One of the hardest things I have been doing recently is cutting back on concerts in order to save travel money. It sucks but the one good thing is that there haven’t been very many must-see bands coming to town recently.
I did sacrifice a road trip to see Dance Gavin Dance last weekend though. THAT is how devastatingly bad I want to go to South Korea.
But then I saw Foxing was playing at Cattivo and I had to go, just for sure would not be able to live with myself if I slept on that one. After listening to them for several years and finally seeing them in Cleveland last fall, I have been dying for a replay.
Henry is not a fan. He’s not even impressed by the trumpet. But he sighed and agreed to go with me because he is Oppa Supreme.
We went straight after work on Tuesday and he bitched the whole time because Cattivo is located in one of his least favorite parts of town (he hates hipsters even though he has a beard and wears flannels and slouchy beanies—oh wait that’s lumbersexual. I’m confusing my stereotypes again).
We stood in line surrounded by high school girls talking/screaming about bonding in the bathroom while pooping, vaping and Vining. I saw Henry leave his body and go back to THE SERVICE at one point.
And then Conor, the singer from Foxing, came out and the ringleader of the high schoolers stopped him and gave him a drawing and then made him recreate a picture he took with her last year.
“I look like an egg,” she said, examining herself in her phone’s screen.
“Me too,” Conor said.
“He said ‘me too’!” the high school girl screamed in this cocky tone and have I ever told you that I hate when people repeat shit someone said while that person is standing right there. I think it must remind me of someone I hated in high school I DONT KNOW I’m drawing a blank. But I hate that, regardless.
We stood in line for a good 45 minutes after doors were supposed to open. I’m not a fan of Cattivo.
When the doors finally opened, we went inside just to show our IDs, get a wristband, and then GO BACK OUTSIDE to stand in line again? You can believe that Henry muttered out loud about this for the next half hour and then another guy who may have been almost my age was also complaining about it so then they had a moment where they complained about it to each other and I was just like “kill me.”
(She said kill me!)
I commented that it smelled like standing in line for a haunted house.
Henry considered this briefly and started to half-heartedly agree.
“—-in 1997,” I finished.
And then he shot me that fierce “you’re an idiot” glare that will probably be frozen on his face when he does. I guess he didn’t agree with me anymore after that?
Some kid behind me started to vape and I was ensconced in fruity fumes that I couldn’t quite place and then Sandy texted me because I sent her a picture of a guy in line that I thought looked like how Ethan would look if he went to the same shows as me and she showed it to Ethan who disagreed and said I’m racist, so then I couldnt stop cracking up and now I wonder if someone else from that line also blogged about their night and mentioned the mom-aged broad in line who was trying to take clandestine pictures of people while laughing alone and her burly mountain man companion who complained about everything and was flicking his AARP card in and out of his wallet like it was a switchblade.
Sorry. I’m running on 4 hours of sleep and lots of Kpop-dance adrenaline.
Because I was so grateful that henry didn’t make me go alone, I let him sit down in the bar area even though it meant that I couldn’t see very well. It was just as well, because I ended up getting drunk off two beers and then crying about Bigbang. Because this is me.
I spent a lot of time sitting back and people-watching which is when I noticed that I’ve been seeing a shift from 90s grunge to 80s alternative/new-wave as far as clothes and hairstyles go at these shows, and I don’t hate it one point. There was a dark Corey Haim aesthetic happening and I felt so hopeful, like perhaps there was where I belonged. I always rue the fact that I wasn’t old enough in the 80s to experience the club scene.
Um, and then Joy Division started playing overhead and I had an out of body experience. I didn’t go to the Service though like Henry does when he leaves his body.
I went to Robert Smith’s house. We had tea. Except that I was drinking mine while watching him from behind a bush.
The opening band couldn’t be there because they couldn’t get into the county (thanks, TRUMP) so one of the guys from the second band, Yohuna, played an endless set which essentially sounded like just one long, exhausting song with minimal vocals and lots of gratuitous reverb and look, it was fine – even beautiful at times – but it was boring as fuck. I was tired and emotionally numb from work and needed something to make me woke, you know?
Henry hated him but I wouldn’t go that far. It would be good to have on in the background while you’re working on a coloring book of stained glass windows or writing your Will.
Luckily, there was some middle-aged (OMG THATS ALMOST ME) Yinzer (NEVER WILL BE ME) couple in front of us who drank so much that henry became obsessed with keeping track (I’d ask him what the final tally was but he’s — can you guess? —sleeping.)
Yohuna was fine.
BUT THEN FOXING!!!!
I know what you’re thinking: “But Erin, don’t you hate trumpets?” Fuck no. That’s banjos. I hate banjos.
They opened with a new song that’s never been performed live! (This was the first night of their tour!) I haven’t been able to stop thinking of that song ever since. It’s haunting me. The goosebumps I had on my arms were no joke and henry can attest that the tears falling from my eyes were not Crocs.
According to some dude on YouTube, the song is called Nah Man. I can’t wait to hear it again, fuck.
My favorite song by them will forever be Rory, and that’s what they closed with, which felt religious. Church on a Tuesday. Why not.
But I’ve already posted that video on here before so here is some other person’s video from that night, of The Magdalene. Also a stunner.
On the way to the car, I said, “I have tears all the way down my neck!” And Henry mumbled an exasperated “Oh my god.” Boyfriend will never get it.
Tear-jerking music and Henry bitching: everything was as it should be.