Live

"Are we moving in the right direction? What is fate if faith's emerged a shame...?"

So crooned Bitter:Sweet from my PC as I slowly rubbed Burberry's 'The Beat' into the hollow of my neck....


Under regular circumstances, I'd take you down a long paragraph, relating my insecurities and apprehensions about the evening to follow, but I really don't want to do that. Not tonight. Not when I feel as vivified as I do. So let's cut to a scene that I really like:

Let your ears drink in Red Hot Chili Pepper's infectious (to the point of being insidious!) opening guitar from their 'Can't Stop':

"Can't stop addicted to the shin dig Cop top he says I'm gonna win big Choose not a life of imitation Distant cousin to the reservation..."

It is this to these strains that Butters, Bebe and I emerged from Bebe's car into the mauve, evening sky at our concert venue. You see, it was All Hallow's Eve, the Witching Hour was upon us, and Anberlin and Taking Back Sunday were in town. I am known to have a fertile imagination, but, at that moment, I could not imagine anything better than this. Even now, I cannot...

As usual, I was overdressed: skinny jeans, a white dress shirt (with the sleeves rolled way, way up!) coupled with an obscene red vest. Butters, as becomes him, had dressed sensibly: jeans, and a rather becoming dichromatic, long sleeved T-shirt which, he insisted, made him look about 12 years old! But, Bebe, clad in a sleeveless peasant top with a white shirt underneath, a spider ring on her finger (how festive!) was the one to be seen, and to be seen with! The People-watching that we indulged in, as we waited in line, was delightfully bitchy. But don't blame us please! What would you say to a rather corpulent French maid? Or a lasciviously dressed Raggedy Ann? She wouldn't be called raggedy, if she dressed like that! Or how about one flouting a thousand tenets of political correctness as she tried, by the means of glistening bronze make-up, to pass for Pocahantas? So yeah, we had really good material to work with!

I knew I wasn't going to regret this- a telling sign was that I didn't feel as violated as I usually do after being frisk-searched. Ah, but the night was yet young, violations would happen, and I would emerge with a big,
dopey smile upon my face, slightly worse for wear...but I am getting ahead of myself!

Once inside, we were welcomed by a comforting darkness. As the hour of performance began to approach, this darkness was gently cleaved open with beams of green, blue, purple, red and yellow, and a spacious stage was revealed. A spacious stage with musical instruments and judiciously positioned microphones. My knees began to knock together, as a steady stream of adrenaline began to seep into my blood-stream : O God! I was here! My first rock concert! I was with fond, convivial people, and I looked fantastic!
"It would be great if 'Motion City Soundtrack' were playing too," Butters said.
"Jizz. In. My Pants." I responded in elation.
He laughed, "Not when I am standing so close to you!"
"Very well, then: Mind = blown!" I amended. "You will admit, cerebrospinal fluid is better than semen!"

It was around this time that I met The Red Queen and Alice in Wonderland. As Alice walked past me, despite myself, I couldn't help but be drawn to her somewhat campy appeal.
"You look bewitching..." I said rather lingeringly, and hating myself for it.
"What? Bewitching?" she pronounced.
She and her friend The Red Queen caught each others' eye, then mine, and we laughed.
"Thanks," said she, after having decided that 'bewitching' fell in the 'compliment' category. Way above 'hot', or below it; depending on how your lists are arranged!
While the Red Queen did nothing for me, I couldn't stray far from Alice's sickly,sweet kitsch. Bebe smiled knowingly, as I exchanged smiles tinged with nasty, with Alice. It all fell apart when Alice decided to have an extended conversation with me.
First, she wanted to know if I was faking an accent: that chafed. But I put her doubts to rest, assuring her that my accent was indeed mine own, and we couldn't all be 'Appu', try as we might.
"Oh-ma-God, he isn't BS-ing me or whatever, right?" she phrased, looking pointedly at Butters and Bebe.
"Naw, he's legit." said Bebe, smiling brightly.
Second, ever-curious Alice wanted to know if I was dressed as Michael Jackson from 'Thriller'. Oh that was a deal-breaker right there. You. Do. Not. Fuck. With. My. Sartorial. Choices.
Ah yes...the bands were starting up, and, by then, I had lavished enough of my attention on Alice. It was time for the night to begin in earnest...

The opening bands were...interesting: the very first band, with a ninja/zombie theme and just as strange a sound, made me sad. These were grown men, for the love of heaven! Now, 'Fun' were a much-needed change of pace with their gospel-esque sound, and innuendo laden lyrics! Their rather androgynous lead-singer was dressed as the equally androgynous (or, as he phrased it, 'sexually ambiguous') Jaime Lee Curtis. I swayed slightly as he sang of "All the Pretty Girls on a Saturday Night", and, for a fleeting instant, went back to the Eternal City...
My hand, at this point, brushed against this girl's derriere. Not my fault, really, we were all so closely packed. Mortified, I apologised.
"It's okay, and I enjoyed it anyway!" she responded coquettishly. I couldn't help but gallantly bow in response!

Anberlin's descent on the stage finally breathed life into the pulsating seed of dormant ardour that was trembling in my soul. As the first guitar string was strummed, it created an orb of kinetic energy that buried itself into the stage, made its way into the ground, crept up my person through my feet, and hit me with a force of such enlivening dynamism that, it was as if, I could see colours now...My God....
It was then that the shoving began! People wanted to get ahead, but I had a great vantage point (thanks to Bebe's astute placement), and I wasn't going to give it up. Rhett Butler was neatly packed away for the evening, as I shoved right back.
"GET THE FUCK BACK!" roared a voice near-by, I looked up to see Butters regaining his famed equanimity. If I could have, somehow, freed my arms from the thousands (it seemed) that were packed so closely to me, I would've given him an ovation.

Oh Anberlin! How well they primed the crowd with their well-chosen play-list! And they were so immaculately dressed too! Arms flailing, sweat dripping down my back, an inflamed larynx...I was existing in the Astral Plane of Extreme Rockitude! (Yes, you may hate me for that.). The music...it was a live, pulsating charge that just enlivened everything it touched. I could spin you a metaphor about the crowd being a thick, enmeshed unit so like cardiac muscle, and the music being the electricity that spreads through this network of cells, and the entire muscle fibre throbs itself to life. But tonight is not a night for reprehensibly nerdy, "work-related" things! I felt a sob catch in my throat, as I,veritably, blossomed under the aegis of unadulterated adrenaline. I wish Anberlin had played longer...

The lead singer of Taking Back Sunday is a rather astute gentleman: he made the observation that a lot of superheroes had peopled the audience that evening. This was true indeed. But with your generic Superman, Batman, Spiderman et al, there were also unsung others. The two that we experienced were: Perspireman and Clobbergirl. Perspireman is a rather corpulent and, as his name suggests, his one superpower would be perspire. Profusely. Both Bebe and I were victims of his grubby claws, as he shoved and grabbed and jumped and, well, perspired all over our respective persons. Perspireman stood behind me during the Anberlin set, and decided that it would be okay by me (and it most certainly wasn't!) if he grabbed onto my shoulder as he jumped to make his enthusiasm known. By the time the Anberlin sweat...erm...set was over, I knew him as intimately as one knows a lover. It was traumatising, to say the least. Perspireman was rather magnanimous with bedside manner too: he stubbed my toe very badly as he moved on to his next victim (poor Bebe!).
"Sir!" I cried, with my affectations returning. "Do you mind?!"
He smiled dimly. Obviously, he isn't the kind who believes in calling back...
With Bebe, a repeat performance of The Wet Adventures of Perspireman ensued, much to the consternation of Butters who made his displeasure known with a few well-timed barbs: oh, this is why I keep these people around, they give me hope!

Clobbergirl was my own cross to bear. True to her name, Clobbergirl pushed and shoved and elbowed, just to get in front. No, I had no intention to yield. So I leaned in and whispered, "Madam, I am going to have to taze you..."
Poor Clobbergirl! Her powers vanished right there, as she urgently searched for the perpetrator of this rather 'When a Stranger Calls' type of prank. But I was busy rocking away to Taking Back Sunday....

They played 'Make Damn Sure', if you must know! I love that song, and at that time, my veins were rather tangled close! Taking Back Sunday's verve knocked me right out of my being, and it was good. It felt right to levitate slightly, despite being surrounded my multitudes. My ears are still ringing, and I can say for a fact that they shall for some time to come.

I am so grateful for Butters and Bebe: the catalysts of my branching out. I could not have asked for better friends.

I finally feel caught up with my youth, and all I can say, in conclusion is:

"Burning down bridges now (scatter the ashes) Godspeed to all you're after Is this a life left just to remember Tell them who you are who you really were (hey hey) Kill yourself slowly over time fashion statement suicide She's still asleep in a Chelsea hotel Bad turns to worse and the worst turns into hell Fall asleep Don't fall asleep Don't fall asleep (God save the eyes that dim tonight) They lied when they said the good died young They lied when they said the good died young Stay with me stay with me tonight.
-'Godspeed' by Anberlin.

Until the next time,
GossipGuy!