Sunday, November 20, 2011

La La Love You

When you're young and into music, you think you'll never ever lose your love.  You assume you'll be rocking out to your favorite band until you die.  But, that rarely ever happens.  You get sick of albums.  You start digging a different sound.  You grow up and, usually, so does your musical taste.

For the most part, I've moved on from my pre-teen emo days.  Most of what I'm listening to came out in the last few years and definitely did not blast from my car in high school.  (I'm pretty sure back then I would've thought The National or Real Estate was soft and lame.  Wouldn't blast nearly as well as Nine Inch Nails, you know?)  There are three bands, however, that I still keep in heavy rotation.  Like popcorn or puppies, I never get sick of them.

They are:  Pixies, The Cure and The Smiths/Morrissey.  (I'm lumping Moz in with The Smiths for my own evil blog purposes.)

This week, I'll be seeing all three in concert.  It's like my own personal mini Coachella.  Watch this space for blogs about each of them.  I'll try not to cry.

It all started Saturday night with Pixies at The Music Box.  My friend Edi and I got there early enough to get a space down front.  Most of the crowd was our age or older, which makes sense.  I mean, Doolittle came out in 1989, when I was too young to drive but old enough to geek out over a great album.   It was a very heavily male crowd.  There was, however, a group of girls to my right.  I overheard one of them say, "That drummer is soooo old!"  Then one of the other chicks said she was going to google their ages and that they were probably grandpas.

This confused me.  Why were they there?  Did they think this was a new band?  Did they expect a bunch of twenty-year-olds?  Then I realized, they were probably introduced to the band by that scene in (500) Days of Summer.  Look, I have no problem with this.  I figure however you find out about good music is a good thing.  But I did feel like telling them to shut up when they were still talking during the opening notes of "Nimrod's Son."

The show was a sweet trip down memory lane.  "Here Comes Your Man" was one of our wedding songs.  "La La Love You" was on a mixed tape an old boyfriend made me that I held onto until way after college.  (I think it finally broke.)  I once found a chihuahua in the street and named him Jose Jones after the song, "Crackity Jones."  Then, "U-Mass" reminds me of keg parties and "Dig For Fire" is to this day my go-to shower song.

The whole show felt like one long nostalgic moment.  I felt fifteen again, especially when they played "Tame" and everyone started pogo-ing and screaming.  I was at my most spazzy during that song, for sure.  After  it was done, a girl turned around and pointed at me.  "You were smiling so big!" she said.  I'm sure I was.  I was happy.  Before the last song, I leaned over to Edi and said, "Where Is My Mind."  And, I was right!  (I love when I'm right almost as much as I love a good concert.  Yup, I'm just that obnoxious.)

After the show, we tripped our way outside, still smiling, still talking about what songs we liked best.  Walking home, we realized that neither of us could really hear anything and we were having to yell at each other.  All day yesterday, I had a ringing in my right ear and what felt like ten cotton balls in my left.  This morning, the ringing is gone and I'm down to about three cotton balls.  Totally worth it.

I guess I'm ready for The Cure tonight.

Stay tuned!

*photo by JenRobinson.