Monday, February 4, 2013

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Blue Dahlia

Gaslight Anthem at the House of Blues Boston - November 26, 2011

Around 7:45, as I grabbed my keys to head out of the house, I realized I was stepping into familiar territory - a solitary concert ticket, having told not a soul where I was going. I was being a touch more responsible and driving into the city (more to avoid being at the mercy of the MBTA's ridiculous curfew than to avoid the Green Line at midnight), but I still realized that if I were to go missing, no one would have any idea where to start looking.

For the record, if I ever disappear, start by cross-referencing my CD collection to shows in the area. Start at the Middle East, then at the House of Blues, then at Lupo's.

So I was mildly responsible and told Facebook where I'd be, shaking off the bit of freedom that goes with being completely untraceable.

I really enjoy going to shows alone. I did it a lot in college, where I couldn't convince my friends to ditch their textbooks in favor of dark clubs every week, or when I just needed to disappear. Usually I'd tell someone where I was headed, but once I got there I'd just blend into the crowd and in the middle of a packed room I'd be completely alone with the music. Sometimes dragging people to shows just because you "don't want to go alone" feels like work. You worry if they're having fun, if they're enjoying it, if they're bored, will they mind staying for the encore? Many of my friends are short or small, and hate joining the crowd as they can't see or they're getting squished, and can't we just go stand back by the bar?

Of course there are bands that I can't imagine seeing without certain friends, and friends who are great concert buddies, but honestly, if it's a band I really love, I'd rather just go alone.

I snagged the last space at the garage next door and made my way up to the mezzanine. Not my first choice, as joining the swarm of humanity is easier down on the floor, but despite the fact that most of the mezzanine was already three rows deep, I found a space that seemed relatively clear. It was straight on to the stage, just about center, and had a pretty clear view. Why had no one taken such a great spot?

Because of the couple in front of me. By the time I realized my mistake it was too late, as any other decent spot had been claimed. It became clear only a few songs into the opener that the girl was only there because her boyfriend had made her go, and so she spent half the show trying to make him pay attention to her with a level of PDA I was uncomfortable standing only a foot behind. That alone made the show hard to watch, as I spent much of it tilting my neck to try and focus on the band somewhere behind their heads, but it would have at least been understandable if they weren't both texting other people the whole time! Every few minutes, the boy would pull her into a hug, and with her head facing the other way he would pull his phone slowly out of his pocket and start texting behind her back. He was literally texting someone else behind her back as she nuzzled into his shoulder. But she was no better, and as her phone just happened to be between me and the stage for much of the show, I caught more than a passing glance at her conversation with "Kyle" who really thought that she just "deserved a good guy."

Going alone is often easier than dragging someone who doesn't want to be there.

So I didn't exactly get to see 100% of the show, but I did get to hear it. I missed the first half of Matthew Ryan's set, which I was disappointed about. The burly Irish punks to my left, laconic as they raised their beers towards the stage, gave it high praise: "Vivid lyrics." "Yeah. Good Song." "Yeah."

Polar Bear Club elicited a range of questions from me, including "How did I not know about them before?" and "When are they coming back to Boston again?" The trio of college aged dudes behind me, between laughter driven stories of their crazy friend Trevor and their pronunciation of Schindler's List as a horrible date night movie, remarked on the lead singer's crazy energy, and they were right. He was all over the stage and it was captivating. It was loud, screaming music, and it was perfect. Every time I go out I remember how much I love loud guitars and drums that make the whole room vibrate. I couldn't tell you a word that boy sang the whole night, but he was damn excited and that was all that mattered.

And finally, The Gaslight Anthem. There's only so much I can gush about them, and I feel like there are plenty of entries here about how solidly amazing their live shows are. They are the best live band I have ever seen. They play rock music, they play it hard, and they play it with soul and blues and heart and story. These are songs that I love, songs that have poured out of car speakers and headphones for years, but they take on some other quality and come fully alive when they're forming right there in the same room.

Brian Fallon spends time talking with the crowd too, as any good frontman does, and had the crowd laughing and cheering and singing along. And that is fun, and I think he is amazing at it, but it still pales in comparison to the way he plays, to the way all of those boys make music. His lyrics run on themes of femme fatales from black and white movies, of old cars and sea shores and loyalty and love.

It's shows like last night that make me love Boston crowds, and though I know San Francisco will be amazing, there's something about packing the energy of this city into a room that I don't think I'll get out there. There's a fervor in the way this city loves things, and while it's generally directed at sports, that same passion is directed at music too, downstairs at the MidEast and on the floor of HOB, and I just don't see that energy happening anywhere else but here.

Good live shows make you appreciate songs you wouldn't care about otherwise, and last night was no exception. The second to last song of the encore, I fell in love with a formerly ignored B-Side:

(Unfortunately, the lyrics transcribed in the video are horrifically wrong.)

Somehow, this became about crowds and people and going out alone.

Friday, November 16, 2012

Whistle for the Choir

I could have sworn I'd put this here before.

The perfect song as the weather gets colder, as you stare out into the gray.

I could have sworn there was a music video. It took me long enough to find this version, stumbling first through live and acoustic versions that weren't right, thinking "I could have sworn it sounded just a little different."

Friday, November 9, 2012

Four Years

I had this post all planned out. I had a ticket to a Motion City Soundtrack/Jukebox the Ghost show tonight, on the fourth anniversary of my blog, and it was going to be so poetic and perfect.

A lot has happened in the last four years, and some of it has been good and some of it has been bad, but I am in an amazing, happy place right now. No matter what has happened, all of it has brought me to right here and right now and I wouldn't change a thing.

This blog has, obliquely and with references no one else will ever get, captured most of that. It has at times been a project just to make me write something, a journal to remember things that won't fit in my tangible stack of bound white paper and black ink, and sometimes just a log so I don't forget the bands I've seen.

I have, to the best of my knowledge, chronicled every show I've been to in the past four years. For a while, I chronicled every piece of good music I stumbled across. Now, it's an afterthought.

But you're still here after four years, Fake Pink Glasses, somehow clawing along the dredges of the blogosphere. You are the least noticed part of my internet presence, the least polished, the most emo, and absolutely the most narcissistic of my projects.

But I think you might be my favorite.

So here's to clinging on for four years, and to another four years of stumbling along with unread, sporadic, completely unrelated posts.

I'm not going to the show tonight. In a drastic turn from what Alex of 2008, 2009, 2010, or 2011 would have done, I'm not hiding under music. One of my friends has taken very ill, and the rest of us have dropped our plans in order to be together and deal with the situation. Being with people I love, with people who love me, with the group of people who have supported me through every insane thing I have ever done, accepted me for every bit of who I am, and who I can only hope to stand behind with the amount of strength they have shown me through the years, is more important than seeing any band.

So I sold my concert ticket to a stranger on Craigslist, traded $30 through a passenger side window as drizzly gray rain hit thin cigarette smoke in a Target parking lot. I'm headed home instead of out tonight.

November 9, 2008

November 9, 2009

November 9, 2010

November 9, 2011

Love, love, and good vibes.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Don't Let Me Fall Behind

It's snowing. I have a mug of tea and I have had this video on repeat for most of the day.

It's like the world is hugging me.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Life is Good, Again

Life is Good Festival, Saturday September 22, 2012

I went to LIG two years ago, and much of this year's was the same. There were thousands of families, kids with face paint, delicious food, bubbles, dancing, and sunshine. We spent much of the day lounging on a blanket, listening to music and soaking up some sunshine.

We ate veggie burgers and lounged around during Katie Herzig. She was fun to listen to, and her band did a great mashup of "Sweet Dreams" and "Seven Nation Army."

Then we went to see some chickens, and wandered across some clowns. Dudes, it makes no sense now, but when you're there, and there's an entire stage dedicated to little kid rock, complete with bean bags for the quiet ones and bouncy balls for the crazy ones, you just kind of roll with it.

We saw Sara Bareilles later, and to be honest I went into it not expecting much. I've never been a huge fan of her music, but she was cool onstage, in an extraordinarily awkward and funny way. I only knew two of the songs, but she was still fun to listen to, as her voice is kind of fantastic in a quiet way that sneaks up on you. There was a lot of snapping. I did really like this one, which I hadn't heard before:

Next, we went to dance to Eric Hutchinson. And I don't mean watch him, or listen to him, or stand in a field and sway. I mean we danced. The music begged for shimmies and shoulder waggles and the kind of ridiculous dancing that little kids do before they learn to be embarrassed. I didn't stop moving during his set, and it felt so good.

This song was amazing live. He had a full band behind him, and I swear this song made me dance like no other. I couldn't find many versions of this online that weren't just him alone on a piano, and this one's not the best quality, but this is the energy that was happening out there under the moon.

Finally, Michael Franti and Spearhead. We didn't stay for the whole thing, as we wanted to beat a little of the traffic, but there was much dancing and howling at the moon and clapping and jumping and just not caring.

Life is Good.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Such Great Heights

The best way to get things out of my head is to write them down. If I put pen to paper, commit that thought to black and white, then I can stop holding onto it in my mind, know it will be preserved somewhere other than my synapses.

The keyboard's not as effective as the ballpoint, but it's close. I wore this song out in June, hit repeat over and over and over for about two weeks. Then I dealt with it and let it go.

Until this week. So, I'll put it here and let it go again.

"Everything looks perfect from far away."

Thursday, August 30, 2012

At the Bottom

I was never a huge Brand New fan, due to ignorance rather than dislike, but I can't tell you how many times I've watched "Sic Transit Gloria." It was one of my favorite bad day music videos, one of those things I'd blare through headphones when I wanted to feel just a little more angry, a little more upset, a little more anything.

"At the Bottom" has only recently appeared in my life via Pandora, and it's fallen into my daily rotation. It's good, almost solid, right here and right now, because I'm not screaming angry anymore, but sometimes I'm a little dark. This fills that in some sort of steady way.

It's not a loud, screaming, running feeling anymore, but an eyes squeezed shut against the light type of bitter tension, chewing holes through the inside of my lip when I'm stressed.

"I hope that you would do this for me."

Wednesday, August 22, 2012


Dear 23,

I know 22 is a hard year to follow. 22 included graduating from college, getting my first real job, doing a lot of traveling and meeting a lot of people and going on grad school interviews and finally making it to California. I went to New York, to Texas, to Canada. 22 even included getting accepted to... well, to every grad school I applied to, and doing it on my terms, and then choosing a grad school and making some pretty big decisions. 22 included my first scientific publication, in a pretty damn good journal, and defending my thesis and speaking at graduation. Hell, my last day of being 22, I got to fly a helicopter. I mean, let's talk about going out with a bang.

So, I know. 22 is really hard to follow. I'm sorry about that. And 24 is going to be huge too. At 24 I'm going to move to California and start grad school, and even if those were the only two things that happened at that age, it'd still be a gigantic year.

You're kind of stuck in the middle, 23. We're almost five months in now, and mostly you've just been confusing. Really confusing. And at times you kind of hurt.

I'm not giving up on you. Absolutely not. But I can't help but hear this on repeat in my head for the past month or four.

What's my age again?

Love and good vibes,

Friday, August 17, 2012


For picking this whole blog thing back up again, I haven't been very good at it. Ah, well.

I bought this album having heard that it didn't sound like Springsteen anymore, or didn't sound like Dylan, or didn't sound like any of the influences. And I was worried, but I shouldn't have been, because all that means is that it sounds like Gaslight.

"There you go, turn the key and engine over. Let her go, let somebody else lay at her feet."

I'll see you on the flip side.