I haven’t been to a rock show in a long time. Not intentionally. Not to one where I wasn’t thinking “really? Are we the ONLY people playing ACOUSTIC instruments at this ACOUSTIC showcase?!” Not to one where I was thinking “oh shit, how do they always sandwich us between groups with big-ass drumkits?”
Tonight Kristen took me to see Living Colour and they were incredible. Vernon Reid was a monster and I remembered my days of going to see Van Halen and Metallica and Primus and Fugazi – of genuinely watching a band just melt my face.
Some more of Amanda’s shots from the Royal Bean. I was really pleased with a lot of her photographs because, whether because of her sense of our performance or just something I was doing that day, the way I was dressed or the way I moved – the photographs she took are some of the few that make me look the way I THINK I look. A rarity indeed. I AM a pretty boy!
On the way there we met up with some friends (including the drummer of Melbourne Moon) and ran into some friends (including the drummer from EvenSo), had some great Thai food and made our way to the Black Cat in Washington DC. We were all really excited to see Living Colour – (listening to the news as I write this: who is this “Cousin Pookie” that Obama is ranting about?!!?!) – but my friend Sam was also really excited about the closing act, Saul Williams. What I think we didn’t totally realize was that we were there for “Afro-Punk”, a collection of nationally touring punk(ish) bands with African-American front-men.
Rather than being “punk rock” per se, it was more a punk rock mentality, with calls for social action and anarchy being projected with tension, ferocity and high volume. Video screens were showing a previous show interspersed with shots of skaters and freestyle BMX. The footage had apparently then been run through a couple of random dissolution filters reminiscent of Mister Retro’s Machine Wash collection of Photoshop filters… you know… to make it punk rock. Unfortunately, digital video always looks kind of silly when that happens to it. Fortunately, the show they were actually showing was pretty awesome bumper entertainment.
Twrr. Katy’s guitar cake. Katy and Ryan are both musicians and not only did they have the above cake for their rehearsal dinner, but they gave one another pre-wedding gifts of REAL guitars. Of course, his to her was a broken steel-string that he’d had someone paint their portrait on. I didn’t get to see it but I hear it’s really wonderful. 
Heather and rob at the wedding of Ryan and Katy in Cary, NC. 
Katy and Heather, both so beautiful… we’ve known Katy since we met her at an open mic some 5 or 6 years ago and she’s been a great friend ever since. I was really flattered to be invited to the wedding and Heather did a fantastic job with the songs she was asked to sing. I even had a great time at the reception and managed to… dance. 
And yet… and yet…
Anywho – things fired up with an opening act worth the (substantial [for a self-proclaimed “punk” act – a $20 ticket might not seem “substantial” for one of today’s concerts, certainly not one containing such a well-known act as Living Colour, but Washington DC is home of punk progenitors Fugazi who’d vowed never to charge a fan more than $5 a ticket…]) price of admission. The Smyrk delivered marvelous musicianship, high energy, incredible soul-inspired vocals from beautiful grinning men. Most songs were inspired by movies (clear references to Evil Dead 2, complete with “I’m cutting off my possessed hand” gestures, as well as Liar Liar and Fight Club) but they were delivered with such genuine joy and emotion that you forgot the Smyrk wasn’t telling tales of their own Lives. My jaw dropped with the opening song, through every sweep of the vocalist – and continued to scrape the venue’s floor as the man stripped off his shirt while demonstrating a vocal range even broader than his model-perfect chest
What? Man-crush? Me? Shh.
The second act I didn’t get. Two rap artists that started out well with the Imperial March devolved quickly into something that I was either not open-minded enough to enjoy, humourous enough to get or relaxed enough to appreciate.
Then Living Colour took the stage. After a lengthy sound-check they opened with their big hit from the 80s, a burning rendition of “Cult of Personality”. My jaw was returned to the floor. The singer, Corey Glover, showed that he’d lost absolutely nothing over the last 20 years and if anything, had expanded what he could do. Vernon Reid’s guitar work was absolutely insane, shredding through the strings like the veteran metal deity he is. Unfortunately, after the first tune, things became a little more mixed. Vernon wasn’t satisfied with the sound of his guitar, getting more and more disgruntled with it until he bad-temperedly completely stopped playing before the third tune. It took about 10 minutes to be get things straight as the rest of the clearly-embarrassed band tried to put a good face on things, eventually settling on forced jibes and a short drum solo. The singer appeared to be trying to put a good face on things, but also seemed really, really frustrated. It was sort of sad to watch. I don’t know if the guitarist felt the gig was beneath him, really was THAT dissatisfied with the sound, or what – but it took him another 3-4 songs before he seemed to be enjoying himself. The singer said it best when he pointed out that the audience DIDN’T CARE and just wanted to see him PLAY!!! Vernon quipped about how great it was going to be NEXT time they were in town and there was kind of an awkward moment as Corey retorted “yeah, you won’t be here though” a couple of times. Watching from the outside it was hard to tell if it was a funny sentence or a nasty statement and all-in-all it was kind of like being invited to your friend’s house and then watching him fight with his girlfriend all through dinner.
The drummer and the bass player were gorgeously in the pocket through the whole gig and the Corey Glover’s voice was just beyond believing. All-in-all a great show but soured greatly by the apparent tension on stage. As a struggling musician it’s appalling to see an audience treated that way. I realize that Vernon Reid started the band and perhaps presumes ownership, but over the years these songs and these words and the wail and scream of his guitar have inspired tens of thousands if not more, and we weren’t there for him to be nitpicky about tone, we were there very much to pay homage to a legend. And the legend seemed unhappy to see us.
And also drank in the soot. We were covered in it by the end of the ride and were both lucky to be glasses-wearing peeps. Out of curiousity I caught some on my tonuge. Not as bad as you might imagine. Locomotive breath indeed. 
Riding the Western Maryland Scenic Railroad from Cumberland, MD to Frostberg and back again took about 5 hours, one of my longest train rides, and certainly the longest time I’ve spent on an old steam locomotive. We found ourselves a FREEZING but well worth-while spot between cars, hung out into the cold October air and drank in the scenery.
After Living Colour, I was sort of ready to leave but Sam insisted I needed to check out the performance poet cum industrial artist Saul Williams. A slam poet now backed by Trent Reznor’s production, he was a glimpse into an entirely different world. It was like watching a black, politically-minded Jim Morrison backed by early Ministry. He had that level of passion and poetry and glimmer of insanity and the band had an insane, grind of techno-industrial spirit. Unfortunately, I was pretty mixed about the performance overall. Though I found it provoking – and a glimpse into a whole new world of musical energy – I’m not sure that I actually LIKED it. It was a little too anarchist for the simple sake of anarchy. A little too “fight the media machine” while simultaneously aiming the act towards cameras… And a little too loud and musically monotonous. I think if it had been mixed a little bit better and I’d been able to hear some of the interesting aspects of the Moog or ANY of the guitar, unfortunately, though the Black Cat really WAS an excellent place to SEE a show… it really sucked as a place to HEAR a show.
Though most of the day was grey and overcast, flirting with rain, when we reached Frostburg the sun choose to come out and highlight our fine locomotive. 
Note to self: if / when we ever play the Black Cat, insist on my own sound guy.
Anywho – we left at around midnight right after Saul Williams’ cover of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” to get home exhausted at around one in the morning… but I was too wired from the show and had to write, had to think, had to simply sit and stew and buzz for a while. It was that kind of show.
And actually, maybe THAT’S the aspect of “punk” they meant: music that fucking beats you around the face so hard that you don’t even realize it jarred your brain into motion until hours later.
What it means to be a rockstar….
Terry Pratchett and excersise.
