It's always good to remember that the word fan comes from the word fanatic.
I don't think it's a reach to call a guy who's seen a band "dozens and dozens" of times over 20 years, a guy who last month went to Peru to see them perform, a guy who stripped off his regular shirt to reveal the band's t-shirt underneath, but only after they took the stage, fanatical.
I'm talking about Psychedelic Furs fan #1.
At first I just thought he was forward, leaning over to me in the darkness of the National as Bash and Pop bashed and popped on "Fast and Hard," to share that he hadn't seen a band in matching suits since the Dave Clark 5.
Right there, he's lost me. Are the Furs the only thing he's listened to since the Dave Clark 5? Or is he just hokey?
But when he came back from the restroom to find that the space next to me was still available, I didn't need to hear, "Thanks for saving my space for me." As if.
Honestly, I'd only noticed he'd left because I was glad he'd stop trying to initiate conversation.
When Bash and Pop finished with "Friday Night is Killing Me," he turned to ask how many times I'd seen the Furs.
Sure I'd sound like a dork, I said twice in three years. That's when he puffed up his chest and made it clear he was the experienced one since he'd crossed the equator and I'd never so much as left the state to see them.
But while he may have been an adoring Furs acolyte, he wasn't shy about passing judgement, either.
Richard Butler had removed his frock coat before beginning "Until She Comes" to reveal a button up black and white shirt with white piping. No surprise, he immediately pushed up the sleeves '80s-style to complete the look.
By the time the band finished "Heaven," #1 fan leaned over and announced, "Richard's getting man boobs. He's going to have to change his style of shirt."
Just for the record, #1 fan saw no irony in judging another middle-aged man's body while he himself was plenty solid around the mid-section.
That said, he was handy when I needed to know something quickly.
When they said goodnight. I turned to my walking encyclopedia of all things Furs to ask him if they do encores. He responded with three fingers and a prediction they'd begin with "India.
So you know, they did two songs and "India" was second. So there.
Was fan boy upset he was mistaken? Hell, no, because they led with "Sister Europe," a song he hadn't heard them do live in 20 years. He was very, very excited about this.
All throughout the band's set, fan boy would dance off beat and try to mimic the excellent dancing and hand motions of Richard onstage. The problem is that Richard becomes the lyrics - he has gestures for praying, raining, hearing, loving, talking and, during "All That Money Wants," vein-tapping - and no one, not even a fervent follower, can keep up.
Midway through their set, fan boy was jolted when the next song was not what he anticipated. "Oh, good, they're mixing it up!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. "This isn't the same set list as Peru!"
Show-off.
And woe to the couple who decided to air their dirty laundry at #1 fan's favorite band's show. The oblivious lovebirds situated themselves right in front of him and I, allowing us to watch the arc of an argument and its aftermath play out in front of us.
First it was clear disagreement, then a protracted period of discussion and eventual settling of the matter. You'd think that the worst part would be the standing make-up sex that came afterwards (tongues and hands were flying), but in actuality, it was the post-coital drunken dissection of what had just gone wrong ("I'm not going to do it!" and "So I'm the bad Adam because I won't dance?") that led to fan boy standing up for his right to worship at the Furs' altar.
"Can you be quiet?" he demanded of the lovebirds. "I came to hear the show!"
It was enough for Romeo to half walk, half-carry Juliet out of the National and make fan boy (and honestly, me) very, very happy.
Of course, that could be said about every song the band played, whether a huge hit or lesser known. I can tell you that the most phones came out to capture "Pretty in Pink," the loudest roar was for "Love My Way," it took a while before most of the room recognized "Heartbreak Beat" and "Ghost in You" got its own interpretive dance thanks to Richard.
It was also a heavily paired-off crowd and what wasn't coupled was male. Think middle-aged meat market for those who weren't happily-ever-aftering and still like synths.
So with fan boy to my right (of course he had to be in front of the center of the sound booth for optimum viewing), I couldn't help but chat up the woman on my left, only to learn that she was 4 or 5 when she first heard the Furs. For her at 36, it was music from her childhood.
Naturally, I wanted to know if the current music she listens to pulls from the Furs' sound. She was somewhat perplexed by the question, but thought maybe so. Some of it. Kind of.
Spare me the lack of opinion.
As for people I actually knew, there was a favorite WRIR couple who stopped to chat on their way down front for a close-up view. Like me, they'd seen the band here in 2015 and couldn't think of a single reason not to come enjoy them again this Saturday night.
Then on my way out, I ran into an arty couple I'd seen at my first Furs show in 2014. They'd somehow recognized me (short woman, big hair, constantly dancing) from the back while standing behind the sound booth while I was in front of it.
"They're always so good," she said, while I got shallow and pointed out that Richard Butler has aged awfully well. After all, a show is audio and visual, right?
And if you don't think #1 fan likes the visual as much as the audio, you're kidding yourself.
Let's just say I'm not the one who went to Peru or noticed the man boobs.
When the synth and sax are wailing and Richard Butler's singing, "And it feels like love and it don't mean a lot," I'm thinking that it's all that we got and I'm not looking at his chest.
I'm in heaven.
Showing posts with label bash and pop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bash and pop. Show all posts
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Friday Night is Killing Me
Sometimes life is about choices. Of the random things that went on in my world today, let's see, I could write about...
~meeting a Georgetown University sports management major and talking about RFK Stadium
~the extended lunchtime discussion of race and politics at Croaker's Spot
~an unexpectedly teary at dinner
~a casual friend sharing that she was married for 42 days. "The first 30 were cool."
~the old rocker (his self-description when we met) greeting me by saying I smelled like I'd just showered
...it seems to me that the likeliest topic for my post should be semi-famous old rocker Tommy Stinson.
Approaching Gallery 5, my mind wandered to my life circa 1992, the year aforementioned semi-famous old rocker put out his first solo record post-Replacements breakup the year before.
His then-band name - Bash and Pop - said it all and I'd revisited it via my 24-year old CD as I drove around today, remembering how I'd used "Tiny Pieces" on several mix tapes I'd made for myself back in that other lifetime.
Why would I not come hear him live four blocks from home all these years later?
All the formerly young dudes were there, a fact which wouldn't have surprised me if I'd bothered to consider the thought. Women of a certain age showed in smaller numbers, like the suburban Mom (of a 19-year who only listens to Slipknot and Marilyn Manson...hmmm) standing next to me who admitted to being a Replacements fan, even once owning drummer Chris Mars' solo album.
P.S. She also left early looking bored. Pity.
Fittingly given what was to come, the opening band was "a less intimidating version of Long Arms," according to lead singer James when he introduced his fine band, meaning electrified acoustic guitars and less drumming.
The funny part is that sometimes James is just another history nerd I see at the noon lectures at the Virginia Historical Society and other times, like tonight, he's a rock god.
That is, when he's not grilling his band mates on the term for castrating chickens, which no one knew. Answer so you know for future Long Arms shows? Caponize. Put that in your crossword puzzle and finish it.
Not long after, James sighed dramatically. "We're going to singk about our feelings. Strap yourself in, kids," he warned, calling the band's sound tonight "castrated."
That's where James and I differed.
Of all the times I've seen and appreciated the talent of Long Arms, never have I enjoyed a performance so completely. Why? Because I could actually hear James' earnest and literate lyrics and comments referencing Kerouac, Country Joe and the Fish and, yes, his feelings. The band's energy, excellent guitar licks and dance-ability was still there, just not as ear-splitting (aka caponzing).
He didn't see it that way, yet this is a man who already knew what play Lincoln was watching at Ford's Theater and when I share that I saw most of it (until storming began), asks, "Before or after the line where he was shot?" Impressive, right?
"The next song is called "Party Girl" and it's for me," he said from the stage. No doubt.
Complete. Nerd. Slash. Rock. God.
No one wants their favorite Long Arms set to end on a Friday night, but sadly it did, freeing up James to mingle, wherein I could razz him about the show starting late. Would he want a history lecture to begin late? I think not.
The tardiness he casually explained away as due to the eating and drinking he, Tommy Stinson and cohorts had been doing at Comfort before the show, such an enjoyable exercise that the semi-famous old rocker had suggested moving his set time back to 10:15 to prolong it.
As you might imagine, no one was going to hold this man to a set starting time. Let's not forget "Never Aim to Please" was the first song on his first album.
When Tommy finally shambled up on stage alone with his guitar, it was with the same spiky blond hair and earring look he'd sported on that first Bash and Pop record. That it was just his acoustic and voice brought back the MTV Unplugged era in spades.
It wasn't the most organized set - "Hmm, what do I play now?" he mused more than once - but he's seasoned enough to effortlessly knock back a handful of new songs before telling a story about mistakenly leaving his Maker's Mark at the bar before coming onstage. The bartender had kindly brought it to him.
"If someone would be so kind as to order me another one, that'd be great," he announced to a roomful of fans. When it shortly arrived, he thanked the guy in the red shirt who'd delivered it and commented on how nice it would be to have a line of Maker Marks stretching to the speaker.
Even semi-famous old rockers can't drink all night without acquiring a little attitude, as evidenced when he sang, mid-song, "But I'll sing for all you mother-f*ckers here," and let out a rueful chuckle.
After the simplicity of the unplugged set, he invited his electric guitarist friend Chip Roberts, the other half of Cowboys in the Campfire (apparently the successor to Bash and Pop) to join him onstage for songs such as "On the Rocks" where Chip could show off his fantastic guitar chops.
It wasn't long before it became clear that these two have spent way too much time together on this tour with Tommy rolling his eyes when he noticed Chip still had his reading glasses stuck in his shirt and complaining, "Every f*cking day," likening their relationship to an uncle or a marriage (what?).
"No, no, I love him."
He should, considering all that Chip's pedal steel playing added to the song, "Match Made in Hell," a song he exhorted the crowd to join him on the chorus. "Match made in hell," yea, we got this.
This tour means Tommy's talking to lots of journalists and he's already tired of being asked "almost every day" about all the new books being written about Big Star, another band whose musical importance, like that of the Replacements, never translated to commercial success.
"I still listen to Big Star's music, but what's with all these books being written about them at the same time?" he grumbled before launching into a Big Star cover. Contrarian.
A set list was finally located but Tommy couldn't read it without glasses and he ignored Chip's offers of using his. The duo were clearly part Oscar and Felix.
Naturally, a semi-famous old rocker has to leave the stage so he can come back for an encore, thrilling the once young dudes and dudettes with the title song off that long-ago album, "Friday Night is Killing Me."
It hasn't so far, but I also just showered. Give it time.
~meeting a Georgetown University sports management major and talking about RFK Stadium
~the extended lunchtime discussion of race and politics at Croaker's Spot
~an unexpectedly teary at dinner
~a casual friend sharing that she was married for 42 days. "The first 30 were cool."
~the old rocker (his self-description when we met) greeting me by saying I smelled like I'd just showered
...it seems to me that the likeliest topic for my post should be semi-famous old rocker Tommy Stinson.
Approaching Gallery 5, my mind wandered to my life circa 1992, the year aforementioned semi-famous old rocker put out his first solo record post-Replacements breakup the year before.
His then-band name - Bash and Pop - said it all and I'd revisited it via my 24-year old CD as I drove around today, remembering how I'd used "Tiny Pieces" on several mix tapes I'd made for myself back in that other lifetime.
Why would I not come hear him live four blocks from home all these years later?
All the formerly young dudes were there, a fact which wouldn't have surprised me if I'd bothered to consider the thought. Women of a certain age showed in smaller numbers, like the suburban Mom (of a 19-year who only listens to Slipknot and Marilyn Manson...hmmm) standing next to me who admitted to being a Replacements fan, even once owning drummer Chris Mars' solo album.
P.S. She also left early looking bored. Pity.
Fittingly given what was to come, the opening band was "a less intimidating version of Long Arms," according to lead singer James when he introduced his fine band, meaning electrified acoustic guitars and less drumming.
The funny part is that sometimes James is just another history nerd I see at the noon lectures at the Virginia Historical Society and other times, like tonight, he's a rock god.
That is, when he's not grilling his band mates on the term for castrating chickens, which no one knew. Answer so you know for future Long Arms shows? Caponize. Put that in your crossword puzzle and finish it.
Not long after, James sighed dramatically. "We're going to singk about our feelings. Strap yourself in, kids," he warned, calling the band's sound tonight "castrated."
That's where James and I differed.
Of all the times I've seen and appreciated the talent of Long Arms, never have I enjoyed a performance so completely. Why? Because I could actually hear James' earnest and literate lyrics and comments referencing Kerouac, Country Joe and the Fish and, yes, his feelings. The band's energy, excellent guitar licks and dance-ability was still there, just not as ear-splitting (aka caponzing).
He didn't see it that way, yet this is a man who already knew what play Lincoln was watching at Ford's Theater and when I share that I saw most of it (until storming began), asks, "Before or after the line where he was shot?" Impressive, right?
"The next song is called "Party Girl" and it's for me," he said from the stage. No doubt.
Complete. Nerd. Slash. Rock. God.
No one wants their favorite Long Arms set to end on a Friday night, but sadly it did, freeing up James to mingle, wherein I could razz him about the show starting late. Would he want a history lecture to begin late? I think not.
The tardiness he casually explained away as due to the eating and drinking he, Tommy Stinson and cohorts had been doing at Comfort before the show, such an enjoyable exercise that the semi-famous old rocker had suggested moving his set time back to 10:15 to prolong it.
As you might imagine, no one was going to hold this man to a set starting time. Let's not forget "Never Aim to Please" was the first song on his first album.
When Tommy finally shambled up on stage alone with his guitar, it was with the same spiky blond hair and earring look he'd sported on that first Bash and Pop record. That it was just his acoustic and voice brought back the MTV Unplugged era in spades.
It wasn't the most organized set - "Hmm, what do I play now?" he mused more than once - but he's seasoned enough to effortlessly knock back a handful of new songs before telling a story about mistakenly leaving his Maker's Mark at the bar before coming onstage. The bartender had kindly brought it to him.
"If someone would be so kind as to order me another one, that'd be great," he announced to a roomful of fans. When it shortly arrived, he thanked the guy in the red shirt who'd delivered it and commented on how nice it would be to have a line of Maker Marks stretching to the speaker.
Even semi-famous old rockers can't drink all night without acquiring a little attitude, as evidenced when he sang, mid-song, "But I'll sing for all you mother-f*ckers here," and let out a rueful chuckle.
After the simplicity of the unplugged set, he invited his electric guitarist friend Chip Roberts, the other half of Cowboys in the Campfire (apparently the successor to Bash and Pop) to join him onstage for songs such as "On the Rocks" where Chip could show off his fantastic guitar chops.
It wasn't long before it became clear that these two have spent way too much time together on this tour with Tommy rolling his eyes when he noticed Chip still had his reading glasses stuck in his shirt and complaining, "Every f*cking day," likening their relationship to an uncle or a marriage (what?).
"No, no, I love him."
He should, considering all that Chip's pedal steel playing added to the song, "Match Made in Hell," a song he exhorted the crowd to join him on the chorus. "Match made in hell," yea, we got this.
This tour means Tommy's talking to lots of journalists and he's already tired of being asked "almost every day" about all the new books being written about Big Star, another band whose musical importance, like that of the Replacements, never translated to commercial success.
"I still listen to Big Star's music, but what's with all these books being written about them at the same time?" he grumbled before launching into a Big Star cover. Contrarian.
A set list was finally located but Tommy couldn't read it without glasses and he ignored Chip's offers of using his. The duo were clearly part Oscar and Felix.
Naturally, a semi-famous old rocker has to leave the stage so he can come back for an encore, thrilling the once young dudes and dudettes with the title song off that long-ago album, "Friday Night is Killing Me."
It hasn't so far, but I also just showered. Give it time.
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