counting backwards

Sunn O))) at Brooklyn Masonic Temple | Beyond Race

I built this show up to mythic proportions in my mind. I’m not sure why. I find drone metal boring in most cases, but I couldn’t wait to see Sunn O))). I was looking for a unique experience. Their performance was definitely like nothing I’d ever experienced. Their music had such an intimidating physicality about it. But the theatrics were a bit much. I mean, I get it. You’re creepy, and the first five minutes of deep chanting and fog machine got under my skin. After a half an hour of it, I almost left out of boredom. Still, black metal legend Attila Csihar was unreal; like a living nightmare.

I really loved the show, but I actually wanted to have more of a visceral reaction to it. I wanted to either fall into a trance or run out of the room screaming in tongues and vomiting. I guess that’s a pretty tall order, though.

The Zeros and Jemina Pearl @ Southpaw | Beyond Race

I wish I had one of them fancy cameras everyone else on Tumblr seems to have. One day. In the meantime, I’ll be taking blurry photos and trying not to look like a dork as I jot down notes at rock shows in the New York area. This is only the third concert review I’ve written in the past 5 years, so I know I’m rusty, but this one gave me hope that I might be headed in the right direction.

This show was a blast. I’m ashamed to say that I wasn’t that familiar with The Zeros, before Tuesday, but they really wound up the crowd. Jemina Pearl is a lot of fun to watch also—very expressive. Good times at Southpaw on a lovely night in Park Slope.

Missed Connection

Friday, I volunteered at one of the September Concerts. My location was Washington Square Park, and the rain was falling so hard that at times it was difficult to discern whether the water blowing out of the fountain was coming from the ground or the sky.

After setting up the tents, myself and the other volunteer went to a nearby deli to grab a few sandwiches. Upon returning, there were a couple of street people hanging out in the backstage tent. One was completely wasted and seated; the other, Chris, was alert, talkative and seemingly jovial.

A group of high school children were set to perform first. As they started to arrive with their instruments, the backstage tents became crowded. We asked Chris and his beleaguered friend to kindly leave so the kids and the sound guys could set up, but the two wouldn’t budge. They demanded to hear the kids play before they would leave. I stood between the two and the kids as one of the teachers talked to the increasingly belligerent men. Eventually, Chris became apologetic and complied with our request; he helped us get his buddy mobile also.

Later, I was working at the information tent at the side of the stage with a guy from the concert’s co-sponsor. He was trying to give me some instruction on setting things up when Chris returned. This time, his eyes were wide as he stared at me from across the table. He told me he was a sociopath, that he was aggressive. I kept eye contact and nodded and folded fliers. On my right, the man from the co-sponsor continued talking to me as if Chris weren’t there.

Chris was practically foaming at the mouth, repeating, “I’m a sociopath.” Incited by the man from the co-sponsor ignoring him, Chris became more aggressive, and I wondered if I was still limber enough to dodge a punch. I kept folding fliers.

“You’re nothing compared to me,” Chris told the man from the co-sponsor. “I’m out here on the street every day. I would destroy you.” The string of threats rolled on, but to his credit, the man from the co-sponsor paid him no mind and continued giving me instruction. I kept folding fliers.

Chris looked back to me—folding, listening. “You, I like,” he said.

The Best Summer Ever

Sunday, I went to the Dinosaur Jr. concert at the Summerstage in Central Park—the second time I’d been to the park that weekend, even though I’d only been there once before in my previous 32 years. I’m making up for lost time.

It was worth the heat stroke to see J. Mascis tear it up on the guitar and play all the songs I knew and the ones I pretended to know. I met up with two people from my previous life in California. They’d moved to New York before I got back and had spent the summer working for the City Parks. They snagged me free water and even got me a wristband so I could watch from the side of the stage J. and Lou Barlow tolerate one another long enough to play an entire set. It was beautiful, the sun was setting and I was sweating profusely. I loved it, and I wasn’t even drunk.

Afterward, good fortune smiled on me again. My friends informed me that, since the Dinosaur Jr. show was the last Summerstage event of the season, that the staff was having an end-of-season party after the show with free food and booze. It was staff only, but they suggested I just hang out anyway, so I did.

An hour after the concert, the party kicked off, and I did my best to look inconspicuous—easy for me since I look like scenery. Coworkers played Wiffle Ball and clamored for free barbecue. On the empty stage, the interns were hugging and dancing and taking pictures. They’d all be heading back to where ever it was they went to school, and this could be their last moments together. One of them was a pretty young girl in a short yellow dress. She was taking the most pictures and delivering the most hugs. My friends and I joked that she was having the best summer ever.

We were just making fun because we were a bit jealous, and who wouldn’t be? She was young, pretty and apparently having the time of her life. She was away from home in the greatest city in the world and had her whole life ahead of her. She will probably always remember the summer fondly and want wholeheartedly to keep in touch with everyone she met, even though she’ll probably find out that that’s impossible.

Of course, that day, I was doing pretty well for myself too. I’d seen one of my favorite bands live for free; I was sitting in Central Park (for the third time ever) after midnight, drinking ice cold free Coronas and hanging out with cool people who didn’t seem to mind that I was crashing their get-together. The girl in the yellow dress may have been having the best summer ever, but I was happy to come in a close second.

Review: Superchunk at South Street Seaport

When I sat down to write this, I realized that I haven’t written a concert review in well over a year. I think I’m going to have to go back to taking notes at shows until I re-learn it. As it were, the review turned out alright, and I’m happy to have another outlet. Also, my calves are still sore from dancing at the show. Beyond Race’s new print issue is out now, and it looks great.