Goddammit, look at me… it’s been a week and I still haven’t touched this writeup. I’ve been going to school (and kicking ass at it) and I’ve been going to bed early (kicking ass at that too). Watching Netflix, talking about this concept record I want to do but generally not touching it. Ask me about it sometime, it’s going to be called the Alaskan. Heavy shit… crime, tundra ghosts, helicopter accidents.
This isn’t about the Alaskan. This has nothing to do with the Alaskan and I have no idea why I brought that up, beyond simple self-promotion. This is about the show we played on September 17th.
I think I was tired that day, but that’s not even part of the narrative. The narrative begins a little after 7:00. Andy rolls up and Rachel and I are sitting outside with the little dog and the frogs are sitting in the pond; regal, sleek, and lazy. I hate semicolons. We kicked around for an hour or so, loaded up the Falcon, and rolled to Carrboro.
Upon arrival, Wes tells us that Lollipop Factory is down for the count. David is suffering badly… some freaked-out elvish flu… I know as well as anyone how hard it is to play guitar and sing when you’re down with the itis. It would take all the druids in the greater Orange County area chopping off goat balls and painting themselves with poke berries ‘round the clock just to get him better and that would not be an instant fix… these kind of holistic cures take time.
Now I remember, I wasn’t tired, I was getting over a head cold! Right, that’s what it was. This was my first day better but my voice was still a bit out. I knew I couldn’t possibly be losing my mind, not this young, and not again!
So Andy and I talked a minute with Wes, we planted the seeds of a round robin… we told him about our experience at Springwater with Pushy Lips. He was receptive! I heard some guys a few seats down talking about Pushy Lips and Irata and some other bands I know, so I tried to strike up a conversation but one of them looked at me like I’d just sprouted antlers. So be it. They stuck around for maybe half of the show, so that’s a plus.
The show would start after the season premiere of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” (PROJECTION SCREEN!) which would be on at 10:00. We were so very down with this and our feet were anxious so Andy and I walked down Franklin and ducked into the Cave for a little pre-show powwow with Adam of A Rooster for the Masses.
Adam’s a really nice guy. We met on the internet, in a seedy chatroom, and it took him six weeks to wheedle my phone number out of me. Six weeks! Unreal!
By that I mean, he and I have been talking back and forth on Facebook for a while and it was nice to get to meet him in person.
Not much to say, pretty much hovered there and talked while some guy played innocuous acoustic ditties and occasionally gargled behind his harmonica. The Cave had plenty of people in it already, as it should have.
Rooster have done the work and deserve the accolades.
Andy and I walked back down Franklin to the Reservoir and we drank some Schlitz.
Whatever you are, if you're up there, you gotta help me.
My own inner dialogue has been running in this fucked-up mix of Bill Hicks, Hunter S. Thompson, and movie-era Captain Kirk. I want to be clever, it's so important to me, but I have to consciously stop myself from directly plagiarizing these poor people who never actually meant to inspire me.
Captain Kirk isn't even “people.” Goddammit...
There were a few people in there, maybe 15 or so, and they sat at the bar and they paid attention and they appeared to enjoy themselves. We played “Golgotha '98” faster than ever before and it was a fantastic and ferocious thing. “Wolf Wings,” “Peace Treaty...” our heavy and dark shit always sounds great in this kind of room. The instrumentals, “Dirty Bomb Stratocaster” and “Southport,” were a bit unhinged and a lot of fun. We seriously need to write some more songs in the rockout vein. It's as fun now as it was when Chuck Berry was turning America's teens to the amoral dance fiends who ended up being our parents...
Weird.
It came together the most beautifully during the White Cascade’s last turn, right after we'd played “Southport.” They were up there in a flash and they didn't so much as launch into “Sunblind” as they pushed it off a fucking building and rode it down. It was the final maniac ride of an overheating hot rod and they knew if they let their feet off the gas, just for a second, the engine would explode and it would never know road again.
Matt Cash had this slurring precision, this confident intensity to his bassline and he pushed the walls a little farther apart with his P-bass. Robbins made some pretty classic rock faces, haven't seen those from him before... I know he specializes in swirling eddies of cymbal wash but I don't think I've seen him feel it to this degree. It was pretty amazing. Guess, for his part, keeps a cool expression. He's a dedicated pedalhead and I suppose that's the face of concentration. For some reason I can never identify or remember his individual pedals, but I suppose it's because of his approach. Most guitarists (myself included) treat their pedals as weapons in an arsenal... he treats his like ingredients in a recipe. What you get in the end is unidentifiable by individual definitions but is obviously the sum of its parts.
They ended with a question mark, with this J. Spaceman noise build they've been doing for maybe six months. It functions nicely within a set, yet it doesn’t do well as a set closer. Considering the galactic energies erupting from “Sunblind,” especially this time around, I would vote that they lead into “Sunblind” from their noise build. A good example of this kind of build is from Spiritualized's Live From Albert Hall... the first two tracks... only, instead of the noise building into the supreme chillout of “Shine a Light” we build into the juggernaut that is “Sunblind.” For fuck’s sake, that song’s like watching a Concord take off. It’s like waterskiing behind a PT Boat… through a minefield… in the Mekong Delta... at night… on acid… Take the noise build, build it until the audience is just about to lose bowel control, then launch mercilessly into “Sunblind” and end the show there. Wham, bam… encore would be impossible and impermissible… anything in addition would only detract from the sympathetic fury that is rock and roll.
All parties involved went home from this show feeling like they’d done something important… because we had. This was the most fantastic time in history, except for all the other good shows.
Life’s pretty rad. Love fest, flower power, etc. Went home… went to bed… woke up… took a test… ACED IT.
*3rd time’s a charm.
Both times WtBR has been booked to play with Lollipop Factory there’s been some bizarre factor beyond our control that’s prevented the show from taking place. We’re going to give this another shot in January and I won’t walk under any mirrors or break any ladders in the meantime.
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