Stumbled across this photo I took with my Holga at the 2008 Warped Tour. This was the first time I got to see Pierce the Veil live and I of course sobbed through the whole thing.

Plus, my friend Maya is making a Vic Fuentes companion to my Jonny Craig doll, complete with a tiny embroidered Jaws t-shirt, just like the one he was wearing at that year’s Warped Tour. I went back and re-read that post this morning and felt so happy. God, that was such a good day, and an overall fantastic year. I feel compelled to re-share that Warped Tour post, so now you have to read it! Even if it’s just for the picture of Henry eating nachos. (This might have been Henry’s least favorite Warped Tour of all time. I imagine it was a huge shock to his system.)

*************

This year, Henry had the pleasure of taking his two favorite kids to Warped Tour: his son Blake, and, well…me. I kept ducking while we were stuck in concert traffic because I didn’t want the surrounding carfuls of scene kids to laugh and say, “Oh god, that girl is going with her dad, how lame.” When we entered the parking lot, we drove past the drop-off area and Henry said, “God, those parents are so lucky that they don’t have to go in.” Then he tried to murder me with a look of disgust and resentment.

It was nearly noon by the time we managed to park the car. Blake didn’t have a ticket yet so he and I stood around idly outside the entrance to Post Gazette Pavilion while Henry went and bought his ticket. We were approached by the singer and guitarist of Uh-Oh Explosion, who were toting around a box of their CDs. Making small talk, the singer asked if Blake and I were “together.” Instinctively, we both took a step apart and emphatically answered “NO.” Trying to figure it out, he squinted his eyes and guessed, “Brother and sister?” We shook our heads. I saw Henry lingering a few yards away, knowing better than to walk over and lame-up the convo. I pointed to Henry and said, “OK, see that guy? That’s his dad, and my boyfriend.”

This kid (he was only 17) thought this was so fucking fantastico for some reason. “That’s so awesome! Like, talk about closeness. And you guys all came to Warped together!” He paused for a second, before sending my stomach to the meat grinder. “So do you guys have threesomes too?”

RECORD SCRATCH.

I was ready to whistle for the cement mixer to come and seal up my sex organs for real. So disturbing and awkward. I still bought their CD though, because what I heard sounded good and proceeds went to the animals. And what’s a little quasi-incest discourse in the name of stray cats, am I right.

Once we got inside, I was like a kid on Christmas. My eyes had a veritable scene kid feast as we weaved our way to the main stage, where Sky Eats Airplane was playing. Blake and I have the same taste in music — the more scream-y the better. Henry, however, shits himself when he hears hateful bellows, so he took this as an opportunity to go and find a set schedule and then conveniently lose us. Sky Eats Airplane was a good way to start the day.

In between bands, I got to ogle more scene kids. I was wondering why I was so fascinated with them when it dawned on me: If that scene was around when I was a teen, I’d totally have been the first on board. I used to make fun of them,  but now I want to like, write a book about them or something. I’ll start with Blake.

Averting the Hare Krishnas, we went to the Highway 1 Stage to catch From First To Last. Henry was all, “I’m perfectly fine standing all the way back here” and sent Blake and I into the crowd to get pummeled without adult supervision. Anyway, FFTL’s singer Sonny left two years ago and it was a little strange watching them perform without him. Their new material is a little too easy-to-digest and mainstream for my liking, but they ended the set with “Ride the Wings of Pestilence” which always makes me want to sacrifice a shack of Mexican prostitutes. And drink some of Henry’s blood.

Not interested in any bands playing right after FFTL, we walked around and looked at t-shirts and other merch for awhile. Henry, who had bragged on  the way there that he NEVER gets sunburned, started complaining about his nose getting burnt. He kept trying to sneak away and pose under trees in his signature old man-stance. Blake and I would pause and hunker down over the schedule, trying to determine which bands were must-sees and which ones we could skip without losing sleep that night. I kept trying to include Henry, but he would grumble, “I don’t know, does that band actually SING? Then NO, I don’t want to see them.” Perhaps Henry should have just went to that twanged-out Jamboree with Tina instead. Fuck.

 

1. The Bronx: I almost got trampled trying to push my way to the stage to see them, only to leave after ten minutes to run to another stage far away to see Alesana. They were really good and made me want to continually punch Henry in the balls. I always forget how much aggression I have until I go to shows like this. I just found out that they’re going on a tour of LA Mexican restaurants as a mariachi band and oh, who I wouldn’t kill to see that.
2. Alesana: They were playing on the main stage, and Henry was like, “Thank god, now I can sit my weary bones down!” So Blake and I begrudgingly sat down too. I realize that I enjoy bands less when I’m sitting, because I become too distracted with people-watching. Because of this, I don’t remember if I liked Alesana live or not. All I remember is that Blake picked up an Underoath CD release poster from the ground and gave it to me, making me  think he wanted me to keep it, so I ended up lugging it around all day in my backpack only to wind up throwing it away the next day.
3. Human Abstract: Another main stage band, but at least this time Henry allowed himself to be dragged down to the floor by the stage. I had never heard their music before, only seen the ads in Alternative Press for their new CD, so I really wasn’t sure if I was going to like them. Even aside from the immediate crush I developed on the keyboard player, I ended up liking them a lot. They were nice and heavy, but had an interesting melodic side as well. Blake thought they were just alright and stayed sitting down next to his old man for their entire set. This was also around the time that I considered slamming my camera to the pavement because it was taking such shitty pictures, but after Henry inspected it for three seconds, he deduced it was because I had a giant finger print on the lens. I didn’t hate my camera after that.

After the Human Abstract, it was nearly time for Pierce the Veil. They were the main reason I was there and all day it felt like butterflies were fornicating in my belly. It was either Pierce the Veil anticipation or the residual side effects of being asked if my vagina is friendly with both generations of Robbins. Henry once again stood in the sidelines, but I weaved my way as close to the stage as I could get. Which was fairly close since they were still sound-checking.

To show his unwavering adoration, Vic vowed to wear his Jaws shirt every day for the duration of Shark Week. He kept going on and on about sharks and I know this is going to make me look bad but I’m going to be honest: all I could think about was Tina’s vagina, gnashing against flailing legs. Thank God they started playing right after that because fuck — my mind disgusts me sometimes. And holy shit, their set was fucking fantastic. It was so good, that I didn’t even mind the heat or having two bitches dropped on me (thank God for Blake, else they’d have hit the pavement). They basically just play a blend of alternative rock, with some screamo-lite thrown in for scene cred, but what makes them stand apart for me is their lyrics. They’re smart, morbid, sad, and just overall clever. At the end of one of their songs, they segued right into a thirty second cover of “Bleeding Love” which was a million times better than the original we’re guaranteed to hear every time we walk into a grocery store. They also threw in a cover “Beat It” which was energenic and really fun to watch, and they ended the set with “Party Like a Rock Star” gone metal.

I did NOT want that set to end. Even Blake admitted that he was surprised how good they were live, and Henry was like, “Yes, fine, I liked what I heard all the back there in Parent Alley.” It was one of those moments where you want to call everyone you know and give them a hyper review in a shrill voice, but you know no one will give a shit. So then you’re just depressed.

We had a lot of time to kill after Pierce the Veil, so I bought a five dollar soft pretzel while wishing for once I ate meat so I could get a corn dog for $3.50 — the cheapest foodstuff there. Henry got nachos which looked like slop. Henry’s demeanor seemed to uncurdle a bit while he was coating his ‘stache with cheese sauce. He even smiled a few times and I think he laughed once.

While we were chilling out at the picnic table, Blake proposed that he move in with us. Maybe it was just the contact high of being with someone who actually gave a shit about music, but I declared that this was the best idea I had ever heard in all of my life, even better than my idea to direct porn, so now he might be moving in with us. It would make my scene kid research easier, for sure.

Blake was so sad that we missed Katy Perry while we were foraging for discounted sustenance. He even pulled his hat down low to hide the tears. But maybe it was because he saw kids he knew and was embarrassed of Henry.

• Evergreen Terrace: I liked them alright but there was nothing mind-blowing that made me want to scour Ebay for rare memorabilia. However, during one of their songs, they chanted “I want you dead” and maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I thought that would be such a romantic sentiment to have engraved on wedding bands.
• Classic Crime: Another band that sounds good in stereo, but didn’t hold my attention live. Instead, I stared at this really surly girl who was like an overweight scene Sami Brady from Days of Our LIves. She was climbing over rows of seats and even though she was struggling to swing her trunk-legs over, she didn’t let it deter her from scaling the next row, until eventually she lost her momentum and wound up clotheslining her crotch. It brought me joy, lots of joy.
• 3OH!3: I wouldn’t have sought this band out normally, but we wanted to see the band that was coming on right after them, so we hung out for their set. I thought I was going to hate them at first, because that wave of white boy rap-rock-electronica kind of annoys me. But they ended up being so fucking fun and there was a really hot blond chick dancing on the side of the stage, so they kept my attention for sure. During their last song, it basically turned into a chaotic dance party on stage, and even Blake’s girlfriend Katy Perry was up there dancing with her man Travis from Gym Class Heroes (who I walked past earlier and wanted to say, “Your gf is a gaybo” but I wasn’t feeling assholey enough. Plus, I like Travis.). Anyway, I’m going to have 3Oh!3 play at my Sweet Thirtieth Birthday Orgy Masquerade. It’s gonna be tight.
• Bring Me the Horizon: Blake ran into some of his friends right as they came on, so we were officially ditched. Henry and I hung around for a few songs, but Henry looked like he wanted to call out for his mommy, so I spared him. I really liked BMTH though — they made me want to fillet a cop.
• The Devil Wears Prada: Sans Blake, things were pretty lame. I wanted to get closer to the stage but Henry was all OH HELL NAH so I was like, “Fuck this then” and went to buy a shirt instead. Henry, you pussy.

The day was coming to an end by this point, and Blake had re-joined us in time for Dr. Manhattan. I was torn, because they were playing at the same time as Norma Jean, side-by-side. And I love Norma Jean. Norma Jean blocked out Eleanore’s nerve-prickling coupon-cutting many a night for me. But I chose Dr. Manhattan, along with fifteen other people. It was sad! But you know a band is good when there are OTHER bands in the crowd watching them. And they were good — they were quirky and fun and energenic and they made me laugh out loud a few times. Unfortunately, Norma Jean was one stage over, luring people into their crowd. They had gigantic black beach balls and I won’t lie — I’m a sucker for a beach ball. At one point, I yelled to Henry, “Hey, do you want to go over and watch Norma Jean for the rest of their set?” but right then, two people left Dr. Manhattan’s crowd and the singer — in the middle of a song — stopped and yelled, “Hey! Where are you guys going??” It was so sad/cute/scary that I looked at Henry and said, “Never mind!”

At the end of their show, some of the bands in the crowd started chanting, “One more song!” but they weren’t allowed because of time constraints. So the singer started chanting back, “One more crowd!”, the retardedness of which made me laugh. I was also dehydrated, though. Overall, I was glad I stayed loyal to Dr. Manhattan, because their set was rewarding.

And that was it. We walked back to the car and already I started to feel the body-dragging effects of post-show depression. Then I thought about how all day long I had been talking about all the bands I wanted to see, but by the end of the night, all I wanted to see was Chooch.

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July 12th, 2012: Warped Tour, a/k/a Erin R. Kelly’s Christmas.

Oh you guys, I can’t even begin to explain how badly I need this day every year. It’s that one day where I don’t give a shit what I look like, how much I weigh, that my finger is engagement ringless. Mama don’t care! On this day, I’m not a mom, not a girlfriend, not a Law Firm grunt, not a blogger or a serial annoyer; I am just a music fan. I wake up with butterflies in my stomach – that awesome feeling of being on a roller coaster going up a hill? I’ve got that the whole way up until the gates of the venue are opened, and then it’s just an all-day, unrelenting rush of emotiblahblahblah blah blahhhh Erin is a scene ladykid who probably has a drawerful of YOLO tanks.

No one comes here to read this emo shit. Bring on the dramzzz, right?

There was definitely a big scoop of pre-Warped drama, stemming from when Henry nearly couldn’t be my date, CAN YOU IMAGINE? He almost had to work that day (actually, he was supposed to work that day but pulled some strings, moved some shit around, did what he had to do to keep his big bitchbaby girlfriend placated) and even tried to PAY Christina to go with me, which would have been a disaster so thank god she’s too wishywashy to say yes. (Worst Warped Tour ever was 2007 when I went with her and her sister; just awful.) My alternate date was Chooch. This seemed like a swell idea at first, probably because I was drunk when I thought of it. But can you imagine? Maybe all three of us together (with a SWAT team behind us) would be OK, but Chooch and me alone? No.

(He was actually on board to go once he saw pictures of Warped Tour that included girls in bikinis. Scandelous.)

I cried. I stamped my feet. I slammed doors. I didn’t talk to Henry for an entire day* because of this and made sure everyone at work knew that my boyfriend was a horrible human being.

*(That’s a long time for a couple who barely fight! No seriously, that wasn’t a joke.)

But then two nights before the day of Warped Tour, Henry came through and said that he would indeed be able to go. The next day at work, I was called a “crybaby” and “spoiled brat” by unnamed co-workers.

(Lee.)

I would have gone by myself if I had to, but I sure was happy that my official Warped Tour partner was able to come along for yet another year.  And I don’t care what he says, we both had a good time. I think Henry’s favorite part was when we were up front during Of Mice & Men and got to see the conveyor belt of injured fans being carried away by security staff and medics, such as:

• girl with busted nose so bloody, it almost appeared that it had been ripped entirely off
• guy who landed supine on the asphalt
• guy who was 100% unconscious
• girl who was crying hysterically to the chief security guy; Henry postulated that she had something in her eye (I have no idea where he got that idea) but I’m pretty sure she was telling him that she was touched inappropriately by another security guy.

The downside to Of Mice & Men was that Blood on the Dance Floor was playing after them and one of their members TOUCHED ME when he was cutting through the crowd to get back behind the stage.

 I apparently thought this was worth capturing for posterity.

The band I most wanted to see this year was Warped Tour darlings Pierce the Veil, because it’s the only band that Henry and I both mutually love. They just released a new album last week, and their first single features Kellin Quinn on guest vocals. It is so fucking sick, you guys. So fucking sick. What makes me like them so much is definitely the lyrics. Their songs are morbid, romantic (in a the truest Romeo & Juliet sense), heart-wrenching and violent all at once, without sounding like a funeral dirge. They make you want to dance while Vic is singing about post-mortem kissing.  Lyrically, I can’t help but compare them to the Cure and I think if Robert Smith ever read some of their lyrics, he’d be hard-pressed not to crack at least half of a red-lipsticked smile.

Basically, they write the songs I would write if I could write songs. I think Vic Fuentes is fucking brilliant.

For some reason, Pierce the Veil gets lumped in under the Bands That Little Girls Love OMG category, I guess because they’re a bunch of super cute Mexicans? But really, these guys BRING IT and the crowd can get pretty violent.  When bands play on the stage under the ampitheater, it makes it hard for those of us overprotective of our bones to get as close to the stage as we want. Everyone jams in this tiny pit between the front row of seats and the stage and it just looks completely unsavory to me and my old lady joints.

I grabbed two seats in the first row after the barricade, which Henry was totally not thrilled about. (He even “pretended” to “not see” where I went, so I had to sit alone for a few mintes before the set started. I had to stop myself from squealing to the teenage girls next to me, “OMG DO YOU THINK KELLIN WILL COME OUT AND SING WITH THEM!?” I mean, duh, of course that was going to happen considering Kellin’s band Sleeping With Sirens is also on Warped Tour this year. DUH, YOU GUYS.

A circle pit erupted almost immediately, causing a wall of bodies to press back against the barricade, which in turn pressed back against the row of empty seats in front of us.

“Um, I hope they used good bolts,” Henry yelled in my ear, pointing at the green plastic seats which were now being angrily thrusted against our thighs. And then the lady in front of Henry turned around and they shared some HAHAHAHAHA FUNNY REMARK about the peril we’d be sure to find ourselves in if those bolts gave out. That’s OK, lady, I’m sure Henry will save you first when the avalanche of bodies comes crashes through the barricade and I’m left vivisected and needing a wheelchair for real.

 And then I couldn’t stop fixating on it. I started looking up at the rafters, imagining other things that could go wrong; but despite all the Final Destination paranoia, I was still able to enjoy the show. (And cry a lot. God, I love them.)

Fucker put his arm up and blocked Kellin Quinn (OMG KELLIN QUINN CAME OUT AND SANG!) right when I took this picture.

I really loved Henry for about fifteen minutes after Pierce the Veil’s set. Residual ephoria, I guess. I don’t know. But that all ended later on during Sleeping With Sirens. He was behind me the whole time, as far as I knew anyway, and when I leaned back during the last song (our never-wedding song!!), it was not Henry’s nondescript shirt-covered Mountain Dew belly that I found myself lovingly resting against, but the SUNKEN IN CHEST OF SOME ACNE-RIDDEN SWEATY TEENAGE BOY, WTF HENRY?! Oh, I wanted to die.

And that’s when I saw Henry HUNDREDS OF YARDS (I don’t even know what yards are) away from me. I stormed over to him after the set was over and he said, “What? I was hot. I didn’t want to stand in the crowd anymore.”

HE COMPLETELY MISSED OUR (MY) SONG!!!

I stormed off quickly toward the stage where Taking Back Sunday had just started playing, purposely losing him in the process. This happens once every Warped Tour. It’s OK, you guys.

Then this text exchange panned out:

When he found me, I tried to psychically knee him in the balls, but my pissed-off act never lasts around him anymore. I guess I’m just too downtrodden at this point. We made eye contact and then both started laughing and lived happily ever after until I started bugging him about buying me merch. (Finally bought me a Vans tanktop near the end of the night when most of the other tents had already been taken down.)

The brightside is that Henry was already at that particular stage, because he actaully paid attention earlier and knew that Taking Back Sunday was on the day’s itinerary. D’aw, Henry loves me!

 Bands We Saw:

• Chelsea Grin
• Four Year Strong
• Vanna
• Emily’s Army
• Funeral Party
• We Are the Ocean
• Title Fight
• You Me At Six
• Of Mice & Men
• Pierce the Veil
• Sleeping with Sirens
• Miss May I
• LoveBite
• Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!
• Anthony Ranieri (acoustic)
• Bayside
• Taking Back Sunday
• Breathe Carolina
• I Fight Dragons
• The Used

 I don’t know what else to say. It was a wonderful day, but if I write anymore, it’s going to start sounding like the shit I write in my diary, with bubble letters in pink ink SMEARED BY MY ERRANT TEARS.  In a nutshell: we saw some incredible bands, ran into Blake who immediately panhandled on Henry, I got to release a ton of built-up angst and rage,  Henry got to take a short nap in the grass and for the first time since 2004, I was able to hear The Used without getting upset. I don’t even think I hated anyone that day.

Until next year, my fair Warped Tour. :(

 

 

 

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Oh man, I was so excited for Bayside!

They had already started by the time I dragged Henry over to the Tilly’s Stage (Taking Back Sunday’s set overlapped with their’s) so a decent-sized crowd had already formed. We had just staked out our spots over to the left of the stage when I noticed it.

On the ground in front of me was some kid’s school portrait, just laying there on the dirty ground, God only knows how many nasty scene feet had trampled it. I became determined to snatch it up for my collection.

(Honestly, I’m like the world’s worst magpie ever.)

The guy next to me elbowed his buddy and pointed down to the ground. POINTED DOWN TO MY PICTURE. But before he had a chance to say, “Look at that picture, let’s take it for our own,” he was interrupted and shifted just so that his back was now toward my targeted bounty.

I turned around and made eye contact with Henry, who knew exactly what was going on without needing an explanation. I started to open my mouth and he just shook his head and mouthed the word “Don’t.”

Bayside is now just background noise for a much greater scene. I sized up the woman standing next to the picture (her fat foot at one point had been flattening it against the asphalt): she didn’t seem very threatening, smelled slightly of patchouli; I determined with ease that I could take her down if she noticed my picture and decided to take it for herself.

I kept inching myself forward, forcing her to shuffle in slight incements to the right, until I was exactly next to her, flush against her side like we were old school friends whose Ma had dropped us off at Warped Tour; I’ve seen her Pa in his underwear; and she’d let me borrow a tampon if I suddenly needed one, but not without first giving my bleeding vag an introduction to all the boys in the crowd.

In other words, we were standing intimately close.

• Which wouldn’t necessarily be weird at a show except that we were on the outskirts of the crowd and no one else around us were smearing their flesh against one another.
• Even weirder is that she didn’t move.

   

I stamped my foot upon the picture, pinning it down with a fervor. I turned to give Henry the thumbs up and he just closed his eyes and shook his head again.

But instead of just bending down and picking it up like a normal person who collects sentimental trash off the ground at concert venues, I opted to keep my foot pressed against it, which seemed like a great idea until my foot started to cramp and the only solution aside from picking it up or walking away from it with some tiny vittle of diginity was to cross my legs so that my left foot could get a chance.

This not only made me look like I had to pee, but it was also hard to retain my balance. So I went back to standing normally (i.e. with the mannerisms of a strung-out bitch looking around for cops and rapists while trying not to urinate).

I stood this way until the very last note of the very last song, until almost everyone around me had vacated the premises, and then I lunged down and with one swift swipe….I missed and had to grab it again.

 

Having it finally in my possession, I fanned it in Henry’s face and made exaggerated o’s of jubilance with my mouth. “What are you going to do with that?” Henry asked wearily, as he was past due for his scheduled Old Man at Warped Tour Sit Down.

“Probably take it work?” I answered with a question. I couldn’t just leave him and his jacked up lip out there to disintegrate and parish to a place where no one looks at him anymore!

Johann is currently hanging up at my desk by a magnet. I keep putting off buying a frame, because I’m a shitty adoptive portrait mom.

Thank god you didn’t come here to read a review on Bayside’s set.

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FML. FML. FMFL.

Was forced to go to Warped Tour again. It was pretty terrible but not as bad as in previous years, mostly because we are only marginally poor now so I was able to buy as many bottles of Coke as I wanted and I even bought FOOD this time instead of sitting under a tree, nibbling on contraband granola bars. (Erin still did this because she is a cheap whore and honestly thought she was going to save money to buy merch; little did she know she was funding my free-flowing supply of COCA COLA.

)

I don’t even like Coke.

It was hot, but not “need to apply Desitin in a bathroom stall” hot.

The first shitty band we saw was Chelsea Grin. They weren’t even on the stage yet and I knew I was going to hate them based on their bleeding eyeball signs. And then they came out and the screamer started screaming and it was like being anally probed by their band name’s font. Then the screamer started to sing and I said, “He should just go back to screaming” and Erin did that thing where she looks at me like I don’t get it. But what is there to get about a band who sound like a satchel of shrieking newborns on steroids. Of course Erin would like that shit because it sounded as schizophrenic as one of her daily temper tantrums.

I got a free beef jerky sample and that was pretty good. Here is a picture of me eating that. I don’t know what stupid band was playing during that though, but I bet there was screaming in it.

Then I ate some wings and fresh potato chips. Here is a picture of me eating that too. Sure, my meal cost about $20, but I didn’t mind so much because that was one less pair of scene kid YOLO booty shorts Erin could buy from some obnoxious merch dick. The fact that some stupid band was shouting on a nearby stage negated the happiness that I felt from the food. At least I got to sit down while I ate, but that was only because Erin was waiting for some other band to start playing so she let me.

And then that band began playing and I got to re-taste my meal.

Everyone depended on me to hold up the barrier during Pierce the Veil. We are all lucky we’re alive. Those kids really act like feral hillbillies when they hear music sometimes. I was hoping one of them would hit me so I could punch them back call my mommy call the cops.

I know, it looks like I am sleeping while standing in this picture. That is because I am.

I’m surprised there was not a terrible band there called Sleeping While Standing.

Ugh, I hate kids and I hate music and I hate kids who love music. And I hate whatever band that is, too.

Sometimes I just walk away because I need to sit down.

Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t look at the half-naked 16-year-old. Don’t let Erin see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

Oh shit, don’t let the half-naked 16-year-old’s DAD see me looking at the half-naked 16-year-old.

COME AT ME, BRO.

Got to take a nap on the lawn during Breathe Carolina, which was great, but then I dreamt that I was drinking Yoo Hoo out of Jeffree Starr’s mouth with Jonny Craig. Woke up needing a cold shower and pissed that I know who Jeffree Starr is thanks to fucking Warped Tour.

Then the Used screamed some songs and I finally got to leave.

Highlights: beef jerky; avoiding Blood On the Dance Floor; not getting stuck in parking lot traffic on the way out.

Lowlights: Finding Erin after I lost her in the crowd; the existence of Blood On the Dance Floor; everything else.

Music has really gone downhill since I played in that Ted Nugent cover band when I was in THE SERVICE.

(I may have had some or a lot of help writing some or all of this.)

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I am in a complete state of comedown today. Yesterday was such a blur: I wait all year for it and then it’s over in a whiplash-inducing flash. I’ve already cried in mourning. But the euphoria definitely outweighs the depression!

Before the gates opened.

Finding out Pierce the Veil’s set time was our (my) main priority.

Henry, dryly before Chelsea Grin even took the stage: I can already tell I’m going to love THEM.

I try to let him sit every couple hours.

Emily’s Army. I had a crush on the boy scout.

Ugh, Funeral Party was so sick. Of course there were only 10 people watching them with me because there were no gimmicks or ridiculous wardrobes or KISS-copying.

Waiting for Pierce the Veil.

;

Took this for Chooch. Missed him so much. :(

On the phone with his sister, fondling a broken pair of sunglasses he found on the ground.

AUSTIN CARLILE MAKES ME HAPPY. He screams the demons right the fuck out of my body.

Seriously, the best Mexicans ever. I love Pierce the Veil so hard and will probably start crying about it in 3….2….

The ever-omnipresent Jeffree Starr.

Our annual “I’m Stoked, Henry’s Not” picture. Henry actually did smile a few times though.

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LIKE WHEN KELLIN QUINN SANG WITH PIERCE THE VEIL, ADMIT IT HENRY.

Backne popping during Sleeping with Sirens. Please join me in my repulsion.

Finally succumbed to exhaustion around the 7PM mark and crashed on the lawn during Breathe Carolina.

I still have to take the pictures off the regular camera, and I’ll be back with those and an actual account of Henry’s agony.

Fuck, that was the best day of the summer and I can’t wait to do it all over again 100 more times.

You with me, Henry?

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The “Oh, I Can Already Tell I’m Going to Love This Band, & Yes I’ll Be Speaking in Fluent Sarcasm All Day” frown.

This is a conversation we had when standing in line:

Henry: “Taking Back Sunday is here?”
Me: “Yeah. Duh.”
Henry: I thought just Geoff [Rickley] was?”
Me, annoyed: “He’s in THURSDAY!”
Henry: “Oh. Yeah…”

This update is brought to you by TOMS tan lines and Henry’s desire to sit down “for a minute.” Ciao for now!

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Ahhhhhh! Old Folk approaching! Hide your hard candy!

Have you ever wondered what Warped Tour is like for a super old man who shuns fun and is the Poster Elder for “surly”? You’re in luck because my very own, personal Old Man let me ask him some questions about his day spent outside in 95+ degree heat surrounded by machine-gun drumming and exploding-node screaming.

But he had this girl by his side, so how terrible could it have been, right?

(RIGHT!?)

Erin, pen in hand: Why do you wear a bandanna to Warped Tour? Is it because you think it makes you look hard? (Because it doesn’t.)

Henry, sitting next to me on the couch and glaring: Because it was hot. [Thinks deeper.] And it keeps the hair out of my eyes.

Erin: So does a hair cut.

I really believe he wears a bandanna because he feels like it will repel scene kids. Like if they see some dildo approaching them with a cotton condom fastened around his head, they’ll think he’s security or a member of a biker gang, when meanwhile he drives a Ford Focus and looks like the treasurer of a washed-up Village People fan club.

Erin, pressing the issue because I know people care about Henry’s head toppings: And how do you decide what color to wear?

Henry, mumbling as he works the TV remote: Whatever matches what shirt I’m wearing.

Erin: Now did you learn that on the “Blue-Collared Beverage Warehouse Manager” episode of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy?

Henry, actually looking away from the TV for the first time since this writer has been asking questions: What? What the fuck are you talking about? [One corner of his mouth tugged up a bit, which constitutes as a SMILE in the world of bearded douchebags.]

Erin: Is it true you bought a graphic tee at Target specifically for Warped Tour so you’d fit in better and joke-block me of non-descript t-shirt fodder?

Henry: No. I didn’t buy ANYTHING for Warped Tour. [Scrunches up face in irritation, which most people would take as the universal visage for constipation.]

This is a complete lie. He bought sun screen and individually-wrapped prunes.

Henry, reaching in his Old Man Cargo Shorts for an individually-wrapped prune. Note his expression: It never changed.

Erin: What was your favorite band of the day.

Henry: [LONG PAUSE. I thought he was thinking but really was watching Good Eats.]

Erin: [Stabbed him in the ribs with elbow.]

Henry: What?! [Notices me scribbling down my own answer on his behalf.] What are you writing? Don’t write Dance Gavin Dance, because it wasn’t.

This means it was Blood on the Dance Floor. Scantily-clad scene posers get him every time. Jeffree Star and all that.

Erin: Speaking of Dance Gavin Dance, what are your thoughts on them?

Henry: I don’t HAVE any thoughts on Dance Gavin Dance.

Maybe not, but he definitely dreams about them considering their last album is on constant repeat in the bedroom.

Erin: Not even on Jonny Craig?

Henry: Jonny Craig is a douchebag.

Erin: If you had to spend money at one merch booth, which would it be?

Henry: [Seriously considering for entirely too long.]

Me, noticing the small puff-shapes his lips are making: Hello! You’re falling asleep!

Henry, jolting at my shrill voice: No, I was thinking. And the thinking is putting me to sleep. [I have to repeat the question.] It would probably be what you want since I get no say in anything.

What he meant to say was, “The first merch booth we come across that has booty shorts in my size. I hope it’s Blood on the Dance Floor or Black Veil Brides!”

Henry’s “I ain’t got my dentures in & I just spent the last of your money on a Powerade” face.

Erin: How disappointed were you that Craig Owens (singer for D.R.U.G.S.) darkened his hair?

Henry: A little disappointed.

It was the FIRST THING he noticed when Craig came out on stage.

Erin: Does that make him less attractive to you?

Henry: No.

OMG that means he’s attracted to him in the first place.

Erin: Why wouldn’t you stand near me during Of Mice & Men? Was it because you didn’t want to get your face melted off?

Henry: Too many kids around me.

Lies. Here are my top 3 reasons why Henry took 87 giant steps back away from the crowd:

1. He didn’t want his pedophilia to be that transparent.
2. He doesn’t love me enough/have enough upper body strength to keep bodies from falling on my head, which won’t matter if he’s a million feet away from me.
   
3. He’s embarrassed to be seen too close to me. (Because I cry during shows, but mostly because I’m ugly.)

Erin: When you saw that girl pass out right before Set Your Goals, why didn’t you spring into action? Isn’t that what they taught you in THE SERVICE or were you too busy trying to look like Erik Estrada instead of attending all the Be a Hero seminars?

Henry: [For real sleeping.]

Erin: [Repeats question, and by that I mean I kneed him in the nuts.]

Henry: [Started to “think,” then fell back asleep.]

Erin: HENRY, PLEASE!

Henry, waking up abruptly: I don’t know! Because there were already people “springing into action!”

Or! Because he left his balls with his ex-wife.

Someone for Henry to share his prunes with!

Erin: Any tips for other elders attending Warped Tour? And don’t say, “Don’t go.”

Henry, about to say “don’t go.”: Damn. Bring plenty of money so you don’t have to drink tap water. Leave your girlfriend at home.

Erin: And don’t forget your joint cream.

Henry, forgetting that he’s like 80 years old: What do I need my joint cream for?

Erin: What was your favorite part of Warped Tour and don’t say leaving.

Henry: But that was my favorite part. Probably watching all the people run when it started to rain even though they were in bathing suits.

Translation: Watching all the wet under-age girls run in bathing suits. See? Warped Tour’s not all that bad!

Erin: Least favorite?

Henry, with no hesitation: The heat.

Erin: What heat? Don’t men of your blue-collared ilk spend their childhood summers working in my rich relative’s yards for milk money? You should be acclimated to the heat by now.

Henry: Whatever, asshole.

Erin: If (Warped Tour founder) Kevin Lyman named a stage after you, what bands would you demand be on the lineup? And don’t say Judas Priest.

Henry: I don’t know.

Ew, I hate when he says that. Especially when his voice cracks in irritation like he’s some pissed off Peter fucking Brady.

Erin: Henry, I will kick you in the nuts.

Henry, clearly peaced out from the interview process like a little prissy Girl Scout: I don’t know what bands I would have!

This means he’s too embarrassed to admit to the Internet that it would be Creed, Nickelback, whatever nü-metal bands are still together, and a Carpenters cover band.

Erin: Are you looking forward to next year’s Warped Tour?

Henry: I never look forward.

****

Thank you for reading this lame interview. Clearly I need to find more interesting subjects. You suck, Henry. Learn some words!

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Pretty much everything this week will be “[       ]: Warped Tour Edition” because I just lived my favorite day of the year last Friday. So either pretend you care or come back next week, I guess. I know, it sucks. But I’m just so happy, you guys!

Waiting for the doors to open. I make Henry get there super early every year because I have anxiety ever since the time in 2007 I relied on some douchebag (read: ex-bff Christina’s retarded sister) to get there on time, which we did not and I missed motherfucking CHIODOS, whose set time was the same time the doors opened. I still have horrible flashbacks to that day.

Of Mice & Men are one of the few bands I’ll fight to get up front for at my old age.

One of the cool things about Warped Tour is walking past a stage and being pleasantly surprised by the hiphop you hear. Grieves with Budo were a high-point of the day.

As close as we could get to A Day To Remember, but I didn’t care. Having 90% of the crowd at one stage just opened up a bunch of other opportunities for us.

See this post to see how THAT worked out.

I keep wanting to write my actual post about Warped Tour but then I get sidetracked with watching videos from it on YouTube. I’m in denial.

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I have mucho to write about Warped Tour, much to everyone’s chagrin! I’m also trying to weasel an interview out of Henry. We’ll see how far I can get with that.

I wish my arms were really that skinny.

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Not gonna lie, I leaped out of bed at 7:30am on the day of Warped Tour. Never mind the fact that I didn’t even go to bed until after 3:00am, because I was all giddy and jittery like it was Christmas Eve. I had waited an entire year for this year. Henry had barely pulled into the parking lot of First Niagara Pavilion a little after 10:00am and I was already crying. Not bad tears! No, these were “I’m so fucking happy, fucking finally” tears. I can’t explain it, but the atmosphere alone of Warped Tour is like an upper for me. Instant good mood. Huge, goofy smile. Excited tugs on Henry’s sleeve.

And this is just in the parking lot.

It was over ninety degrees that day and I know Henry had to have been broiling a ballsack feast inside his shorts, but he knows by now that Warped Tour is a No Bitch Zone. It was so humid out that some guy in front of us quietly vomited three times.

And this was just in the line to get in.

There’s always that one band I’m dying to see every year, and this year it was hands down, no contest Pierce the Veil. The fact that they didn’t start until 3:40 was a blessing and a curse all at once. A curse because, obviously, I”m super anxious to see them and just thinking about it made me do pee-squats, like I was waiting in the woods for my boyfriend to arrive and steal my virginity. Those kind of pee-squats. Maybe you’re familiar. But it’s also a blessing because the first set of the day start AS SOON AS the gates open. And the line doesn’t always move that swiftly. In 2007, I missed CHIODOS (CHIODOS, YOU GUYS) because Christina’s douche canoe sister pissed around so bad that morning that we didn’t arrive until noon and their set was at 11:15.

So, I was happy that I wouldn’t have to right off the bat grab Henry’s bear-paw and drag him frantically over hills and through droves of scene kids, searching for the right stage. We had plenty of time to mosey around like creepy old people and catch Call the Cops and Dillinger Escape Plan, and then pause to watch some of Set Your Goals, Alesana, and The Pretty Reckless (little Jenny Humphrey can SANG, ya’ll), all in the first 90 minutes. Best part about Warped Tour: bored? Then move the fuck on.

I’ve been to all sorts of music festivals: a bunch of the various radio shows (you know, the X-Fests that pretty much every city had), even driving as far as Wisconsin from Pittsburgh to catch Cold play a 30-minute set at one; Rolling Rock Town Fair; Locabazooka; Curiosa; even Coachella. But none of those festivals ever made me feel like Warped Tour does. Coachella especially, I can remember feeling really insecure and self-conscious. It was hands down one of the most pretentious concerts I’ve ever gone to. Don’t get me wrong, it was worth flying across the country for, because The Cure headlined the second night, but the whole vibe of the place was shitty for me. I spent more time feeling uncomfortable and out of place than actually enjoying the experience for what it was worth (two plane tickets from Pittsburgh, a rental car, a hotel room, and the tickets to Coachella was a LOT OF WORTH). There was a blog post on Alternative Press’s website that I linked to a couple of weeks ago about why Warped Tour is still relevant. And in this opinion piece, the writer mentioned that it’s a place for kids to feel like they belong somewhere, to be somewhere around similar people. I’m far from a kid, I’ll be 31 at the end of July, but this is why Warped Tour is relevant to me as well. I feel more comfortable in my skin on that one day than I do any other day of the year. Even as an adult, I’ve never really found my “place.” I still don’t feel like I “fit in,” (though there’s less of an urgency for that these days) and I still kind of feel unaccepted by my peers at times because there is a large part of me that is forever young. It’s just that now it doesn’t bother me like it did. Now I find ways to get around the fact that I don’t have much in common with people my age, and I’ve learned how to make it work.

Although, it’s still nice to have that one day where I can walk around and hear kids name-dropping Ollie Sykes and Austin Carlile (who wasn’t there, but two of his ex-bands were), or wondering out loud who’s going to be guest-screaming today with Of Mice & Men (because I know you’re chomping at the bit to know, it was Coco from Her Demise, My Rise). It’s like, this is my language. I talk about this shit anywhere else and people are like, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can’t you just talk about John Mayer & Dave Matthews Band & health insurance  like the rest of us normal adults?”

And it’s funny because Henry knows all this shit too, just because he has to live in a world strewn with worn pages of Alternative Press, Havoc music videos, and a teenage daughter (THAT’S ME) who reads online music forums instead of Us Weekly like most normal girls her age. He even likes some of it, but he probably wouldn’t admit that out loud.

I like this picture for 2 reasons:

1. you can see tents in my sunglasses

2. Henry looks put-out

Every year, there’s always that one band that I’ve never heard of that I end up falling in love with after thirty seconds. Last year, it was Remember Thy Name. This year, it was Last Call Chernobyl. The singer had a scream that tore the skin off my soul. “That’s my favorite kind of screaming!” I yelled to Henry, and I mean YELLED TO HENRY since we were in the front of the stage by the speakers. Henry of course looked at me like I was retarded for liking screamo so much that I have a predilection for a certain type of scream. And there ARE different types of screaming.

I was excited to see Polar Bear Club, since the previous time was at a really shitty venue in Pittsburgh when they opened for Thrice and I couldn’t actually see the band. They were playing on the AP/Advent stage under the pavilion, so Henry gave a little fist pump because this meant he could sit down. Polar Bear Club is a band that “older people” like too, so I thought Henry would finally get a chance to see something he could enjoy. That motherfucker was snoring within two minutes. Every year he falls asleep! Although this time it wasn’t as impressive as last year when he slept through a thrashing metal set.

At around 3:20, we made our way to the front of the Altec stage and claimed our spots at the barrier. Waiting is the hardest fucking part. I was doing a pee jig and flashing giddy squealing faces over my shoulder at Henry. I was somehow not surrounded by assholes (other than Henry). It was the perfect spot on the perfect day, waiting for the perfect band.

Pierce the Veil was at Warped Tour in 2008. Blake saved me from getting knocked out, but I still took a few shoes to the head that year. Aside from Chiodos (who were there last year), they are definitely my favorite band to see at Warped Tour because their sets are flawless and exciting; even Henry said after the first time that “they weren’t bad.” That’s the best Henry can do when it comes to the bands I like.

They always pretty theatrical entrances. I don’t even know (or care) what this guy was saying because everyone was screaming so loud.

They came out and dove right into “Caraphernalia” and I tried so hard to fight the tears but they started rolling down my cheeks in spite of my efforts. I cried through the entire set, it was so stupid.

• Caraphernalia
• Chemical Kids and Mechanical Brides
• Currents Convulsive
• The Boy Who Could Fly
  
• Yeah Boy and Doll Face
  
• The Sky Under the Sea

I’ve waited almost two years to see them again. The last time was in Buffalo in 2008 with Christina, and that was not so good because of the company. Besides, this is one of the few bands Henry likes too and I like seeing them with him. So many of their lyrics make me think of him. (Don’t tell him that. Well no, you can, because they’re mostly the morbid ones.)

During “The Boy Who Could Fly,” (they used Drake’s “Find Your Love” as an intro which was fucking sick) Vic climbed into the crowd and held out the mic for all the kids to shout a resounding “Without you there is no me” and I lost it. I was crying so hard at that point, that my eyes were burning from the mixture of tears and sweat. I was so grateful for my sunglasses. When they were done, I turned around and put my head on Henry’s belly. My heart hurt so much and I couldn’t remember how to breathe correctly. Essentially, I was just a huge mess.

All the live videos I found were shitty and did no justice.

But there was no time to stand around and slit my wrists because Emarosa was playing next on a stage which required us to hustle to get there on time. It was actually the smallest stage there that day, which made laugh because Jonny Craig, Emarosa’s singer, is so fucking cocky that I imagine he expected to be on the main stage. But no, they were relegated to the tiny stage that folds out from the side of a truck. We grabbed spots next to the barrier and I immediately spotted Jonny in a douchey red trucker cap, hanging out behind the truck. I mean, stage. You might remember a post I had about him last fall, after I experienced his backwoods brand of douchery first hand for the second time. Well, that particular post is one of my top 3 posts, stats-wise, thanks to all the fans out there who Google terms such as “Why is Jonny Craig a dick?” “I hate Jonny Craig” “Did Jonny Craig impregnate a dog?” & “Why does Jonny Craig suck so hard?” See? I’m not the only one. He’s pretty notorious in the scene.

There were a few times we made direct eye contact, and I kept hissing to Henry, “OMG HE KNOWS I WROTE ABOUT HIM!” (Someone involved with the band does, because the dashboard to their bandcamp.com page was a referring link in my stats a few weeks ago, for that specific post. That was awesome.)

It was hilarious to hear the murmurings of “OMG it’s Jonny!” spread like wildfire as kids began noticing his presence.

The moment he picked up the mic and began belting out “Set It Off Like Napalm,” I was in this confusing, twisted agony of love and hate. Never have I experience such conflicting emotions over a band before. They have had a huge impact on my life over the past few years, mostly because of Jonny, and that impact started even before Emarosa, when he was in Dance Gavin Dance. And now, mostly because of Jonny, I almost cringe when I hear them, because of my personal experiences with him. I don’t want that to affect how I feel about the music and it’s a constant battle to keep those things separate. But as a fan, I’m not too proud to admit that he let me down. I don’t like having a foul taste in my mouth when it comes to a singer I admire. I want to respect him as an artist, but it’s hard when I can’t respect him as a person.

I kept turning around and sticking my tongue out at Henry to signify my disgust for who was on the stage, but at the same time, my inner teenager was sighing, “Oh, Jonny.” It was so bi-polar. It was agony.

Luckily, he didn’t do too much douche-drizzling on stage that day, instead opting to put on a fantastic set.  He clearly wasn’t drunk this time, yay! So his vocals were spot-on and the band was sick. I cannot deny that this guy has one of the best, if not THE BEST, vocals in the scene today. I’d be willing to fight about it, actually. I still prefer his early work in Dance Gavin Dance though, because it was more interesting, but that’s just me. My only problem with Emarosa is that the lyrics don’t really strike me; they’re average and at times, contrived. If it wasn’t for Jonny’s voice, they’d be just another band fighting for an identity. (In my opinion, that is; I’m big on lyrics!)

Nice to see he has a mullet now. I would have been happier to see the Jonny-tail of yore. (Which is seriously what the back of Chooch’s head is modeled after.)

• Set It Off Like Napalm
• Heads Or Tails? Real Or Not
  
• A Toast To Future Kids
• Truth Hurts While Laying On Your Back
• The Past Should Stay Dead

I could tell Henry was fighting the urge to scream, “OMG JONNY!!!” with all the other little girls (and guys!) as Jonny walked off the stage. (Chooch just walked over here, saw these photos and said, “Ugh. Jonny’s a bitch.” See?! Even a four-year-old knows.)

After that, we were able to just float around and take our time with things, soak up the atmosphere. Well, that’s what I was doing anyway. Henry was too busy spending all my merch money on $5 bottles of Sprite because he’s too much of a bitch to suck it up and drink water like the rest of us smarties. You know how much I spent on beverages? $4.50 for one bottle of water, which I proceeded to refill at a water fountain all day long.  Henry’s too good for that, though. Thanks Henry, I didn’t really want to buy a t-shirt anyway.

There’s always a Top-40 artist included on Warped Tour (two years ago it was Katy fucking Perry), and this year it was Mike Posner. When the set first started, it was pretty chill. I was actually not minding it. But midway through the second song I was bored to tears. I needed screaming and thrashing guitars. Plus, we were sitting under the pavilion watching him while eating frozen Minute Maid lemonade and I suddenly felt really old, like I should be at a Steve Miller show (which I actually went to when I was 18, so I don’t know why I picked that as my example).

I’m not a fan of chick-fronted bands. Alisha can vouch for that. And there were a lot of girly bands there this year. Fuck Hey Monday and Automatic Loveletter (seen them before, snooze fest). But I did make a point to catch Eyes Set To Kill, because that girl can fucking sing, and they’re not a pussy band.  Alexia has more talent than most of the other Warped Tour girls combined.

I hate when the sky looks like that because it means the day is coming to an end. Leaving is the worst part. Waiting for next year is even worster! I nagged Henry the whole way to his sister’s house to pick up Chooch.

“WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE PART?” <–He always says “when we left” for that one.

“DID YOU LOVE PIERCE THE VEIL?”

“WHAT DID YOU THINK OF JONNY?

“CAN WE GO TO THE ONE IN CLEVELAND?”

Henry said this was his last year. We’ll see about that.

I have been so sad ever since July 7, 2010. To torture myself, I still get the official VansWarpedTour tweets sent to my phone and I read them wistfully, sighing heavily at all that I’m missing on the other dates. Warped Tour brings on a post-show depression like none other than I’ve ever experienced. My Christmas Day is over for another year.

[There are more photos here! Plus, they’re better when viewed larger. My blog layout doesn’t allow for wide photos, right HENRY?]

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Vic Fuentes from Pierce the Veil, fuck yeah.

I haven’t even come close to collecting all my thoughts about Warped Tour 2010, but when I was going through the pictures from yesterday and came across this one, there was no way I could wait to post it. Pierce the Veil’s set was the highlight of the day for me; nothing else came even close. As far as I’m concerned, that one short set was totally worth the price of admission and enduring the unrelenting sun beaming down 100 degree rays of pain and torture on us all day long.

I cried through their entire set.

There’s much more to come! You know I’m a wordy motherfucker. (Plus, there’s still Butler County Fair stuff to post about, including a REALLY MAJOR secret I learned about Alisha!) But until then, anyone who thinks Warped Tour is “gay” or maybe just doesn’t get it should check out this article by Alternative Press’s Scott Heisel, because it made me simultaneously say “Fuck yeah” and cry. Music turns me into a pussy, what can I say.

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Time out. I have some stuff to write about, like neighborly happenings and Kennywood,  but right now I’m too busy listening to the new Pierce the Veil album non-stop (and even when it’s not on, it’s on in my head) to think properly. I have waited so fucking long for this. It’s the perfect soundtrack for the dark carnival in my head.

“Fast Times at Claremont High” is my favorite track on the CD (so far, at least). When Vic sings, “I only wanted one dance with you,” I honestly feel like my heart is trying to escape through my mouth. I needed this album right now, so badly. It’s a shame most people can’t get past his voice in order to hear the brilliantly heart-wrenching lyrics he writes. There’s really nothing else that compares to it in the scene today.

Sunday was a shitty day. Nothing major happened, like death or amputation or Miley Cyrus subjection, but it was just one of those hassle-filled days where nothing goes right and you feel lonely and miserable and wonder all day long why you even bothered getting out of bed.

But then that night, after Chooch went to sleep and Blake went out with friends, Henry and I sat on the couch and listened to the Selfish Machines together in its entirety and it was kind of fucking perfect.

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I waited all year for Warped Tour. It’s the closest thing to Christmas I have in my life and I savor every fucking second of it. It’s music music music all day long. And I do love that there music. This year, we were going to attempt to take Chooch, but ticket prices were raised and since we’re going back to one income, we decided to pawn him off on Janna. I think he ended up having a day just as full as ours, anyway. (Thank you, Janna!)

We stood in line for a good half hour because I made sure we got there as soon as the lot opened, which was an hour before the actual gates open, because I’m tightly wound and panicked for a week about the possibility of missing a band I really like because they don’t announce set times until that morning, and and and omg someone get me a valium. There was an abandoned mother standing next to Henry and every time I looked over at her, she’d catch my eye and every time it looked like she wanted to strike up a conversation, but instead she’d just smile. Henry was getting uncomfortable because she kept standing so close to him. I thought it was cute, in a “When Oldies Collide” sort of way.

The good thing about standing in line, besides scene kid-watching, is accumulating free shit and demos from members of small local bands. One of those bands was Remember Thy Name, who were handing out flyers which had their set time and stage info on it and urging everyone to check them out. Since the flyer touched my hand and I said “OK I will” out loud to the dude, I felt obliged to make good on my word. And then I went back to bouncing up and down and squealing “I’m so excited!” in Henry’s ear until they finally opened the door to my own version of Heaven and we all pushed our way in only to stand around looking dumb and confused like lost puppies. You know, the usual.

Henry and I aren’t mean enough to make Blake and Deanna hang with old people all day, so we said goodbye to them and then continued roaming around and looking lost and confused.

Luckily, we got inside with enough time to find the appropriate stage and check out Remember Thy Name. One of my favorite moments of the day was when we approached the side of the stage just in time to be met with a barrage of guttural bellows and machine gun drumming, causing Henry to mutter, “Oh yay, I love them already.” I actually did end up loving them, a lot. Thank you for soliciting me in the parking lot, Remember Thy Name.

It had only been about thirty minutes since we began mingling with Western Pennsylvania’s finest collection of kids, and Henry already looked like a billboard for Advil. Perhaps he was sad that he didn’t bring enough money for concert gear. Last year, I know he had his eyes on some booty shorts.

We got to catch a little bit of Underoath’s set on the mainstage (another band that makes Henry grit his teeth) before shouldering our way to the Hurley stage for Bayside. I figured Henry would probably appreciate their set because they’re not screamo and the crowd was decidedly older and less scene. Yet, every time I asked him if he liked them, he’d mumble, “They were OK.” What he was thinking was probably, “They’re no Kansas.” But whatever, they wound up being one of my favorite sets of the day. And it was nice getting to be up close and not having to worry about having my neck broken. Although, throughout the day, I kept seeing some girl with a neckbrace and found myself in an oddly uncomfortable state of covetry.

So, if you’ve read this blog a few times you probably won’t be shocked to find out that I was primarily there for one band. As in, the price of the ticket was worth a thirty-minute set by them alone and I could’ve left straight after and have been happy. Chiodos, main stage, 1:55.

I dragged Henry up to the front of the stage just as Flogging Molly was finishing up. Chiodos are worth the risk of having my brittle, over-aged bones cracked and acquiring attractive barrier bruises along my ribcage. I’m still not too fond of having bitches dropped on my head, so my peripheral vision has to be on-call for this shit.

We could see Chiodos behind the stage, getting ready, and I had a fifteen-year-old girl moment when Bradley returned my wave with spirit fingers. I fucking love Bradley. And then I had a twenty-nine-year-old adult moment when some skanky bitch behind me repeatedly screamed JOEY! into my ear and I don’t know who I hated more: the skank and her skank-shout, or Joey for not hearing her skanky beckoning from all the way in the center of the massive throng of kids that had accumulated in preparation for Chiodos. Fucking answer her, Joey!

They opened with Undertaker’s Thirst for Revenge is Unquenchable and I was stoked when Nick Martin (Underminded) came out to scream. He’s on the album-version of that song and in the video, and he was on Craig’s solo tour last spring, but I have never seen him live on stage with Chiodos. I squealed. Several times. Even tugged Henry’s arm. It’s kind of like that feeling when you think you’re only going to be having sex with one person that night, but then surprise! Menage a trois. What a fucking treat.

Nick Martin can scream in my face all day and I would still beg for more.

And at one point, Jag from A Skylit Drive filled a small guest spot on vocals. It’s exciting to me when people play musical-bands at Warped Tour, because when else could you see, say, Jeffree Star sharing a stage with Breathe Carolina? Not that that’s a good thing.

I liked watching the expressions of security when Craig decided, during “A Letter From Janelle,” that he wanted to get as many people crowd-surfing as possible. Like they really needed to be told. I love watching this, kids simultaneously popping up into the sky everywhere, like some bizarre birthing art-installation. It never gets old for me. Until some motherfucker’s shoe knocks me unconscious. Then I probably won’t enjoy watching too much after that.

Yes, I pay money to be immersed in this.

Nick came out again and was all crouched down at the edge of the stage, completely in an angry-scream zone, and BSouth (The Receiving End of Sirens – RIP to a great band) kept nudging him with his foot until Nick ended up on the shoulders of one of the security guys, never missing a beat. I think it was my favorite moment of the day, aside from Henry’s anguish, which was less of a moment and more of, you know, THE ENTIRE DAY AS A WHOLE. But he likes Chiodos, I know it.

They ended the much-too-short 30 minute set with “There’s No Penguins In Alaska,” which I hope reminded them that their hockey team were bested by the Penguins. Oh, burn.

They didn’t play any new songs, so that was a bit of a bummer. Craig has been taunting everyone on Twitter with tiny updates about the new album they’re writing and I was hoping he’d toss us rabid fans a bone. But they did my favorites: “Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute on the Creek” and “The Word ‘Best Friend’ Becomes Redefined” (still not fantastical tattoo-tingling during it, though).

We took a break in the shade so I could eat my contraband protein bar lunch. Henry looks like his labret is pierced in this photo but I think it’s just lint. Old men have lint.

I did some Versa Emerge-stalking for Alisha, since she couldn’t be there to (not) do it herself.

I kept touching the camera lens all day long, as this photo denotes. This was right after Deanna informed Henry that two people holding hands does not mean they’re going out. Or as Henry still says: “Going together.”

One of the bands that surprised me the most was A Skylit Drive. I missed most of their set because they played the same time as Versa Emerge and I was trying to split the sets so I could see both. But I made it to their stage in time to hear enough to fall in love. They ended with “Eva the Carrier” and I fucking almost started crying. The singer sounds like how I imagine a mer-man to sing: high-pitched and ethereal, like wetting your finger and running it around the lip of a crystal goblet. The stage they were playing on was the one under the ampitheater and the acoustics of it sent his voice traveling all the way up to where we sat, making chills drip down my spine.

I’ve been listening to that song 15x a day ever since.

Henry was not impressed. Like, at all. And somehow, he later managed to sleep through Dance Gavin Dance’s and Black Tide’s entire sets. I twitpic’d a photo of him sleeping, and my friend Matt had the good call of replying with “Hahaha, what’s up Father Time.” INDEED.

Warped Tour abominations:

1. Millionaires. A trio of half-naked skanks hopping around on stage, and lip-synching rapping. They had about as much rhythm as me and all I could make out was “Fuck” being slung incessantly because probably they are too vapid to come up with anything else. You know, GOOD RAPS like I used to write under the Glocks On Our Dicks alias.

2. Jeffree Star.

I know people bitch about how Warped Tour has taken the punk ethos and raped it silly, but I’ve always admired Kevin Lyman’s ballsiness in adding screamo, metalcore, and dance punk into the mix. I think that there’s a really great mixture of music in the lineup and if there’s not at least one band you can be down with, then probably these things just aren’t for you in the first place. However, I have a big problem with shit like Jeffree Star and Millionaires because it’s hokey and if what Gabe Sapora says about Millionaries is true (that if you don’t like the, you just don’t get the joke) then that’s a little insulting to those of us who give shit about music. And as for Jeffree Star, he doesn’t care about his music, he’s just in it for shock value from what I can see, and that’s not very punk rock.

But maybe I’m just old and jaded.

I wonder if their pubes are that natty. If so, it must be a real BITCH for the STDs to get through, like a dolphin in netting.

One of the last  bands of the day  was Dear and the Headlights, a band I’ve loved long time, but have never seen live. I can’t tell you how excited I was. Too bad they weren’t very fun. I mean, they sounded great, but seemed very aloof on stage and kind of ambivalent to the prospect of playing at Warped Tour. And then the singer asked what everyone wanted to hear and some girl near me yelled “Daysleeper” and I was like, “Oh yes, God yes, play Daysleeper” because that’s my favorite, and so he proceeded to ask, “Um, why that one? It didn’t even make any of our albums.” And there was something slightly condescending about how he said it, so that made me lose a little love. Although, I too was a little cranky by that point so maybe I won’t hold it against them. They ended up never playing “Daysleeper” though, those cocksuckers.

I ate Gobstoppers on the way home.

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I just got a bunch of film processed from my Diana and Holga. Some of the pictures are from Warped Tour and even though it was only a month ago, it makes me feel happily nostalgic looking at them. That day was the last time I felt happy and accepted.

Now I just feel like that chick sitting on the curb.

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This year, Henry had the pleasure of taking his two favorite kids to Warped Tour: his son Blake, and, well…me. I kept ducking while we were stuck in concert traffic because I didn’t want the surrounding carfuls of scene kids to laugh and say, “Oh god, that girl is going with her dad, how gay.” When we entered the parking lot, we drove past the drop-off area and Henry said, “God, those parents are so lucky that they don’t have to go in.” Then he tried to murder me with a look of disgust and resentment.

It was nearly noon by the time we managed to park the car. Blake didn’t have a ticket yet so he and I stood around idly outside the entrance to Post Gazette Pavilion while Henry went and bought his ticket. We were approached by the singer and guitarist of Uh-Oh Explosion, who were toting around a box of their CDs. Making small talk, the singer asked if Blake and I were “together.” Instinctively, we both took a step apart and emphatically answered “NO.” Trying to figure it out, he squinted his eyes and guessed, “Brother and sister?” We shook our heads. I saw Henry lingering a few yards away, knowing better than to walk over and lame-up the convo. I pointed to Henry and said, “OK, see that guy? That’s his dad, and my boyfriend.”

This kid (he was only 17) thought this was so fucking fantastico for some reason. “That’s so awesome! Like, talk about closeness. And you guys all came to Warped together!” He paused for a second, before sending my stomach to the meat grinder. “So do you guys have threesomes too?”

RECORD SCRATCH.

I was ready to whistle for the cement mixer to come and seal up my sex organs for real. So disturbing and awkward. I still bought their CD though, because what I heard sounded good and proceeds went to the animals. And what’s a little quasi-incest discourse in the name of stray cats, am I right.

Once we got inside, I was like a kid on Christmas. My eyes had a veritable scene kid feast as we weaved our way to the main stage, where Sky Eats Airplane was playing. Blake and I have the same taste in music — the more scream-y the better. Henry, however, shits himself when he hears hateful bellows, so he took this as an opportunity to go and find a set schedule and then conveniently lose us. Sky Eats Airplane was a good way to start the day.

In between bands, I got to ogle more scene kids. I was wondering why I was so fascinated with them when it dawned on me: If that scene was around when I was a teen, I’d totally have been the first on board. I used to make fun of them,  but now I want to like, write a book about them or something. I’ll start with Blake.

Averting the Hare Krishnas, we went to the Highway 1 Stage to catch From First To Last. Henry was all, “I’m perfectly fine standing all the way back here” and sent Blake and I into the crowd to get pummeled without adult supervision. Anyway, FFTL’s singer Sonny left two years ago and it was a little strange watching them perform without him. Their new material is a little too easy-to-digest and mainstream for my liking, but they ended the set with “Ride the Wings of Pestilence” which always makes me want to sacrifice a shack of Mexican prostitutes. And drink some of Henry’s blood.

Not interested in any bands playing right after FFTL, we walked around and looked at t-shirts and other merch for awhile. Henry, who had bragged on  the way there that he NEVER gets sunburned, started complaining about his nose getting burnt. He kept trying to sneak away and pose under trees in his signature old man-stance. Blake and I would pause and hunker down over the schedule, trying to determine which bands were must-sees and which ones we could skip without losing sleep that night. I kept trying to include Henry, but he would grumble, “I don’t know, does that band actually SING? Then NO, I don’t want to see them.” Perhaps Henry should have just went to that twanged-out Jamboree with Tina instead. Fuck.

 

• The Bronx: I almost got trampled trying to push my way to the stage to see them, only to leave after ten minutes to run to another stage far away to see Alesana. They were really good and made me want to continually punch Henry in the balls. I always forget how much aggression I have until I go to shows like this. I just found out that they’re going on a tour of LA Mexican restaurants as a mariachi band and oh, who I wouldn’t kill to see that.
• Alesana: They were playing on the main stage, and Henry was like, “Thank god, now I can sit my weary bones down!” So Blake and I begrudgingly sat down too. I realize that I enjoy bands less when I’m sitting, because I become too distracted with people-watching. Because of this, I don’t remember if I liked Alesana live or not. All I remember is that Blake picked up an Underoath CD release poster from the ground and gave it to me, making me  think he wanted me to keep it, so I ended up lugging it around all day in my backpack only to wind up throwing it away the next day.
• Human Abstract: Another main stage band, but at least this time Henry allowed himself to be dragged down to the floor by the stage. I had never heard their music before, only seen the ads in Alternative Press for their new CD, so I really wasn’t sure if I was going to like them. Even aside from the immediate crush I developed on the keyboard player, I ended up liking them a lot. They were nice and heavy, but had an interesting melodic side as well. Blake thought they were just alright and stayed sitting down next to his old man for their entire set. This was also around the time that I considered slamming my camera to the pavement because it was taking such shitty pictures, but after Henry inspected it for three seconds, he deduced it was because I had a giant finger print on the lens. I didn’t hate my camera after that.

After the Human Abstract, it was nearly time for Pierce the Veil. They were the main reason I was there and all day it felt like butterflies were fornicating in my belly. It was either Pierce the Veil anticipation or the residual side effects of being asked if my vagina is friendly with both generations of Robbins. Henry once again stood in the sidelines, but I weaved my way as close to the stage as I could get. Which was fairly close since they were still sound-checking.

To show his unwavering adoration, Vic vowed to wear his Jaws shirt every day for the duration of Shark Week. He kept going on and on about sharks and I know this is going to make me look bad but I’m going to be honest: all I could think about was Tina’s vagina, gnashing against flailing legs. Thank God they started playing right after thhat because fuck — my mind disgusts me sometimes. And holy shit, their set was fucking fantastic. It was so good, that I didn’t even mind the heat or having two bitches dropped on me (thank God for Blake, else they’d have hit the pavement). They basically just play a blend of alternative rock, with some screamo-lite thrown in for scene cred, but what makes them stand apart for me is their lyrics. They’re smart, morbid, sad, and just overall clever. At the end of one of their songs, they segued right into a thirty second cover of “Bleeding Love” which was a million times better than the original we’re guaranteed to hear every time we walk into a grocery store. They also threw in a cover “Beat It” which was energenic and really fun to watch, and they ended the set with “Party Like a Rock Star” gone metal.

I did NOT want that set to end. Even Blake admitted that he was surprised how good they were live, and Henry was like, “Yes, fine, I liked what I heard all the back there in Parent Alley.” It was one of those moments where you want to call everyone you know and give them a hyper review in a shrill voice, but you know no one will give a shit. So then you’re just depressed.

We had a lot of time to kill after Pierce the Veil, so I bought a five dollar soft pretzel while wishing for once I ate meat so I could get a corn dog for $3.50 — the cheapest foodstuff there. Henry got nachos which looked like slop. Henry’s demeanor seemed to uncurdle a bit while he was coating his ‘stache with cheese sauce. He even smiled a few times and I think he laughed once.

While we were chilling out at the picnic table, Blake proposed that he move in with us. Maybe it was just the contact high of being with someone who actually gave a shit about music, but I declared that this was the best idea I had ever heard in all of my life, even better than my idea to direct porn, so now he might be moving in with us. It would make my scene kid research easier, for sure.

Blake was so sad that we missed Katy Perry while we were foraging for discounted sustenance. He even pulled his hat down low to hide the tears. But maybe it was because he saw kids he knew and was embarrassed of Henry.

• Evergreen Terrace: I liked them alright but there was nothing mind-blowing that made me want to scour Ebay for rare memorabilia. However, during one of their songs, they chanted “I want you dead” and maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I thought that would be such a romantic sentiment to have engraved on wedding bands.
• Classic Crime: Another band that sounds good in stereo, but didn’t hold my attention live. Instead, I stared at this really surly girl who was like an overweight scene Sami Brady from Days of Our LIves. She was climbing over rows of seats and even though she was struggling to swing her trunk-legs over, she didn’t let it deter her from scaling the next row, until eventually she lost her momentum and wound up clotheslining her crotch. It brought me joy, lots of joy.
• 3OH!3: I wouldn’t have sought this band out normally, but we wanted to see the band that was coming on right after them, so we hung out for their set. I thought I was going to hate them at first, because that wave of white boy rap-rock-electronica kind of annoys me. But they ended up being so fucking fun and there was a really hot blond chick dancing on the side of the stage, so they kept my attention for sure. During their last song, it basically turned into a chaotic dance party on stage, and even Blake’s girlfriend Katy Perry was up there dancing with her man Travis from Gym Class Heroes (who I walked past earlier and wanted to say, “Your gf is a gaybo” but I wasn’t feeling assholey enough. Plus, I like Travis.). Anyway, I’m going to have 3Oh!3 play at my Sweet Thirtieth Birthday Orgy Masquerade. It’s gonna be tight.
• Bring Me the Horizon: Blake ran into some of his friends right as they came on, so we were officially ditched. Henry and I hung around for a few songs, but Henry looked like he wanted to call out for his mommy, so I spared him. I really liked BMTH though — they made me want to fillet a cop.
• The Devil Wears Prada: Sans Blake, things were pretty gay. I wanted to get closer to the stage but Henry was all OH HELL NAH so I was like, “Fuck this then” and went to buy a shirt instead. Henry, you pussy.

The day was coming to an end by this point, and Blake had re-joined us in time for Dr. Manhattan. I was torn, because they were playing at the same time as Norma Jean, side-by-side. And I love Norma Jean. Norma Jean blocked out Eleanore’s nerve-prickling coupon-cutting many a night for me. But I chose Dr. Manhattan, along with fifteen other people. It was sad! But you know a band is good when there are OTHER bands in the crowd watching them. And they were good — they were quirky and fun and energenic and they made me laugh out loud a few times. Unfortunately, Norma Jean was one stage over, luring people into their crowd. They had gigantic black beach balls and I won’t lie — I’m a sucker for a beach ball. At one point, I yelled to Henry, “Hey, do you want to go over and watch Norma Jean for the rest of their set?” but right then, two people left Dr. Manhattan’s crowd and the singer — in the middle of a song — stopped and yelled, “Hey! Where are you guys going??” It was so sad/cute/scary that I looked at Henry and said, “Never mind!”

At the end of their show, some of the bands in the crowd started chanting, “One more song!” but they weren’t allowed because of time constraints. So the singer started chanting back, “One more crowd!”, the retardedness of which made me laugh. I was also dehydrated, though. Overall, I was glad I stayed loyal to Dr. Manhattan, because their set was rewarding.

And that was it. We walked back to the car and already I started to feel the body-dragging effects of post-show depression. Then I thought about how all day long I had been talking about all the bands I wanted to see, but by the end of the night, all I wanted to see was Chooch.

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