Never did a popular thing, couldn't sell out a telephone booth.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Primitive music will one day require primitive reactions.
Side rant: Shows are social events and everyone wants a good story and maybe even a good lay out of one, but what the fuck is up with the total lack of class and respect in so many Ritalin-addled, reject, cool kid crowds lately? I mean, I'm happy to see my friends and catch up, but it's a show. A show that musicians are playing. Musicians that you allegedly like. So why not pay attention? You can hear where the noise wall is erected, the amorphous line where the audience has tuned out and become completely engrossed in themselves. Punk rock shows, whatever, throw people through a wall, for all I care. But at an obviously quiet, intimate performance, shut the fuck up or go outside. Julie Doiron was all but inaudible last night, which is a goddamn shame, because all the kids who were "there for the music" totally should have been into her, especially considering she's part of the Mt. Eerie line-up on "Lost Wisdom." Todd P actually had to get up on stage and tell people to quiet down because Julie was way too polite, and once it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, she launched into one of the most moving and beautiful songs of the whole night.
It doesn't make sense, because this music isn't that "hip," so why are people showing up just to be seen and heard? It's Williamsburg, there's plenty of other street corners you can stand on with your incandescent retro threads and purposefully poorly groomed hair growth. Don't turn the venue into the ball pit, because there's actual value lost from the bullshit antics. The void incarnate that is nearly every individual painting their pants on and "being" for a living should remain in the quarantine and stop the blight before it gets too serious.
Because it's not cool when these kids are either willfully destructive or retardedly unaware with their actions. Todd P is the backbone of cheap, quality shows, and if he wasn't doing what he's doing (for the love of it, mind you) there wouldn't be any scene. So when he asks people to respect the neighborhood and be mindful of the neighbors, it's infuriating when two All-American Rejects rejects more or less spit in the face of the request and do something stupid, like burn a showpaper. Not only are you destroying a labor of love that keeps your dumb asses informed, you're also destroying any goodwill that was formed. You really have to wait for Todd to come over and tell you that that shit doesn't fly? You, with the atrocious thrift gold leather jacket and the horrendous mustache that screams "I have no personality to speak of and I'd give my right hand to get laid if it didn't fuck me over for good?" Or you, the chubby sidekick unaware that your bushy facial weeds are anything but appealing and that American Apparel makes XL purple hoodies with the intent of selling to the not-small masses like yourself, the perennial not-a-fan music fan who works at a record store because it's easier than dieting and just as mindless?
I'm usually pretty good at tuning out, but sometimes, when I spend a little too much time as a stranger among us, I can't wait to get back to Prospect Heights and wait for the fences to go up around that wasteland. Hope I don't see you at Academy anytime soon, asshole.