the life of a modern musician: a week of noisepop.
After several months of waiting, arranging to get tickets, and scheduling my time carefully...I finally get the chance to see Adult, who've burned a neon-bright electronic trail in my hippocampus.
I missed them.
We rehearsed. And we needed to get a ladder for the rehearsal space. By the time Chris and I arrived...
Students, professional alcoholics, and astronomers benefit best from a concert that starts at early evening and keeps to a strict schedule. Note to self: before next year, start drinking gin and studying star charts.
About that rehearsal... we practiced vocals. Which is simultaneously 1.) a compelling way to improves one's craft in Dealership and 2.) an exercise in futility. During every single performance we encounter the same problem. We sing softly. But play loudly. An unresolvable contradiction for the poor sound technicians who attempt to represent us adquately. Often, I feel embarrassed about making their lives harder. On the other hand, most sound technicians suffer from acute cases of sociopathy and schizophrenia. So, you know... I try to say encouraging things to them in a timbre that doesn't get confused with the voices in their heads.
For fun, though, midway through the soundcheck I'll whisper, "fires are cool." I'm a people person.
So. Back to the subject at hand. Missed Adult. One of my favorites. Nevertheless, Chris and I were determined not to mope. Which we did not do. Spectacularly.
First of all...
They are the type of band that makes me long to be a rock star. The Devo-ness. The matching uniforms. The incredible samples. The bass! thudding into my chest cavity and sinuses. They clapped synchronously. Which caused me to exclaim to Chris, "I love facism!"
They were as fun-bright-sexy as Death Cab for Cutie were beautiful-and-unique-snowflakes. They were Uber and Konstructivist and Kraft-Tron-like. They were the blood-red glint and dark stare and the sound of a vinyl shirt ripping.
So we had a good time.
Did you know that there are very pretty people in San Francisco? And some plan their outfits. Yes.
We discussed The Faint afterwards. They were fun. Very fun. Hooked the brass ring, but which I mean they inspired a San Francisco audience to dance. (Only an hour before the show, the drummer had apparently been told that Bela Lugosi's dead.) But Chris and Lon and I struggled to like them. No, that doesn't make any more sense today. To be honest, our critical faculties were blunted.
I assumed I would develop the ideas we struggled to articulate last night into a reasoned critique of The Faint and how their sound seems to be interpreted in this context of the Noisepop festival, and then, compared to a perceived notion of the Pop/Rock zeitgeist.
But I'm having trouble finding Castor and Pollux on this star chart. Gin stains mar the co-ordinates. A lesson to you.
Preperation, as the Boy Scouts say, is everything.