not falling down

So yeah, we went to see Mr. Aparo again. Jon couldn’t stay for the show, only dinner (this is the Jon Never Gets To See Angie Aparo curse), but I get to see him again this weekend. And Lisa too! I’m sucking my friends back in!

That’s not what I’m writing about, though. I’m writing about the concert. It was a great concert; the venue (The Dame) was my favorite of the places I’ve seen him, and both of the opening bands were really good (bought both CDs! CDs are also good!), and I got to introduce Maria to the marvel that is Angie live.

Yet. It is increasingly difficult to enjoy Angie Aparo concerts, specifically and directly because of Angie Aparo fans.

Not all his fans. I’m talking about the people at Angie Addicts, a severely cultlike community that’s mostly based in or around Lexington (possibly in Nicholasville). The Addicts–or at least the ones who are the stars of this post–are a group of women and a few men, all at least beginning their declining years, who appear in whole or in part at every show Angie plays within five hundred miles of central Kentucky.

Angie jokes about how intrusive and frightening these people are, when he sees them. They laugh delightedly, because he’s paying attention to them. They, unlike Angie and the rest of the audience, don’t realize that the jokes are not jokes at all.

Last night was the worst infestation I’ve seen yet. They arrived in droves, set up shop at the front of the stage, and really did their best to ruin the concert for everyone else. They made noise during the quiet parts of the songs; they drank and drank and fell all over themselves; they danced exactly like the middle-aged sponges they are. They screamed coordinated requests (which he then chose not to play). They took pictures of themselves, several times, during songs, and cackled madly at this. They hugged and swayed and sang to each other at the end of every single song; they wore the same clothes they wear at every single show.

I’m not going to do something like post this rant over on their message boards, because that’s trolling and it doesn’t really accomplish anything. But I do kind of hope somebody notices a link in their referrer logs and checks out this entry, because then maybe they’ll start thinking about my point:

It is the prerogative of people under thirty to act like idiots at concerts.

It’s fine to get drunk and heave your body around at a Rolling Stones concert, yes, okay, there are more people in that space than lived in my hometown and nobody’s going to care. But when there are maybe a hundred people in the entire building, all of whom really want to pay attention to a good concert, it’s a pretty straightforward responsibility to act your fucking age.

There are degrees to this. I’m twenty-two, and I don’t even dance the way I did when I was seventeen (as people who went to GSP with me will attest). Granted, part of this is because of the danger of spinal damage, but mostly it’s because I’m learning to enjoy music differently. When you’re a teenager, you rock out at the front. Through your twenties you start learning to bob and nod and groove, and by the time you’re thirty you should be sitting at your table in the back, sipping your beer and actually appreciating the harmonies.

I’m not exactly an establishmentarian, but this gradient exists because it makes sense. It’s good and right and allows for people at the age you used to be to do the things you used to do.

If it had been high-schoolers up front rocking out to Angie last night, I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would have understood. I would have smiled. And they would have gotten yelled at, and it would have been okay. For one thing, they wouldn’t have complemented their dancing by buying the band shots from the bar, or wearing homemade shirts with song lyrics on them. They wouldn’t have gasped “God I love you!” during the hushed part of “Wonderland.” They would not, in short, have acted like outwardly arrogant sycophants.

I said it was a great concert, and I meant it; the show those three guys put on is fantastic to make up for whatever the crowd is doing, and Angie is charismatic and quick on his feet enough to turn anything into a joke. The point is that they shouldn’t have been forced to make up for anything. I’m neither sexist nor ageist, and I don’t have a problem with middle-aged women getting out and having a good time. When you start doing it at the expense of other people who like the same music you do, though, it’s time to consider something: maybe, just maybe, you should have left this behavior behind around the time I was born.

Yo ho. I emerge from the shark-thick waters, knife in my teeth and a steely glint in my eye, having taken all three of my double-damned midterms in ONE DAY and lived to tell the scurvy tale. Yo ho.

And now, in lieu of booty, I go to Lexington. What reward holds Lexington, you ask? It holds Jon. It holds Monica. It will hold me and Ken and Maria, and most importantly, it will hold ANGIE APARO!

Gollum Spam?:

gamruddin@dinovoyrll.com		ttiBBootttlleedd hheeaalltthh

We stayed the night (all five hours of it) in Nashville with Jon’s cousin Tracy, who is astoundingly kind and has a really cool apartment, and who might even be reading this if she happens to remember how to spell “Xorph.” I was thinking about getting little cards or something printed up, until I remembered that I hate plugging for this site. I don’t plan on any kind of advertisement until I’m satisfied that my work is good enough for more than a few friends and friends’ friends to see it; I always like getting mentioned on bigger sites or whatever, but that’s more for the sense of recognition than for the thought of big counter numbers.

Also, as long as I’m giving shout-outs, I think Emily Tate wanted to have her name mentioned in my journal, but I’m not giving her the satisfaction. Unless she takes her pants off and dances around in my room, maybe. I mean hey, quid pro quo.

I did it. Two finals and a scene analysis paper, today, on two hours of sleep. Smart? No. But when you’re Neo, you don’t have to be smart.

So I’ve only got one more final left in college, and it’s not until Monday, and even though noIdon’thavethecomicup I am still going to splurge. That’s right. Tonight, Nashville, Amanda and Jon and me and one more Angie show.

I can’t stand it anymore. I usually try to wait until songs are at least no longer purchasablebefore I post them, but in this case the song hasn’t even been released yet. I’m weak. I’ve beenlistening to it an average of eight times an hour since Jon sent it to me, though, to the point where I’m apologizing to anybody in theroom for their having to hear it again. I’m insatiable.

At any rate, I’m going to post it now, on the condition that you promise to buy or at least burnthe next album whenever it comes out. Yes, it does sound a lot like Beautiful,chords-wise, but I like them both anyway. The high parts on this one are part of All That Is RightAnd Good With The World©.

The Gin Blossomswere here. Here. Last night. I saw the Gin Blossoms last night. Here.

I put up a brave front, but the fact is I know almost nothing about music. This is a vast improvement over, say, 1998, when I knew literally nothing about music (embarrassing anecdote: I once asked Erika “So, what other songs has U2 put out besides ‘With or Without You?’”).

So 98-99 was my Big Into Gin Blossoms period. I actually own their greatest hits (only they could make their third album a greatest hits album [for the record, a couple of non-hits on there aren’t bad]). I knew nothing about pop or instrumentation or songs that had more than three chords, and they were a lot of fun to listen to. This was right after they broke up, I believe, and “Hey Jealousy” was still likely to get a cheer if it came on the radio.

It is frankly bizarre to think that I saw them live in concert last night. Granted, EKU is a large school, and it’s kind of surprising they don’t get more bands, really. I think Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds were here once.

Anyway, my friend Erin (Michalik), an RA comrade for two years running, called me at 6 and asked if I’d be willing to go see the Gin Blossoms for free. We got there as they were finishing their first song (”Follow You Down,” naturally) and there were like a hundred people there.

A hundred people. At a Gin Blossoms concert.

Maybe another twenty people arrived during the whole show. The Coliseum can hold something like two thousand. This is not the saddest part. No, that would be the lead singer actually asking people to try stage-diving. Or trying to run out into the crowd with a corded mike. Or getting said mike tangled around the chair he stood on (making him roughly my height). Or the fact that he dressed like he really wanted to be in The Strokes.

I felt bad for them, really. What’s it like to play to audiences of thousands, then break up, then get back together and find yourself playing for a hundred dispassionate kids at Eastern Kentucky University? Granted, this is probably just karma catching up to them for selling the same song so many times, but still.

I did have a lot of fun, in a surreal kind of way, and it was nice to hear the songs–exactly the way they sound on the albums, but much louder–again. It was good to see Erin again too.

I feel better for Angie. The man’s playing to crowds nearly as big as the Gin Blossoms, for Pete’s sake. Also, they both do Rocket Man, and Angie does it a lot better.

Angie show was great, of course, if sadlya little shorter than the first one.There were actually fewer people there, but because the bar was approximately the size of my closet, it certainly felt a lot morecrowded.

The people from Ohio were there again, in full stalkers-fueled-by-alcohol mode, and once againAngie made jokes about being scared of them that everybody else there knew were serious. Thelocal opening band was a little frightening too, in a “you think you’re getting the crowd excitedbut really we just don’t want you this close to us” way. Ah, Lexington.

Anyway, Angie started off the set with “Wonderland”–said Amanda: “wow, no foreplay!”–and thoughwe didn’t get to hear “Fight For Your Right” or “Gravity,” the version of “Memphis City Rain” was(if possible) better than ever. It just grooooved.

And once again, the magnificent Mandar has pics! Already! I don’t think I’ll ever understand howthese “one-hour photography” places work. There was no cool lighting this time, but we were muchcloser–like arm’s-length closer–and some of them turned out really nice. The crowd includedMonica and her friend Jenny (shown in the sixth pic holding their stolen setlist), plus me, Amanda and Ken–notablebecause the eighth pic below isthe best one ever of Ken. There was another one that was comparable, from an old Short Story concert, but I appear to have lost it; ifsomeone else has a copy, let me know.

There is also one pic in therein which Angie appears to be both asleep and bleeding from the mouth. Don’t blame the photographer!After all, she provided the last pic–in which we prove that even though Jon couldn’t make it tothis show, he was definitely there in spirit (or at least in PSP).

Pics open in a separate window.

GSP is done as of twenty-eight hours ago; thepost-GSP party/nap/wake for the RAs is done as of seven hours ago. It’ll be good to get some sleep,but of course I’m sad. This year I actually had some idea what I was doing, and with a couplenotable exceptions I felt closer to all of my Scholars because of that. I miss them.

There are stories, the ones I couldn’t tell while things were in session because I was on the job.Now they can, in fact, be told, but I don’t currently have the strength for that much typing. I’llget to it soon.

Meanwhile: I get to go see Angie! Again!

Pics of the show! These all come courtesy of the Mandar and her mighty lens. First four are of Angie and whatshisface, and the next three are ofus. There are more on the roll–including the awesome one of us all hugging on the man himself–but unfortunately theydidn’t turn out. Consarn it!

Pics open in a separate window.

Angie–it was just him and his drummer (Derek?)–played for at least two hours, sans set list, taking requests from thecrowd. About two of us, as I recall, were actually from Cincinatti; most of the rest were apparently just following himalong the Ohio River. And then there were the four college students sitting on the floor two feet from the stage,grinning like idiots. We would have danced, but then the people behind us wouldn’t have been able to see.

So yeah, basically they played whatever we asked for–all but two tracks on this album, plus good chunks of his first indie CD (seen above, autographed) and his new coversalbum. And it was great. It was incredible. They got the fullest sound out of one guitar and a JuniorMiss drum kit I’ve ever heard. Angie was wearing a Ramones t-shirt, which was kind of (situationally) ironic,because… Well. Bono always says the reason he started U2 was because he saw the Ramones and wanted to be in a rockband. I saw Angie Aparo, and now I want nothing more than to pack up my drums and piano and move into a van and play ina club every night for a hundred years.

(No worries, Mom. I can’t drive a van yet.)