her out of our portion of the crowd. We saw him later in the night supporting her slumped, obviously sharked-out body. It was ridiculous.

Foxy Shazam. I don't know what the hell that was. I can't even begin to think of how to describe the experience. I was simultaneously terrified and excited. The lead singer looked like a sex offender bull fighter, the keyboardist played with his feet, and the trumpet player spent the night in various states of undress. They were upside down and all over the stage and loud and crazy and... just and. It was kind of awesome. It was every decade that you've ever made fun of crushed into one. You just have to experience it to believe it. This, this doesn't even come close, but maybe it will help:

Then came Panic! at the Disco. We had grabbed spaces by the railing and I swear I spent most of the night with my body flung over it, clutching on and screaming out every word. There was so much energy in that room... new songs and old, everyone was throwing themselves into it. I got that feeling again, the one where I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped tighter around the banister, as though if I just held on tight enough I could stay in that moment forever, with lights flashing on the other side of my lids, bodies pressing in close, my head full of nothing but sound.

I remember old shows where Brendon would move the mic away whenever the song swore, make the crowd fill in. That is no longer the case. Sometime after the split, his dirty mouth found a place on the stage, and it makes for this predatory stage presence. It's mostly sexy but also a little funny, because you know he can't really be taking himself seriously the whole time. It was, however, during "I Write Sins" that I felt something bad happen. The whole crowd was singing out, but out of instinct everyone screams just a little louder on the "whore" that Brendon used to always drop. That's when I felt something in my throat tear or rip or snap. Two days later and it's still not quite happy, especially after a second concert the following night (but more on that in another post).

But was it worth it in that moment? Absolutely.

Their encore included a cover of "I Believe in a Thing Called Love." I love that song, and they did it well, and no way was the girl trying to crowd surf by jumping off of our banister going to prevent me from continuing to enjoy it. Though, fun fact kids, you shouldn't crowd surf on teenage girls. They will always drop you. Always.

The show ended, I parted ways with the concert buddies, and then I wound up in the epic October snowstorm. Being a New Englander, I decided that a little snow was not going to deter me, and that I was going to drive straight through it back to Boston.

After about a mile on 95, I shut the radio off and started talking to my car, God, and myself, assuming that some combination of the three might get me at least to my parents house in one piece. It was the worst thing I have ever driven in and I have never been so terrified while driving. I've driven in snowstorms, driven in really awful weather, but this was out of the blue, two months early, and ridiculous. I couldn't see the lines on the road, the wind was threatening to blow me sideways, and my wipers kept freezing over and smearing the little vision that I had.

But was it worth it for that show? Absolutely.

Dubstep Canadian ElectroPop. Obviously.

Lights at the Middle East in Cambridge, MA, October 18, 2011.

A frantic phone call last Monday night from a friend looking for a concert buddy lead to yet another Lights concert at the Middle East. It was the first night of her Siberia tour, an album which I just haven't listened to yet. We missed the opening act, as the Middle East set a hard 8:30 curfew in order to get the Throwed crowd in, and there was no way that 6:00 doors could get the full 400 people downstairs before a 6:15 set. I don't understand why they couldn't have just opened the doors a little earlier, but alas.

I've stopped being surprised by the amount of bros at her shows. Not just guys, and not indie guys, but frat bros, dudes who have no place watching a tiny Canadian girl play synth pop. And they're not just standing there with a beer. Oh no, they are belting out every word. I chalk it up to them being able to use her crazy hair and nerd tattoos as a cover for their actual love of tiny pop music.

I'm also a huge fan of loud shows. Sounds that make your sternum shudder and shake, from jet engines to bass lines, are my absolute favorite. But Lights has recently dipped her toes into Dubstep and I thought my eardrums were going to bleed. My sternum was shaking, sure, but so was my clothing and my hair and my throat. Honest to God, the group of people I was standing around with were all marveling to each other about the fact that our throats were shaking. It was uncomfortably loud, and drowned out any hope of music with pure volume and noise.

But it was still fun. Lights is bouncy and has an absolutely amazing voice, so when the set turned down a softer acoustic path we were all immensely happier to be able to hear her voice and the music. The stand out song for me, however, was probably "Toes." The chorus flows down, visually and sonically, gorgeously. The lyrics are pretty key as well. I hadn't connected to it well before seeing it live, but after watching her perform it I've been persuaded to go out and find the album.

So her music's a little (a lot) louder now, with a heavier hip hop and dubstep back, but it's still got her own brand of wit and humor and fun. Sure, I felt the lack of "February Air" in the set, and it was a completely different feel to the last time I saw her at the Middle East, but it's an evolution that I can totally dig.

Bust Your Knee Caps

A Doo-Wop song about the mafia. Enough said.

Mikey Welsh

It seems this is just a bad weekend for all of my music.

Mikey Welsh, bassist for Weezer from '98-'01, died in a hotel room in Chicago yesterday. He'd moved on from Rock and Roll to become an artist a while back, and I'd never really gotten into his stuff, but it's still sad to see someone go.

The creepy part was this tweet, from last week:

MikeyWelsh71 Mikey Welsh

dreamt i died in chicago next weekend (heart attack in my sleep). need to write my will today.

The two videos that stuck out in my head whenever he was mentioned:

And: