I’ve been a huge fan of PVRIS for a few years now and have seen them quickly gain exposure and popularity. I was lucky enough to get to see them at Warped Tour last summer and when they opened for Pierce the Veil in early 2015, but once they went on tour with Fall Out Boy, I knew my time to see them headline a small venue was quickly running out. They announced a summer tour a few mths ago and OF COURSE Pittsburgh wasn’t on it. The closest date was in Cincinnati and it was festival which just isn’t what I wanted.

But then last month, they added a last minute Pittsburgh date! It was billed as one of the Altar Bar’s farewell shows, and I literally bought my ticket the exact moment they went on sale, while Henry and I were en route to Maryland for The Cure. I knew it would sell out and I wasn’t taking any chances. You gotta know when to jump on things.

Plus, I’m tightly-wound.

Fast forward to a few days before the show. Drusky Entertainment updated the Facebook event to say that the show had been moved to the Rex Theater due to “structural issues” with the Altar Bar. Apparently, the new owners of the Altar Bar (who I think are turning it back into a church if the rumors I heard are correct) must have done an inspection and basically, the Altar Bar was declared unsafe for hosting concerts so that’s great to hear. So instead of being able to have their final “goodbye” shows, they had to close their doors two weeks sooner than anticipated.

But the problem with moving to the Rex is that its capacity limit is lower than the Altar Bar, and this was a sold-out show. People started flipping out on Facebook, wondering if there were going to be refunds, and if so, how would that be decided, etc. It was quickly confirmed by Drusky that emails would be sent and this location change would really only affect the last 70 people who bought their tickets.

So I was safe.

Turns out though, it would have been better to have been a JOHNNY COME LATELY (I’m my second grade teacher Mrs. Hall now) because the last 70 people got a special pre-show ACOUSTIC PERFMORMANCE by PVRIS and a meet and greet?! I was so pissed and poor Henry (lol) had to hear me whine about it for like three days straight.

I kept throwing around the word “injustice.” BECAUSE IT WAS.

Whatever, I was happy that the show wasn’t entirely canceled and that my ticket was still good and that, most of all, I would get to hear Lynn Gunn’s pretty voice in person again, because she one of the top dogs on my very short list of girl singers.

Father Henry dropped me off at the Rex last Sunday night after doors opened because I didn’t want to wait in line with all the giggling bi-curious girls who call Lynn their wife. I got in and made it past the miserable bouncer and then went straight to the bar to get a cider because NERVES. No matter how many shows I go to alone, it’s always the “Walking In” part that gets my stomach in knots. But then once I establish a dark corner to slip into, I’m fine.

I took my cider up to the balcony because I knew it was going to get too crowded for me to see downstairs. The balcony is very small, standing room only, but I found an opening at the far end next to some dad who kind of looked like NEWMAN.

Newman immediately started talking to me and I was just like, “Not on this day, buddy.” He was there with his daughter and niece and unhappy about it. I muttered something about PVRIS putting on a good show, so it shouldn’t be too miserable of a night for him. Then I buried my face in my phone so he would stop. Just stop.

The opening bands were both local. The first was Emerson Jay and WHAT A STAGE PRESENCE. It’s very rare that an opening band gets a crowd as excited as Emerson Jay did, but I was fucking feeling it. A+, good packaging, would see again.

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When they ended, Newman asked me if I would hold his spot because his daughter was down below summoning him, presumably for money to buy shirts because that would be the only reason I would be summoning Henry at a show. Literally as soon as he walked away, a girl slipped right into his spot. I said something in a noncommittal tone about how I was supposed to be saving that spot for someone, so her friend was all, “Well, there’s room for him when he comes back, and I’ll just stand behind her….” but then I mumbled something about how I didn’t even know the guy anyway, so the friend was all, “OH WELL IN THAT CASE FUCK THAT GUY” and she squeezed herself right in between me and the other girl, so shit got real cozy. 

Then she kept talking to me, and it was OK — she wasn’t overly annoying or anything — but how long were we really going to discuss the Do’s and Don’ts of holding someone’s spot at a show? Finally, Nevada Color came on and she shut up. Nevada Color was fun, but not as good as Emerson Jay, except for the very end, when Emerson Jay came back out and joined them for a party on the stage and everyone was like FUCK YEAH and how could you not be loving life at that moment?!

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I felt proud of our local scene. The only thing that could have made the night, would have been if Balloon Ride Fantasy was also there! (This was around the time I realized that the girls next to me were a couple, NOT THAT I WAS JUDGING, but it was something I NOTICED, which is important to the story.)

At some point, I spotted Newman in my periphery, standing toward the back of the balcony and I felt a slight pang of guilt for not trying harder to hold his spot, but as Sam and I joked, “MOVE YOUR FEET LOSE YOUR SEAT.”

Hahah….oh Sam. 

After their set, the girl next to me (I inadvertently found out her name was Sam later on in the night) went down to the merch area and was chatting up the singer of Nevada Color for A GOOD WHILE, and me and the other girl were laughing about it because you could tell this chick was the type of girl who could talk her way into and out of anything. “She better get his number,” the other girl said, and I was like, “Oh, maybe they’re not girlfriends then…” But then Sam came back up, gave both of us free Nevada Color stickers, and when her girlfriend asked what they were talking about, Sam said, “How to meet PVRIS. But I don’t know that I can trust you with that intel.” It seemed clear to me that she was joking, but this somehow set off the other girl and before I knew it, they were lowkey bickering, so I just turned my attention elsewhere because awkward and leave me out of it.

But then when the girlfriend went to the bathroom, Sam turned to me and said, “WHY DO I HAVE TO LIKE GIRLS?!” I was like, “Um…” because honestly, I’m terrible in these situations and ain’t nobody should be asking me of all people GIRL ADVICE because I’m a fucking disaster in that field.

“I love her to death but right now I want to snap her neck and throw her off the balcony,” and I could imagine that happening because Sam had a very athletic build to her and the other girl just looked weak. I asked very by-the-book questions, like “How long have you been together?? to which she replied, “Not long enough, but then too long, you know?”

No. No, I don’t. A month? Four years? Help me know the answer.

Apparently, this girl is super jealous. Which explains why she made the “I hope she gets his number” comment — I probably just realized the bitter tone at the time. Sam told me that she recently went out for beers with her best guy friend who had recently broken up with his girlfriend, and apparently this did not go over well with Sam’s girlfriend who naturally accused her of cheating.

“And then there’s the age difference, I think that has a lot to do with it. Like, I’m 26 and she’s only 22. She’s very immature.”

I just nodded, imagining Henry talking to some random person about our age difference. “I’m 51 and she’s only 37. She’s very immature.”

PLUS IT’S LONG DISTANCE, THEY LIVE AN HOUR AWAY FROM EACH OTHER GOD HELP THEM.

The girlfriend came back from the bathroom and Sam continued to talk to me about her while she was standing right there and I was thinking to myself, “Am I going to end up being the Third Party in this poorly-scripted divorce court drama?” But then PVRIS saved the day by finally coming out on stage and I was like, “Here guys! Just enjoy the show! Break up later, on the drive back to Ohio.”

Because they’re from Ohio. I learned that at some point too when I was trying to just keep to myself in my corner, crying internally because socialization is just too much for me. THIS IS WHY I GO TO SHOWS ALONE!

But PVRIS though. My lord. They sounded better than ever and just being in the presence of Lynn Gunn’s radiant beauty filled me with joy.

She did not have the same effect on Sam, who had her head in her arms and was sobbing.

Lesbians breaking up during PVRIS — I can’t even imagine how soul-crushing this was for them, having these emotionally-wrecking conversations while Lynn sings the songs she wrote about her past girlfriends.

LIKE EYELIDS.

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The first time we ever saw them, Henry made some judgey comment about they “were OK but she needs to work on her singing” and I was just like, “Being in the SERVICE must have screwed with your hearing because she is a fucking exotic siren calling me toward her lesbi-land, so fuck you WHITE HETERO-MAN.”

And then she busted out with “Only Love” from an acoustic EP they did pre-White Noise and I didn’t know they ever performed any of those songs so I was pleasantly surprised and I very rarely am That Person who whips out her phone and records a song in its entirety, but this was an exception. That song makes me weak and as soon as I’m done writing this, I’m going to put on that record and cry.

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What I also love about this band is that while they appear to be all bleak and synthy, they are so fucking funny. I went through a phase two years ago where I made Henry watch every one of their interviews on YouTube with me and even he was KIND OF LAUGHING. They are fucking adorable people and I’m so happy to see that their beautiful music is being recognized and getting them spots at Lollapalooza, even.

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The other thing I love about PVRIS is that Lynn has an extensive background in art and design, which shows in the perfectly curated series of music videos that were made for EVERY SONG on their debut LP. And perhaps you’ve seen Chooch wearing that “For Fox Sake” Emarosa tank? Well, Lynn designed that for Emarosa — THEY’RE FRIENDS.

Of course they’re friends. The best bands stick together.

I was acutely aware of Sam threatening to “just leave” numerous times during their set, and now her girlfriend had reversed roles and became the level-headed one who tried to calm her down. In the end, Sam ended up staying. With all that domestic disputing happening next to me all night, it was almost as intimate as the acoustic set I missed out on. I felted invested at that point, so I tapped her on the arm and wished her luck with everything,

She said, “And sorry again about bumping into you all night. My elbows are so pointy!” And then we laughed and it was kind of like a Mentos commercial.

And on my way out, some young guy touched my arm and usually I would hiss DON’T TOUCH ME, but he wanted to tell me that he liked my shirt.

It was an EMAROSA shirt. What could have been a chaotic cluster of a night with a bunch of angry fans thanks to a last minute venue change ended up being the best night ever.

Even if there was only one band that I even remotely, slightly cared about on this year’s Warped Tour, I would still go and here’s why: there has never not been a time when I haven’t left there with at least one new band to love, or an old band to have newfound respect for.

If you like music at all, no matter what your age is, you could probably find at least one band that piqued your interest. Probably. I don’t know. (Even Henry usually likes one band, and that’s a guy who likes Ted Nugent, you know? If there’s hope for him there’s hope for all.) The festival is very well-rounded in that regard and if people hate on it, it’s probably because they’ve either reached that crotchety “THINGS WERE BETTER IN THE 90s” phase in their life, or they just have some preconceived notion that it’s literally a field overrun with feral scene kids and bros.

Please – my tolerance for kids is pretty non-existent so if I can float through an entire day on a cloud of bliss and ignorance, then you know it can’t be all that bad!

They don’t even make me feel old! And let’s be real, I’ll be 37 by the time I finally get off my ass and finish writing this idiotic post, so this isn’t exactly my demographic.

THAT BEING SAID, here are the bands I saw at this year’s Warped Tour. Bands that are in bold are the ones I have deemed worthy of expanding upon and you know how much I love expanding. Have you seen my waistline?

• In Heart’s Wake (If I hadn’t been going through a personal life crisis, I would have probably REALLY ENJOYED this set; these guys are on my radar now at least. But right now all I associate them with is Chooch literally pacing in circles begging me for my phone so he could play Pokemon Go and I JUST CAN’T WITH POKEMON GO.)
• Assuming We Survive (Chooch said he didn’t care about them but then inexplicably wanted to meet them until he saw the line)
• Real Friends (I got as far as waiting for them to come out before freaking out for the 2nd time that morning and walking toward the exit)
• I See Stars (some – I really want to like them more than I do; th)
• Ballyhoo! (some)
• Issues
• Knuckle Puck
• Bad Seed Rising
• Hail the Sun (Chooch fucking pissed me off and I ended up storming off because he kept trying to TALK TO ME while I was attempting to ENJOY A BAND THAT I LOVE. Rude. I was right in front of the stage too when I stormed off, ensuring that there were ample witnesses. But fuck, those two songs were tight as fuck, yo. I LOVE YOU HTS. I will see you in October with Dance Gavin Dance! Chooch, you’re lucky that I’ve seen them a million times.)

• Young Guns (they were playing in the background when I had another freak out and then Henry was all, “THAT’S IT WE’RE LEAVING FOR REAL THIS TIME, FUCK THIS NOISE” and Chooch and I were like “Haha, have fun leaving, we’re gonna go down here and wait for Emarosa” and then Henry was only bluffing anyway – we saw him hiding behind a thing.)
• Sykes (they were playing on the other side of the stage while we waited for Emarosa and I liked them just fine, but hurry up because Emarosa.)
• EMAROSA!!!!!!! (They got their own post.)
• Ghost Town (Chooch and Henry went to see coldrain during this. WHATEVER BITCHES.)
• Set It Off
• Oceans Ate Alaska (LOVE this band. They can melt my face any fucking day. Chooch and Henry ditched me during this because they can’t handle it.)

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• State Champs (I 100% do not remember watching their set but I have video and a picture….?? And I like Stamp Champs too so this is completely confusing and terrifying all at once.)

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• With Confidence 
• Secrets (Henry fell asleep during them and they were pretty scream-y, so there goes Henry showing off his God-given talent of BLOCKING IT ALL OUT.
• Waterparks
• Chunk! No, Captain Chunk

Issues: I wouldn’t even say I’m a casual fan of Issues, because Tyler Carter has always kind of rubbed me the wrong way and I will forever associate him with Jonny Craig (like when they had a fight and Jonny demanded that Tyler remove the “4L” from his name because JONNY STARTED THAT?!) But everyone in the stupid Warped Tour videos I love to watch kept saying “OMG Issues is a can’t-miss this year” and I figured, nothing else was playing at that time, so why not give them a second chance. The only other time I’ve seen them was when they opened for Dance Gavin Dance in 2013 – so they’re actually the first band that Chooch has even seen live. He liked them then and now he REALLY LIKES THEM because they’re marketing geniuses and worked the Pokemon theme into their merch AND played that dumb Pokemon song when they first came out. One thing that you can say for certain about Issues is that they are genre-bending. They even have a quasi-country jam with some country singer who I don’t care about and Chooch really likes that song for some reason which concerns me because is this the GATEWAY INTO COUNTRY MUSIC FANDOM for him?! I can already see him pissing in the parking lot of a Kenny Chesney concert just to defy me and perfectly curated standards.

The only video I had of their set was through Snapchat so that shit is gone baby gone but here is a video for COMA which has been stuck in my head ever since and will probably go down in history as the one Issues song I actually REALLY LOVE, because I want to be all you think about, anything and everything you dream about. (Fuck, you got me. I like this song a lot too.)

Henry’s review: Eh, they weren’t…I don’t know. They just didn’t do it for me. They opened up good but then….I wouldn’t see them again.

(SOMEONE GET THIS DICK A JOB AT PITCHFORK.)

Knuckle Puck: in full pop-punk disclosure, I am what you would call a CASUAL FAN of this band. I know their album’s name is Copacetic because I love that word and would never forget something like that, but damn I couldn’t name one song for you. However, I have been wanting to see them live and we missed them at Bled Fest (we saw The Beautiful Gorgeous’s last show ever instead), so we clomped our way down into the pavilion and this is where Chooch kept talking to be able it French fries and I was like I DONT CARE DO WHAT YOU WANT so he had Henry go and get us French fries (US! He said he was going to SHARE them) and I stupidly assumed that Henry knew to get them with that weird cheese sauce that First Niagara Pavilion slings, but he came back with just ketchup and I was like WHAT KIND OF INJUSTICE ARE YOU SERVING ME RIGHT NOW? That just made me snap out again (the ground was made of egg shells at this point) and I left the two of them standing there, watching a band they couldn’t give a shit about.

See ya another time  when I’m not being a moody asshole, Knuckle Puck. :(

Henry’s review: We didn’t stay there very long, did we? I can’t remember when that was, so I can’t say yes or not.

(To be fair, he was off buying french fries that were all wrong.)

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With Confidence: Oh man, I will be honest and say that I was only waiting for them because it was the closest stage to where we were standing and nothing else was happening during this time, but good god damn am I happy for this accident because they were fucking SWEETHEARTS! And also, FROM AUSTRALIA!!! God, I love Australian bands. I also love how many non-American bands were on Warped Tour this year.

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That guy wore a With Confidence shirt to a With Confidence show.

Henry’s review: Was that on the little stage? I”m trying to think what band that was.

Ghost Town: I saw them by myself because Henry and Chooch were somewhere else and I’m not their keeper so GO I DON’T CARE. Anyway, this band is so reminiscent of mid-2000s nu-emo, kind of like that wave of candy-coated quasi post-hardcore that rode the wave in with Pierce the Veil, the kind of bands with fluorescent merch and scene queens loitering by the bus after every show. I’d say this kind of music is my guilty pleasure, but I KNOW NO GUILT. I derive unabashed, wanton pleasure from synthy-scene jams. Plus, they have upright coffins on stage with them, so of course that caters to my interests.

They make me want to start living my life with a dramatic side-part and raccoon eyes again, you guys. Where did I put all of those old hair bows….

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Henry’s review: I would see them, yeah.

Set It Off: This was only my second time seeing them and I think they’re fun watch but if we’re being honest, there’s really only ONE SONG that I l-l-l-love and that’s The Haunting. So we wandered off right after they played that one and it’s fine because I’m not a true fan. I don’t make that diamond symbol with my hands like all the girls do.

We were there though when Cody launched into this full-fledged self-help motivational speech about reaching for the stars, etc blah blah, it’s never too late, don’t let anyone stop you, and Henry gave me multiple shoulder squeezes that translated into “Yeah, Erin, it’s never too late to make your dreams a reality!” and I was just like, “It is when you’re dead inside.”

Anyway, a few days later some girl tweeted that her two favorite singers sang together and it was CODY AND BRADLEY FROM EMAROSA?! So I asked her if she had a video and she sent it to me on Twitter it I don’t think I can save it and I am so pained. BUT FUCK YES I WAS ABLE TO EMBED IT HERE!!!  THANK YOU TWITTER USER RACHELBEE!! I have watched this so many times while making Pudding Face.

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Henry’s review: I don’t mind them. I would see them again….?

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These coppers were thoroughly enjoying all of Cody’s crotch grabs. So was Henry.

Bad Seed Rising: Oh shit you guys, I saw them accidentally after I ran away from Henry and Chooch while wearing my crown of Drama Queen thorns. I was planning on continuing my angry stomp across the grounds when I heard the singer unleash a gutteral scream and that’s when I realized it was this tiny girl. YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION. This was actually the only time all day that I almost got caught in the hardcore-dancing crossfire. I wish that I would have gotten punched because that could have been another thing for me to cry about that day. Boo hoo.

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And she can SANG too y’all. So picky with chicks, especially ones that think that they can scream, but this one got my seal of approval.

I’m secretly happy that Henry missed this because I got to say, “Man, you have no idea how amazing it was” at least 67 times so far and he acts like he doesn’t care but he cares.

Henry’s review—OH WAIT HAHAHA HE WASN’T THERE.

Waterparks: I wasn’t sure what to expect with these guys, because Alt Press seems to be hyping them in the same way they hyped 5SOS and I just can’t get behind that media-choreographed hysteria, you know? Waterparks opened for Never Shout Never last winter, but Chooch and I got there after they played. When we walked into Mr. Smalls, the singer flat out interrupted the girl who was talking to him just so he could tell Chooch he liked his hair (it was still kind of pink back then). So that’s a definite stand-out impression for me.

Guys, my preconceived notions about this band were incorrect! They were fun and entertaining, and the singer Awsten’s stage banter was hilarious and smart. Funnily enough, he had a weirdness about him that definitely reminded me of Christofer Drew from Never Shout Never. This is all to say that I fell in some serious like with Waterparks on this evening and I will be looking out for them to come back to Pittsburgh so that I can go see them, by myself probably,

I would ask Henry what he thought of them, but he slept through their whole entire set, so…..

(I posted this video on Chooch’s Instagram because I figured all of my friends are OVER IT by now, haha.)

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Chunk! No Captain Chunk: I feel like these guys got made fun of a lot when they were new, but now it seems like more people have accepted the fact that France has produced a pop-punk band. I personally enjoy them on a casual level, arms-length if you will, but for some reason Chooch was adamant that we watch them. This made Henry groan because they were the last band to play on the Cyclops stage, right as Warped Tour was winding down, which meant there was no chance of Henry escaping early like we have been able to do in past years when there were no bands left that we cared about.

Chooch’s favorite things about their set was when the singer would pronounce Pittsburgh like “PEETS-burgh” and the fact that they covered Smash Mouth’s “All Star” — I didn’t realize he was such a fan of that song?! Chooch was disappointed that I didn’t get a video it and I was like, “Why would I, though?”.

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Henry’s review: Um…I didn’t mind them. I don’t know. I would see them again…?

Anyway, it was a nice FEEL-GOOD note to end Warped Tour on this year. Sorry I was such an asshole for the first half of the day.

And that wraps up this year’s edition of bands we saw at Warped Tour, some of us were clearly more into it than others. The line-up was exceptional this year and I wish I could have multiplied myself to be at every stage at the same time, except for when Falling In Reverse, Reel Big Fish, or Motionless In White were playing because I go out of my way to avoid those ones! (I don’t like supporting women-beaters, ska bands, or cheesy metal.)

I’m already counting down for next year! I could use a massive do-over and I’ll be sure not to answer my phone this time if it rings. Le sigh.

I have been to many Warped Tours over the years and have seen a ton of my favorite bands perform there, everywhere from the smallest stage to the main stage. Every year, there is at least one highlight, that one moment that was so outrageous that I can’t wait to come home and tell my cats about it and then let my death row pen pals know by the next day’s post.

But the last two year’s, that highlight has gone to the same band, and if there was a Warped Tour homecoming court, CROWN EMAROSA KING OF WARPED TOUR.

I don’t know how many different ways I can say it, but Emarosa just makes me so alive. I was having such a shitty day at Warped Tour this year, which is completely unlike me. We almost left before Emarosa even played, and I would have hated myself forever if I had actually followed through with my crybaby bluffs. Because as soon as they came out and started playing “Miracle,” I felt like my heart was being stapled and sutured right there in front of the Poseidon stage — it fucking hurt so bad I could have screamed, but I knew it was going to heal. If you’re reading this, I know that you know that feeling because why else would you slough through these self-serving diary pages?

You would think that when a band exudes  as much energy and crowd-participation as their singer Bradley does single-handedly, that I would look like your basic broad suffering from Beatlemania….but no. I am practically paralyzed with emotion and can barely manage to do more than just sway back and forth like a psych ward patient.

Oh, and I cry a lot too while mouthing the words and also looking at the ground with great introspection because I never stopped playing the part of Angela Chase. I honestly cannot help it. I am shocked and awed by Emarosa.

AND THEN THIS HAPPENED:

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Bradley is the most perfect person to front Emarosa and I will never ever ever forget the day that I found out Emarosa was finally back, after thinking that one of my favorite bands was dead, a band that would wind up on some lame BuzzFeed post-hardcore graveyard lists. It has been so much fun having them back, watching them rise to the top with their latest album, and seeing their reputation as THE BAND TO WATCH O WARPED TOUR spread like wildfire through Twitter.

And then you guys, and then OMG Bradley motioned for security to let us through the barrier and onto the side of the stage.

I thought my legs were going to give out. If you had told 2008 that one day Jonny Craig would no longer be the singer of one of my favorite bands but don’t worry because they’ll get a new singer who is even better (you can slap my face at this part to get me to stfu and listen) I would have started mouthing off and then you’d have to slap my face to get me to stfu and listen. And then if you had told me that one day I’d be watching them under the amphitheater at Warped Tour from sidestage at the request of their singer who is way better than Jonny Craig, I’d have slapped YOU across the face to get you to stfu.

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!!!!

Bradley’s wife was there too and she is even more beautiful in person, like a young, even prettier Alyssa Milano, and at one point Bradley turned his back to the crowd and sang a line directly to her while she pointed to him and sang it back and I was like I HAVE GOT TO DUMP HENRY AND FIND MYSELF A LOVE LIKE THIS.

And probably Warped Tour is EXACTLY the place for me to find it. Maybe during Oceans Ate Alaska’s set – their male fans seem like my type kind of

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OMG I could just die. I just want to type “OMG OMG OMG” over and over and not bother with trying to string together anything more intelligble (OMG intelligble?! SEE I’M BRAIN DEAD. EMAROSA SHOT ME IN THE HEAD WITH ALL THEIR ELECTRIC FEELS). I just want get “131” tattooed inside my lip now OK. You can’t stop me. You don’t own my inner lip.

I have to honestly stop myself from tweeting about my love for Emarosa as much as I want to because they probably already think I’m a fucking stalker but I swear to god, I’m not trying to be an actual groupie! I just get so excited and I wanted to reply to all of their tweets and remind them how much I love them and that I’m trying to get every single person I know to buy their album and if they could all just send me one tiny lock of their hair I swear it’s not to mix up with Henry’s blood and hemlock in my cauldron while chanting the lyrics to Young Lonely in Latin because that just sounds like some crazy shit and I’m not crazy.

JUST CRAZY ABOUT EMAROSA.

Also just crazy about not getting enough sleep apparently.

OK, reel it in, Erin.

Bands only get to play for like 35 minutes at Warped Tour and this just isn’t enough time for Emarosa. However, it’s enough time for them to continuously win over new fans at every Warped date because it’s one thing to have a gimmick or a schtick (in this case, Bradley’s hyper crowd-immersion and stage gymnastics) but to also have the songs and raw talent to back it up really sets them apart from a lot of the bands on the tour. And trust me, I like a lot of those bands! It’s just that none of them make me feel like Emarosa does.

After their set ended, Bradley jumped off stage and ran straight up the hill to their merch booth so that he could meet fans. Chooch was like, “K BYE!!!!” and started to run back down the steps so he could go to the merch booth too and I saw Bradley’s wife stop him and say something to him and I was like “WHAT DID SHE SAY TO YOU YOU’RE SO LUCKY YOU GOT TO TALK TO HER WHY AM I SO SHY I HATE MYSELF?!!?” Chooch said she asked him if he wanted to meet Bradley and his response was, “I’ve met him many times” and then walked away — SO HE COULD GO AND MEET BRADLEY. That kid is usually so good at talking to strangers but if it’s a hot girl or, I don’t know, Bradley, he honestly needs either cue cards or a straight-up life coach.

While we waited in line to see Bradley, we realized that once again we were terrible parents and let the sun deep-fry our son (EVERY FUCKING YEAR, no matter how much we slather him with sun screen!) because he was wearing a tank top and usually only wears t-shirts, so he had some fresh pale pelt for the sun to greet. I told him he should put on his new Choonimals shirt he didn’t want to take his tank top off so he tried to put the shirt on over top of the tank and then take the tank off that way and it was just a tragic display of social awkwardness, especially once Henry tried to “help.” This sideshow went on for a good five minutes and it was so embarrassing.

“STOP LOOKING AT MY DAD DRESSING MY LITTLE BROTHER!” is what I wanted to shout at all the scene kids spectating this gross demonstration of parenting.

Ugh.

Then it was our turn and Chooch and I answered Bradley’s questions with scared, one-word answers while Henry just stood there and sighed. WE GET NERVOUS AROUND HIM OK LEAVE US ALONE.

Just the best, the absolute bestedy-best-best-best.

He told us to let us know if we were going to any other Warped Tour dates because he would guest list us and I made puppy-dog eyes at Henry who immediately said something like, “HAHA, we’ll see” because he wanted to look cool in front in Bradley but then later he was like, “NO WE’VE GONE TO ENOUGH THINGS THIS SUMMER.” Ugh. Not like I would have taken him up on that offer anyway — he offered back in March to guest list us for Pittsburgh, and to just message him beforehand to remind him, but I freaked out and didn’t do it because I didn’t to look like I was using him, I DON’T KNOW?! My head is made of wasps nests of insecurity and paranoia.

I just really enjoy Emarosa’s music and I don’t want it to ever seem like I’m some sleazy hanger-on. They’ve already done so much for me!

Henry’s favorite song from 131 is either Cloud 9 or Miracle, by the way. He couldn’t pick just one. It’s a huge deal that he even has any favorites at all because this is Henry and usually having a “favorite something” is an indication that you have some semblance of a personality.

Don’t tell Henry this but I kind of like that there’s a band we ALL ENJOY AS A FAMILY. Oh for Christ’s sake, curl my hair and stick an over mitt on my hand, because that may have been the most Donna Reed-ish thing I’ve ever said.

Fuck, I can’t believe I almost missed this.

Watch that video and then tell me if you’re going to see them with us the next time they come to Pittsburgh!?!?

Much wow, this was Henry’s 8th Warped Tour (I think? I don’t feel like counting, but it’s less than my official tally that’s for sure because I’m more legit than he is). What this means is that he is basically a seasoned, grizzled pro at this point. Let’s ask him some questions about his long-term relationship with Warped Tour and if he plans on siring any illegitimate children out of wedlock with them, too. JUST LIKE HE DID WITH ME.

Do you plan on siring any illegitimate children out of wedlock with Warped Tour?

Say that again!? [WRITER REPEATS QUESTION.] I don’t know. Is that even possible?

There were several times when I went off on my own during the day. What did you and Chooch do that I missed?

We just walked around and got some Twix [they had a booth there] and Chooch spent some time in the water tent. We saw a little bit of Cold Rain but then he saw some vendor and then we ventured off. I don’t know, we just walked around and then he kept wanting a bucket hat. [There were some merch booths selling them because nothing screams POP PUNK like a bucket hat?]

Out of all the Warped Tours you’ve attended throughout the years, give us your top 3 worst moments.

Great, now I have to think. [He is seriously thinking about this too OMG. No wait, he’s watching something about the Kennedy assassination. No, he’s thinking again!]

#3. I don’t know what year it was, but having to listen to Katy Perry sing.

#2. Whatever year it was when it was 1000 degrees there and it was miserable. [I know what you’re thinking: Isn’t that every year?? But this one year it was actually so bad that someone died, I think, maybe.]

#1. Breakdown 2016. [You guys I think he’s referring to the 87 times I wanted to leave last week because I’m emotionally cracked.]

If you had a booth at Warped Tour, what would you be selling?

Individually-wrapped prunes. [LOL JUST KIDDING THAT WAS ME, THE WRITER, ANSWERING FOR HIM.]

Huh. What would I sell….[Literally, he has no imagination.] I don’t know. Let me think about that one.

[TWENTY MINUTES LATER] Your art, and meat products, because there’s way too much vegetarian shit there.

[Um, if he’s referring to the ONE tent that Peta2 has there, then yeah: SO MUCH.]

Kevin Lyman, the founder of Warped Tour, asks you personally for a list of bands to forever blacklist. I guess he feels an affinity to you because you’re both middle-aged with probably have the same amount of callouses. Anyway, what bands are on your list? GO HOGWILD, BOO.

Slaves

[Wow, this just in: Henry doesn’t care when disgusting, misogynistic bands like FALLING IN REVERSE and ATTILA play at Warped Tour, that’s why they didn’t make his list. Oh OK, privileged white male! Way to use your god-given Caucasian penis for good.]

It’s the morning after Warped Tour, i.e. DEAR DIARY TIME! What do you write on the back of the Faygo Red Pop label* about this year’s experience at Warped Tour?

I can’t have secrets and then tell you! [I won’t stop looking at him until he answers.]

When you look at me like that and start typing, it scares me. I don’t like your line of questioning. Too much thinking involved. Why can’t it just be yes or no answers. [Ew he just told me he doesn’t like my attitude?!]

*[That’s what I imagine Henry’s diary to be: a clump of Faygo bottle labels crumbled into a ball and punched under the mattress.]

OK fine, pretend like it’s a postcard that you’re sending Chris & Monica from the great bustling parking lot that is Warped Tour:

Is this a new question? Why would I write Chris and Monica a postcard?

[I’ll start it for you: DEAR CHRIS AND MONICA]

[I just asked Chooch the same question since Henry’s brain is creaking and smoking as he tries to think. Chooch would just write: ‘Sup.]

Dear Chris & Monica,

Having a great time, as always. [I think he’s sarcasming.]

Brought my A&D ointment which I have been applying liberally right around the TENDER AREAS inside my thighs. I wanted to wear booty shorts today but I had to wear regular-lengthed basic white man shorts on account of all the CHAFING. Thought we were going to leave early because Erin was being a psycho but then somehow we ended staying later than ever before, wtf guys. I got to eat an ice pop and it reminded me of the days when I was a paperboy except that it cost approximately $8 more. Um, I bought my work-husband the Masked Intruder CD not because I’m thoughtful or anything but because he is my dom.

[OK fine, I might have taken some liberties after the “having a great time” line because I was tired of him sitting here saying, “Um…..uh…..”]

You seem less irritated about having to chaperone Chooch and me than you have in earlier years. Can you confirm this is because you’re sufficiently dead inside, or do you secretly LIKE WARPED TOUR now?

I think it’s a little bit of both. I like some of it and I’m pretty much dead inside because of you and Chooch.

But you hated Bled Fest – why?

I didn’t hate Bled Fest I just didn’t like it. I never said I hated Bled Fest! It was just too hot—and it wasn’t my type of music!

[Let me translate this for you, because I’m well-versed in reading between Henry’s blue-collared lines: Not enough booty shorts.]

Talk about how you’re able to sleep every year through super loud, heavy bands (the lucky bands this year were Secrets and Waterparks):

I don’t know it’s just something I can do.

[WOW GET THIS MAN ON AMERICA’S GOT TALENT.]

If Warped Tour was around when you were a teenager, what bands would you have liked to see in the line-up that was probably printed in the PITTSBURGH PRESS along with the date that the tickets went on sale so you would know when to go to KAUFMANN’S at CENTURY III MALL to buy them. I’ll just go ahead and start you off with Ted Nugent:

1. TED NUGENT
2. Iron Maiden
3. Judas Priest
4. Probably ZZ Top
5. CCR
6. The Guess Who

[Wow.]

[ED.NOTE: Don’t post pictures of illustrated weeners on Facebook because you will be reported for it and it will be removed, even if it looks like a Simpsons’ weener.]

Speaking of weeners, last year, that ginger-fuckerbitch Jonny Craig got kicked off Warped Tour for flapping his weener at his merch girl. Would you rather have Jonny Craig’s weener flapped in your face at such a close proximity that it gets tangled up in your beard, or would you rather get caught flapping your own weener at Jeffree Star and have him paint it with his lipgloss line? You can be honest, I won’t tell anyone:

Really? You’re not going to tell anyone? Pfft. [He just mumbled “Boy, you’re having fun with this.”] Probably the latter because I don’t like Jonny Craig.

2016 highlight:

Bradley [from Emarosa] hugging Chooch [during their set. Don’t worry Henry, I’m here to beef up your answers].

ON THE REAL HENRY, like how giddy do you get when Bradley talks to us?

How WHAT? Giddy? I don’t. I don’t need to get giddy; I have you two that get giddy and quiet.

[Oh OH, Bradley is totally his #mce (Barb, that means Man Crush Everyday).]

In closing, what advice would you give another dad who is going to Warped Tour with his kids for the very first time? And don’t say “Drop them off”:

Well that was going to be my answer, drop them off. Since I can’t say that….um….bring lots of cash for merch and food. I don’t know what else….but I’m sure you do.

[Yeah, I do: FORGET ABOUT HAVING ANY AUTHORITY, OPINIONS, OR FEELINGS THAT DAY BECAUSE IT’S NOT ABOUT YOU, IT’S ABOUT YOUR KIDS, SO STEP OFF, DAD.]

I have never been one to try and hide my deep-rooted love for soft rock. I don’t even try to downplay it by calling it “my guilty pleasure.” No, I’m PROUD to be a card-carrying member of the octogenarian set who sway in their rockers and walkers to Engelbert Humperdinck and Barry Manilow.

Ever since we determined that the kitchen stereo speakers still work, the first thing I do every time I go to Gillcrest is immediately crank up the soft rock. It brings a sense of normalcy to all of us I think, and Corey has even started listening to the soft rock radio station in his car.

This particular station is also a breeding ground for sweet, blissful 80s pop. Prince was on last Sunday and I was like, “EVERYONE STFU SO I CAN MAKE MY WEEKLY SOFT ROCK DANCE PARTY INSTAVID” but naturally, you can still hear Chooch’s big ass mouth in the background.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BH8E8RYgUQo/?taken-by=ohhonestlyerin

And then Phil came on because why wouldn’t he?

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Anyway, tonight Chooch and I were sitting when he said something like, “That sounds fun….no, now it looks boring” and I looked up to see a commercial for the ROCK AND ROMANCE CRUISE?! A cruise jam-packed with a ton of soft rock bands from the 70s that I FUCKING LOVE so I nearly pushed Chooch off the couch for saying it looked boring.

Firefall?? STEPHEN BISHOP? Oh you know he’s going to sing that Tootsie jam. I literally just woke up Henry to scream-read this line-up to him.

“AND GUESS WHO THE CELEBRITY GUEST IS??” I squealed. “DELILAH!” That was his cue to fall back asleep.

But holy shit, Ambrosia, you guys. Ambrosia.

“You’re the Only Woman” is the only song Henry and I have danced together to (back when we liked each other, like way before Chooch was born, lol) and even when I was a kid, I would think to myself, “GOSH I HOPE SOMEDAY THIS IS HOW SOME IDIOT FEELS ABOUT ME.” Same with Foreigner’s “Waiting For a Girl Like You” but come on like what girl doesn’t have a diary entry about that one, I mean right.

That song is #goals.

Anyway, sometimes when I feel like I need help falling back into like with my blue-collared man-friend, I will listen to some Ambrosia, and say a wistful “Aw” out loud. I have that song on my the DJ’s play list for my imaginary never-wedding, right smack in between Army of Lovers and Cock Robin. It’s too bad I’ll never get married, because in my head, it’s a FEAST FOR THE SENSES. You’d walk away feeling thankful it wasn’t your own wedding, but also inexplicably sad that it’s over.

And hopefully slightly scared that it happened at all.

OH WELL HAVE SOME AMBROSIA.

For years now, Warped Tour has been my escape, the one day a year when I set aside all responsibilities and sadness and just LET IT ALL GO. It’s the one day where I don’t feel self-conscious. Where I don’t feel fat. Where I don’t feel judged. Where I don’t feel like a fucking lonely outsider. I have never had a bad experience with anyone in the crowd, and Henry and I actually hardly fight on this day (he knows not to fuck with Our Lady of Warped on this day). I’ve gone to therapy, I’ve done the anti-depressant thing, but nothing has ever helped me like this one day does.

But this year was different.

I mean, I could fill this post with a bunch of lies about how perfect the whole day was, but I’m not a liar. This isn’t OhLyingErin.

It wasn’t Warped Tour’s fault. It wasn’t that I didn’t like any of the bands. It wasn’t that I was feeling suddenly jaded around all the young scene kids. It wasn’t that Henry and I were fighting. It wasn’t any of these things.

It was that, for the first time ever, I am honestly feeling that low and depressed that I couldn’t fucking shake it off. Things have been Not Great for me and my family over the last few months. I try to smile through it and continue on with life, but I think maybe I’ve been doing too great of a job with bottling it all up and now that bottle has sprung a leak. Maybe 15 leaks.

I think the impetus was answering my phone that morning when I shouldn’t have answered it. We had literally JUST WALKED THROUGH THE GATES and were running up the big hill to the Vans tent on the other side when I got the call. I thought it was a florist that had been trying to deliver flowers to my house and kept missing me, so I answered it. But instead, it was an estate attorney I had contacted the day before, calling to get some background on my situation and I was like, “Well, I’m kind of at Warped Tour right now…?” but she was all, “This will just take a few minutes.” So there I was, crouched next to a tree, holding a hand over my free ear to try and hear this lady over top of three bands who were starting to play on nearby stages, wistfully wishing I was any one of the hundreds of kids jogging past me with literally no cares in the world while I’m on the phone talking about wills and estates and reverse mortgages. This isn’t me. This isn’t who I am. Talking about adult things? Ew.

It just made me realize that there is no escaping this one. Not even being “home” at my beloved Warped Tour was enough this time.

I hung up the phone and rejoined Henry and Chooch. I was totally out of sorts, high-strung, and emotional. We started to watch In Hearts Wake and after one and a half songs, I turned to Henry and said, “I can’t be here. Let’s just leave.”

He and Chooch were both like, “Are you fucking kidding, we just got here and you love Warped Tour?!”

Four times this happened. I wanted to leave and ran off to the exit, but then Henry convinced me to stay. I was: on edge, lunacy fringe, snapping at both him and Chooch, walking off in the middle of Knuckle Puck without telling them where I was going, throwing an actual hissy fit during Hail the Sun, a band I fucking love and was looking forward to seeing again but Chooch kept trying to talk to me and I projected and stormed off, blaming him and Henry for ruining my day, being a certified psychotic asshole, and literally not giving a shit who saw me flipping out because EMOTIONS.

I haven’t felt this out of control since my mid-20s. The thoughts I had swirling through my head were scary and I never want to let them back in.

During a rare moment of stability after my first public break down.

But then I got sucked back into the emotional spin cycle again, synapses playing laser tag death matches in my brain, which left me straight sulking and pouting alone in a seat under the amphitheater, not even caring when Masked Intruder walked past me.  That’s some heavy duty saltiness, right there.

But finally by the afternoon, I calmed down. Corey and my mom both texted me and assured me that leaving Warped Tour wasn’t going to do any good, that I should stay and make the most of it, and even Chooch was like, “MOMMY, LOOK, YOU KNOW YOU DON’T WANT TO LEAVE. YOU LOVE WARPED TOUR. CALM THE FUCK DOWN, EMAROSA PLAYS AT 3:25.”

And thank god I didn’t leave. Because once I stopped hyperventilating and took a moment to just sit quietly alone on the hillside, I felt ready to salvage the rest of the day. I hate that the first quarter of it was so tainted with my mental poison,  considering my motto is “No Bitching at Warped Tour.” But I just don’t even know who I am anymore.  This was kind of my wake-up call. I’ve been so busy worrying about how the current situation is affecting everyone else, that I haven’t taken the time to mourn properly. No place better than Warped Tour to open up the flood gates, I guess.

Plus, Chooch pointed out this guy and that was pretty amusing.

Honestly, god bless Chooch for staying so calm while I was saying things like I JUST WANT TO FUCKING GO HOME AND STAY IN BED FOREVER because that’s the kind of excellent example I set. DRAW MOTHER A GIN BATH, SONNY BOY!

Look at him up there, reppin’ Cardboard Swords. This kid is so immersed in the scene, and it makes me extremely proud. I hope one day he’s in a band, playing Warped Tour! He better save room in the bus for his MOMMY.

Eventually, I was able to smile again and let my shoulders relax.

I stayed for the whole thing and, like all of the years before, it really did help clear my mind and calm me down. It just took a little longer this year. Which is why we should have gone to a second Warped date, HENRY. #DoOver

I think on my gravestone, it will say something like “AT HOME IN HEAVENLY WARPED TOUR” or “RESTING IN PERPETUAL WARPED TOUR.” Or “IN GODS ARMS AT WARPED TOUR.” I don’t fucking know. Something like that. I’m counting on you, Chooch.

[Next: either band stuff or a Chooch guest post?]

John Carpenter played at the Carnegie Music Hall on Sunday and I was so happy to be there. I bought my solo ticket a few months ago and I was legitimately looking forward to going alone, sitting alone, and not talking to anyone.

YOU KNOW HOW IT IS.

In case you don’t know, John Carpenter is basically a god. Not only did he direct my favorite horror movie of all time—“Halloween”—but he also composed its theme. Going to horror conventions isn’t my cup of succulents, so when there was a chance to see him in this kind of setting, I was all for that.

Chooch and I fought the entire way there over whose phone needed charged more and I think Henry wanted to just push and roll me out of the moving car by the time we got to Homestead. I made him drop  me off a little bit down the street so people wouldn’t think my DADDY and BROTHER had driven me there. Big Trouble in Little Chevy Cruze.

Once all the ladies at the door finished gushing over my raygun purse (I HAVE AWESOME PURSES, it’s the only interesting thing about me) I went to the makeshift bar area, made no eye contact with anyone, bought my traditional sippy cup of wine, stood in the slow-as-fuck merch line for a poster, and then found my seat in my favorite spot: balcony right, second row near the end. The view is perf.

I was familiar with most of the movie themes played that night, but JC and his band also performed some tracks from his non-movie albums as well, and I was into it. Those tracks were just as dark and sleazy, like cruising in Christine through the fog to the porn shop after doing a fuck-ton of cocaine and stabbing your dealer in the throat, and now your heart’s EKG is tracing geometric Trapper Keeper designs because coke and murder.

There was no opening band, but I think the dream line-up would have been Goblin, Angelo Badalamenti, and John Carpenter. RIGHT!?

Every so often, John would fork his fingers and make the “I’m watching you” gesture to some random blob in the audience and I SHIT YOU NOT he did it to me, I don’t give a fuck what that mousey bitch in front of me thought. He looked right over her dumb face and jutted his fingers at ME and I was all, “I SEE YOU TOO, JOHN CARPENTER!!!!”

I tried to share this memory with Henry when I got home that night but he just rolled his eyes, probably because he was jealous. He knows how much I love old guys.

Clearly.

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I’m not even going to pretend to be anyone but That Guy who was there primarily for dem Michael Myers vibes tho. And when that jam was finally plucked away on the keyboard by the very tips of John Carpenter’s finger tips, I felt seized by extreme adoration and amazement.

The night was loaded with moody, synth-driven 80s instrumental rock that gave me chills even though it was 99 degrees in that theater. I half expected to go home to my art-deco house—you know, the one with random glass block windows and pastel abstract art prints—and finding a black-gloved killer waiting to spring out from my closet and stab me to death on my waterbed, getting blood spatter all over my rad shoulder-padded blazer.

What a dream. John Carpenter, you and your band are too fucking cool for slasher school.

When I walked into Rivertowne after work last Tuesday, I had all kinds of responses ready for the first person who asked me why I was wearing a bologna sandwich on my face.

• BECAUSE COLDCUT MASKS ARE IN NOW, PER THE KARDASHIANS?
• This is what happens when you forget to pay your PETA dues?
• I fucked Oscar Meyer and all I got was this greasy facial?
• This is just the natural, sebaceous sheen my flesh takes on when speed-walking through 1000% humidity in July.

“Why didn’t you just take the T here?” Brian asked, with Kara seconding this inquiry.

BECAUSE IDIOTS DO THE OPPOSITE OF WHATEVER IS EASIEST, BRIAN AND KARA.

Also, my hair looked like I tried to curl a bale of hay.

I loathe going anywhere straight from work. I especially dislike not seeing Henry right after work because I am obviously very attached to him and need him to baby me for at least the first hour after I get home. It was also a weird day at work for me so I was just feeling kind of stressed and not myself, although “myself” is feeling stressed 100% of the time.

But then I started drinking that pineapple beer stuff and while my pores were still clogged with deli semen, my blood pressure was at least coming down. Brian’s friend Robin arrived a bit later and usually it takes me a while to warm up to someone new but she was so awesome and actually was interested in hearing about Bled Fest, so I put her in the “Keep” column.

After having a quick dinner and exchanging show stories, we walked across the street to Stage AE for the Modest Mouse/Brand New show. This show sold out stupid-fast and I was glad that I bought an impulse ticket during the pre-sale.

Kara forced me to get another beer because she’s the worst, and then Brian led us to the Dad Wall;  considering this wasn’t a show I needed to be close for, it was just as good a spot as any. I NEEDED MY SPACE ANYWAY.

Dopey face forever. 

Modest Mouse was the co-headliner, and they started promptly at 7:15.

I’m not much of a Modest Mouse fan. I used to casually listen to them in the early 00s but I don’t think I own more than 2 of their albums, really. However, I was OK during their set—the only times I gave up and started texting Henry or playing Tapped Out* was on the songs that had banjo. I have this deep-rooted, inexplicably hatred for banjos. I just can’t with the banjo. Sorry, Modest Mouse. SORRY MUMFORD & SONS.

Lol, I’m not sorry at all, Mumford and Sons! You guys suck!

*(J/K, I really did mostly pay attention except for when it felt like my eyes were floating in their sockets because I’m not an alcoholic and three beers for me is 2.5 more than I can handle typically.)

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https://www.instagram.com/p/BHuvAbzAVbG/?taken-by=ohhonestlyconcerts

Kara hated everyone around us, and it just so happened that everyone she hated were all there together so it made sense that they were all hated equally. Douches run in packs, you know?

“HEY FRIENDS, I KNOW ALL THE WORDS!” Kara mocked the guy in the green shirt, who literally never stopped pantomiming and throwing his arms around his friends.  I must have had just the amount of beer in my system because he was more amusing to me than anything. Would I have preferred to be at a small show with a younger crowd? Oh fuck yeah—but this was tolerable for me.

Which right away should tell you that something is going on with me. Not getting unreasonably hateful of everyone around me at a concert? WHO AM I?

My brother Corey was happy for all this to happen because it was the one thing that finally got me to not only use Snapchat, but create a Snapchat story.

(Sorry, I still don’t think SnapChat is for me! But I love watching Sherri Dupree Bemis’s stories.)

No. I take that back. These two were definitely pushing me to my limit. Apparently though, these two cousins ramming their tongues into each other was way more tame compared to the couple Brian saw who were finger-banging on the other side of the lawn.

“DURING MODEST MOUSE!” he cried.

And then Brand New started and if it wasn’t already evident that 75% of the crowd was there primarily for Brand New, it definitely was then. Brian sulked about this, but he stayed true to his word that he was going to stick around for at least 5 songs and try to like Brand New.

Brian, trying to understand the appeal. Our musical interests are not relevant to each other.

OK, look. Real talk. I’m a fucking sappy, sentimental motherfucker, we all know this. And I think that the reason I felt so strange and unlike myself is because in the back of my mind, I kept dwelling on the stupid past because otherwise I’d probably have to hand over my emo badge, right? But the last time I saw Brand New was in 2009 and it was an emotional disaster. Without getting into it, because I’ve never written about it, it involved: an over night trip to Cleveland, Christina, massive public displays of TEARS, blood red anger, and essentially the end of an era.

I purposely avoided Brand New after that because my saltiness tends to linger.

But when this show was announced, I didn’t even think about it — I just bought a ticket and figured enough time had passed. And I think for the most part, it was fine — they sounded great! They played most of my faves! I was with good people! Just, there was that weird feeling that I kept trying to flick away; being half-drunk helped, but by the next morning, all my emotions came out and I was back to my spirited Key of Kerrigan “WHYYYYSSS.”

So now the question is: do I attempt it again when they play at Riot Fest, or do I skip them and save myself (and Henry) the drama.

I mean, we all know the answer, but please scroll your eyes back up to the top of this maudlin diary entry and see the part about IDIOTS DOING THE OPPOSITE OF WHATEVER IS EASIEST.

Le sigh.

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And in case you’re wondering: no, Brian did not make it to the end of the show, but I really applaud his efforts! He made it through at least 5-6 songs and said he didn’t hate! But he was sad that the crowd wasn’t more into Modest Mouse, and I relate to that sadness. I think this co-headlining thing was a weird match-up though.

PRO TIP: If you see that a band I like is coming to town and you know that I don’t know about it, don’t tell me about it and then expect to just casually walk away from the conversation without getting sucked into going with me.

You would think that Henry would understand this by now?

Granted, they could have been playing at a myriad of other local venues and I would have gladly gone alone, but nope – this show was at Diesel and I for certain didn’t want to go without Henry because that place creeps me out. The last show I went to there was Thrice in 2009 and I ended up getting in a fight with some doucher (surprisingly not Henry) and before the show even ended, all these sleazy nightclub people were filing in and the vibe was so whack, I absolutely hated it. It just wasn’t my scene.

That memory was almost enough to get me to pass on this show but I love Hotel Books and have never seen him/them — it’s a spoken word project of Cam Smith and I know what you’re thinking – “Wow, Erin, you don’t seem smart enough to understand how to enjoy such things” – but somehow, I’m able to expand my narrow mind wide enough to let it all in, my friend(s). It’s a trying process for this high school drop out.

The real kicker is that this band is faith-based and I’m practically a devil worshiper, but I just have enough emo juice slurping through my veins to not render into a pile of ash as the first word is spoken.

Doors were supposed to be at 7:00 (or 6:30 depending on who you asked). We arrived a bit before 7, after Henry drove erratically around the back streets of South Side, cursing me and every car who was parked where he wanted to park, until he found the most fortuitous spot right on the main street, practically across from Diesel. Anyway, the doors were definitely not open yet.

But at least we got to be serenaded by Phil Collins:

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While waiting outside, a young guy struck up conversation with me. I mentioned that it had been a good 7 years since I last saw a show at Diesel and he told me that actually, the man who runs the Rex Theater across the street has taken over booking shows at Diesel, and they only have been having shows there again since May. I mean, anytime I saw any event listed for that place, it was the likes of Danity Kane or some random DJ – never a band in my wheelhouse.

And somewhere during this conversation it occurred to me that I carrying on like a proper, socially-adept human, OH BECAUSE I WAS TALKING TO SOMEONE UNDER THE AGE OF 25 WHO LIKES THE SAME MUSIC AS  ME.

Fuck my life, man.

Just kidding. I love my life.

Once the doors finally opened, I got to talk to the new guy in charge! He was very nice and eager to know  how we felt about using Eventbrite to purchase our tickets. I didn’t really have a solid answer for him, but I will say that I was extremely excited that the ticket total wasn’t nearly doubled by the time fees and hidden charges with tacked on. Eventbrite can stay.

We right upstairs to the 21+ area to hang out like elderly people during the first couple of bands. Not surprisingly, only two other people came up there. This show was definitely not promoted well (I mean, clearly — if not for Henry, I wouldn’t have even known about it) and therefor, only about 20 people showed up.

And most of those people were friends with the two local bands who were opening.

Pointless low light iPhone picture.

Since I was working late shift the next day, I had TWO BEERS! I live my life so recklessly, you guys. WHAT RULES? Plus, being there again after all this time made me extremely nostalgic for my early 20s when Diesel was a rock club call Nick’s Fat City and my friends and I used to go there to see local bands play all the time, like SOUR (oh man, I was fucking obsessed with them). This was also where I sobbed during many Cold shows, where I met Finger Eleven back before they were known, and where I saw 30 Seconds to Mars for FIVE DOLLARS and barely anyone there even knew it was Jared Leto’s band.

So many good times were had in that place. And then it closed. And then it reopened as some skanky night club and I cried into my Smirnoff Ice.

I couldn’t tell the last time I was there because it was so crowded, but with it being so empty like it was on this night, my senses were better able to pick up the fact that it still smelled and felt like Nick’s Fat City. Even with all the swanky banquettes, chandeliers, and sexy neon lights, I could feel the ghost of Nick.

It was an amazing flashback, and it made my heart feel like it was being kicked out of a plane with no parachute.

Sometime before 7:30, the first band took the stage. It seemed like it was one of their first shows and they were having a ton of technical difficulties which was a shame because they didn’t sound bad! I made sure to clap extra hard for them BECAUSE THOSE ARE SOMEONE’S KIDS, YOU KNOW?!

Ugh, I’m such a scene mom.

I think their name was Archway.

After them was another local band: Logan’s Star Pupil. I liked them a lot too — their Pittsburgh pop-punk emo blend sounded pleasant in my ears and even Henry gave them a lazy thumbs-up. If you’re feeling generous today and want to support some Pittsburgh music, go buy their album on Bandcamp! Treat yourself to some new summer jams. It’s OK – we all need to drive around with the windows down, pretending like we’re 17 again. I mean, I do it all the time.

Except for winter.

Or when it’s raining.

Or when the AC is on.

YOU GET THE POINT. 

I told them on Twitter that I loved them instead of saying something the 3x I walked past them while going to the bathroom/coming back from the bathroom, because I have to pick and choose my small talk. It really is my version of a battle.

Besides, I was saving it up for after the show.

Oh man, the next band was Hearts Like Lions and I fell for them hard. Henry wasn’t surprised at all. They’re signed to Tooth & Nail, so it was pretty inevitable that I would open up my heart to them instantaneously. The music, the vocals, the vibes — I was into it. Go buy their ep. Or at least listen to it 8743298374 times and tell your friends and then buy a shirt.

Tried to convince Henry that we need neon-lit panels on one wall of our future guest room. He finally said yes just to shut me up.

The next band was XXI and I was looking forward to  them because they were recently on tour with Artifex Pereo. But you guys, I didn’t like them. I mean, I didn’t hate them, either, but they just didn’t do it for me and they were so different from the other bands that it kind of killed the vibe for me. Ironically, they were hard rock in the vein of what I would have gone to see at Nick’s Fat City in 2000. The singer even “warned” the crowd that they were going to be a lot “heavier” than the other bands, and it was just a tad condescending.

After their set (which Henry fell asleep during), we closed out our tab and Henry yelled at me for jogging in place to Taking Back Sunday. That’s soooooo Henry, always trying to box me in and clip my wings.

And then: Hotel Books.

Oh for fuck’s sake. I know that spoken word is an acquired taste, but it’s hard for me to imagine anyone listening to Cam’s gut-wrenching words and not being at least partially affected. First and foremost, I respect him as a writer and poet. Anyone who can fold in aspects of their faith into their music and not make me feel like I’m being force-fed Bible passages is a lyrical genius in my eyes. But instead of stopping there, he takes his words and layers them over the most soul-infusing, ambient music and then bam: Hotel Books, ladies and gentlemen.

In between his songs, Cam did some off-the-cuff sermonizing; he talked about growing up in a small-town in California, about the conversations he has with people at his local Starbucks, about not performing some of his more popular songs anymore because it doesn’t feel honest to him anymore….he talked about these things, and about life, and about emotions and people and not being good enough and I realized that I had no idea how long I had been crying.

But my face all wet and I was starting to shake a little bit.

So often, I feel alone in my life. I know that I’m not: I have Henry, Chooch, Corey and now my mom, and I’ve got some really solid friends that I appreciate more than anything. But I am such a stupidly emotional person that I tend to smother a lot of that because who wants to be around someone who is hunchbacked from all the constant navel-gazing. Time and a place, amirite? And my time and place is at shows like this one. Without making eye contact or knowing anyone around me, it comforts me to know these people have got to feel the same way and it’s OK, this is our normal, and we can all enjoy the sad boy music and cry together, and then go our separate ways knowing we’re all gonna be alright.

I mean, except for Henry who just sat on a step with a tight-lipped expression, unable to decide if he liked or hated it. (He told me later that “it wasn’t bad” and we all know that Henry’s Rating Meter doesn’t go much higher than that.)

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After the show, I made Papa H buy me things, and so I got to chat a little with the singer of Hearts Like Lions at their merch table. He was so fucking nice and now I like that band even more.

I am notoriously anti-meeting bands because I get so stupid and trip over my tongue and it’s just humiliating and not worth it in the end, but this time I was determined not to leave until I met Cam. Maybe it was the TWO WHOLE BEERS holding my hand, who knows. A small group had converged upon Cam and as soon as one of the girls mentioned something about her church, I looked at Henry and groaned, “Ugh, they’re going to be here forever!” I mean, they just kept talking and talking and I was considering just ducking past and leaving, but then Cam looked over at me and asked with a smile, “Are you waiting for me?”

Ugh yes! Everyone backed away so I could approach him. I told him that he makes me heart feel so large, and asked if I could hug him. Do you know me? Because I apparently don’t. Erin On a Regular Day shirks human contact. But Erin at the Church of Hotel Books was practically begging for a hug. And so we hugged and it was amazing; I somehow managed to not cry until later that night when everyone was asleep.

PLEASE WATCH THIS VIDEO ^^^^^

And this^^^^

Oh god, I’m crying so hard but smiling at the same time. I want Hotel Books to come back and play a candlelight show at my Pappap’s house. Maybe I’d start opening the door for the Jehovah’s Witnesses if they came at me with ethereal spoken word instead of pushy, pamphlet’d propaganda.

Thank you for telling me about this show, Henry. I owe you. <3

For a brief period of time, way back in the day, I was talking to some guy I used to work with. You know. “Talking.” He was supposed to come over one night, and I had recently scored a new Cure bootleg video (literally on VHS, this was a while ago), so I suggested that we could watch this damn thing together. He made a slew of disparaging comments about the Cure, about how he would rather watch dogs eat their own shit, about how much that band sucked, about how “faggy” they were, and I could actually hear my heart breaking in my ears.

Followed quickly by the sound of the door slamming on this asshole’s opportunity. I just couldn’t imagine being with someone who didn’t like The Cure, or who could at least respect my staunch devotion to them. (Not to mention someone who calls things “faggy”? Ew no.)

And thank god I didn’t give that guy a second chance, because then I met Henry (at the same job! I was such an office ho!) and do you know what the first thing is that Henry ever did for me, way before we even started dating? He made me a screensaver of all of the Cure’s album covers.

That is a fucking good man.

Back then I probably said he was wife material, too, but clearly that material is full of holes.

What is: Cheese cloth.

What is: A handkerchief in some person’s pocket in a coffin underground.

All of this is to say that when The Cure announced their hugely anticipated North American tour last fall, Henry didn’t even question it when I said, “Well, there’s no Pittsburgh date as usual, but we could go to the Columbia, Maryland one…?”

“Buy the tickets when they go on sale,” he said with NO HESITATION.

BECAUSE IT’S THE CURE. And Henry loves me, you guys. Duh.

I sat at the computer and waited for the clock to tick down and then I bought two tickets on the ASAP. Of course with all the presales and ticket reselling schemes out there, every last spot under the pavilion was taken, so I had to be satisfied with lawn seats. And honestly, this being my 6th Cure show, I was content that we were even going at all. Traveling for shows is expensive and we are not rich people. SHOCKER. Plus, we were pretty close to the front two years ago when they headlined Riot Fest so it was fine.

We left Chooch at home with Judy and set off for Maryland around 9:30am. I was acutely aware that my left contact was jacked up, but you have to understand the tolerance I have built over the years to eye woes.  I figured the discomfort would eventually just fade into the background, and then I proceeded to just up my blinking quota during the car ride.

The drive down there was pretty uneventful and quick, by the way. I didn’t even live blog because I was too busy listening to the same Pierce the Veil song over and over, psychoanalyzing it, and feeling depressed. That’s just what I do. Also, I bought a ticket to see PVRIS the moment they went on sale, which was a lot less stressful since it’s just general admission at the Altar Bar. And then we ate at some shitty country cookin’ diner thing on the side of the road, because I was off my game and let Henry choose the lunch spot.

I went in the bathroom there and jiggled my contact around a bit, because sometimes that helps. In this case though, it still felt like someone was applying slight pressure to my eyeball with the tip of the long-nailed finger.  So, normal.

We arrived at our Extended Stay hotel thing around 4 and I got angry because GPS said something about taking the third right at the traffic circle. “IT’S A ROUNDABOUT!” I cried petulantly. “EVERYONE IN AUSTRALIA KNOWS THAT!”

Henry muttered something about this being America and in America, “we” call them traffic circles and I’m like, how about not lumping me in there with all you “we”s, thanks. And then I loudly counted down the rights so that Henry would know which one to turn off on, thereby fulfilling my co-pilot duties.

If I had liveblogged that day, it would be a lot of “AND THEN”s because I was pretty fucking happy.

After sufficiently complaining about our hotel room (because that’s my other duty – reminding Henry that nothing he does is good enough for me), Henry fed me a candy bar (Hershey with almonds if you need this for the case study), and then it was finally time to leave for the Merriweather Ampitheater.

One good thing about Henry is that he booked our room months and months in advance. It was the closest hotel to the venue and completely sold out. The lady at the desk even asked if we were there for the Cure concert, because duh. This happened right before Henry denied ogling some yuppie bitch who was walking two Pomeranian dogs.

It didn’t take us long to get to the venue at all, maybe 15 minutes tops. I was too busy hyperventilating and saying, “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” incessantly to properly keep an eye on the time. Sorry for the inaccurate journalism!

Henry and I had a brief feud before getting out of the car because he didn’t bring a blanket from home and had to buy a blanket from a Target near our hotel and it was sooooo ugly (brown plaid and fuzzy, ew) so first I was like, “I WILL NOT BE SEEN WITH THAT ATROCITY, LEAVE IT IN THE CAR!” I mean, plus it stunk of plastic because he had just unzipped it from the stupid vinyl package it was all cubed-up in.

Not surprising, Henry didn’t bother to fight with me. He knows not to fuck with me when I’m in an emotional fragile Cure-related state. So we left the blanket in the backseat and wove our way through the gravel parking lot to the end of the line. We got there about 45 minutes before the gates open, I would say, and in no time, the line behind us had grown so long that we could no longer see the end.

I spotted someone in line nearby carrying a blanket in the same bracket of ugliness as the one that Henry had purchased. So I succumbed to the Ugly Blanket Squad and told him he could go back to the car and get the motherfucking poop-colored blanket. Whatever. This isn’t the blanket prom, is what my dad would have said if he had been there.

Ugh.

I could only see the first 30 or so people in front of us, because then the line snaked down and around into a forested area. It was making me nervous not knowing how far back we were.

People-watching was splendid and helped pass the time. There were OG Goths, neo-goths, yuppies, hippies, hipsters, Henrys — people of all walks of life had converged upon Merriweather all for the same reason: to bow down before the Cure. Two guys behind me did nothing but quote from Pitchfork the whole time, while the two dads and their respective young-teen sons talked dryly about sports.

Hockey came up.

I inched in closer.

“Yeah, his mom is a huge hockey fan,” the one dad said to the other. “Her favorite team is the Flyers, and then the Penguins.”

I was bouncing on my toes by this point while Henry was giving me the “KEEP IT ZIPPED” look.

“Oh, well she must be happy. The Penguins won the whole thing,” the other dad said and I was SQUEALING now, about to raise my hand and do the whole, “OOOH! OOOOH!” thing that I do when I’m desperate to add to a conversation that does not belong to me.

Henry, that motherfucker, actually grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me back!

I hate small talk EXCEPT when it’s about music or hockey, or if I overhear incorrect information and feel like I could die if I don’t set the universe straight with my infinite wisdom.

But apparently this is “annoying” and Henry doesn’t like to be a witness…or an associate.

The opening of the gates was pretty prompt and we were inside in no time at all. There are several entrances and parking lots and there were less people in front of us than I guessed. We were able to snag a prime piece of real estate very close to where the pavilion seats ended and the lawn started, and I let go of all my high expectations of having the perfect, unobstructed view and instead just enjoyed being there. Sometimes you really gotta just let go.

Henry bought me some kind of beer that he figured I would be able to drink without wasting — Shocktop maybe? I’m still trying to become a beer person but I’m just unapologetically picky. Don’t fuck with my palate. I managed to drink two whole beers! Each one cost less than my $10 pizza, which was actually pretty good but NOT ENOUGH.

“For $10, it’s gonna have to be,” Henry frowned before going off to buy some gross sausage in a bun atrocity for himself.

The fact that you can barely see my left eye in this photo is FORESHADOWING.

The lawn was really starting to fill up and so far, I didn’t find a single person I hated. I wasn’t too startled by this revelation though because Cure crowds have historically been some of the kindest and most fun I’ve ever been in the middle of.

EXCEPT: Coachella 2004. Worst crowd ever. A bunch of rich frat boys screaming “FAT BOB!” and booing when anything other than a radio single was performed. Welcome to America, Robert. Welcome to America, indeed.

Just then, two middle-aged men tossed down two seat cushions in the small section of lawn available between the two couples in front of me.

“And DOWN!” the one announced loudly and jovially as he plopped himself onto the cushion, beer sloshing all around. He looked at us and laughed, but I gave Henry the “I hate this guy” look. When the two women whose blanket they sat down next to came back from getting beer, I thought for sure they were going to be all, “OH HELL NO” but instead, the one lady was like, “LET’S BE FRIENDS” and then everything was happening so fast before my eyes.

Henry went to get more beer, leaving me alone to stew in my depressing solitude while everyone around me was carrying on with each other and making friends with new people, and ugh just ugh.  Never was there a more apropos moment for Robert to come on stage and sing, “Why Can’t I Be You.”

(He didn’t.)

(But he should have.)

So now the people in front of me were introducing themselves. The one who had yelled, “DOWN!” told the two ladies that they were from Pittsburgh.

PITTSBURGH? I’M FROM PITTSBURGH!

I tapped him on the back and was all, “Hey guy, I couldn’t help but overhear you say you’re from Pittsburgh. We’re from Pittsburgh too,” I said in that weird 1920s radio DJ syncopated voice I get when I’m no longer Erin but some weird caricature of a person with a sturdy societal footing.

And that’s when Henry returned to his ugly blanket and found that his girlfriend had made new friends with the boisterous men in front of them. (I never talked to the broads though. Once I heard the one lady say that she was heartbroken that the Penguins won the Stanley Cup, I knew I had nothing left to say to her, except for SUCK IT.)

(J/K, she and her sister seemed like fine ladies.)

Randy was my favorite of the two guys. I can’t remember his friend’s name. He was nice too, but not as hilarious as Randy. I can’t explain it, you guys would have had to have been there.

You know how it is.

The Twilight Sad came out sometime around 7:00. I was already familiar with them and interested to hear them live for the first time. And I mean, they were wonderful, but it’s hard to give a shit about an opening band when you know, and they know, and everyone knows that The Cure is back there somewhere, pretending to jump rope, touching up that blood red lipstick, sipping a spot of tea.

So I can’t say anything other than, “The Twilight Sad seemed good.”

I ran to the bathroom afterward, while there was still a bit of sunshine left. I was immediately cold-cocked by the essence of patchouli and clove.

And it just felt right.

As I washed my hands, I inspected my eye in the mirror. There didn’t appear to be a dagger or any such spiny specimen jutting from it, contrary to how it felt. So I gave it one good, aggressive rub (What Not To Do To Your Eye 101) and stumbled my way back to our blanket, which was now one of many in a sea of throws.

Sold out show, y’all.

As soon as the opening notes of Tape wafted into the air, my face was wet with tears. It doesn’t matter how many times I have seen this band, they make my heart feel so full and I even if I tried, I couldn’t hold back my emotions. I get all snively and trembly and the tears just flow freely – this who I am.

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Aside from the three Instavids above and few Snaps that my brother requested, I didn’t fuck around with recording or taking pictures, because it’s the Cure and I needed to let every last second get into my pores, you know what I mean? Henry even gave me some “there-there” pats a few times.

He gets it.

He didn’t need to see my face to know it was slick with tears, mascara, and whatever poison was seeping out of my left eyeball.

You’d think that all the crying would have washed out whatever was in there, scraping my cornea, but instead it just started burning even more. The joy and amazement of standing before The Cure made it easier to shrug off, though. It was going to take a lot more than an eyeball malady to get me to leave this show early.

SET LIST:

Tape / Open, High, Pictures of You, Closedown, Kyoto Song, A Night Like This, The Walk, The End of the World, Lovesong, If Only Tonight We Could Sleep, All I Want, Push, In Between Days, Just Like Heaven, Bananafishbones, Never Enough, From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea, End

1st encore: Sinking, It Can Never Be The Same

2nd encore: Shake Dog Shake, Burn, A Forest

3rd encore: Dressing Up, Lullaby, Fascination Street, Wrong Number

4th encore: Hot Hot Hot, Let’s Go To Bed, Close To Me, Why Can’t I Be You?, Boys Don’t Cry

I have never heard “Burn” live before so I was freaking the fuck out for sure. FREAKING THE FUCK OUT.

It’s unreal to me how solid this band sounds after all of these years. How they can get out there night after night, play for three hours with just as much if not more energy as bands 30 years younger. These guys are living legends, and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame can keep snubbing them all they want because there are millions of screaming fans who know just how brilliant and incomparable they are.

When you can get even someone unmoved and unaffected as Henry J. Robbins to stand for the entirety of your show and also APPLAUD after every song? That’s how you know you’re frizzled hair, shoegazing perfection.

Little Cure fan. <3

Robert seemed to be in very good spirits too, chattier than I have ever seen him, and still breaking out his adorable little goth moves during “Lullaby.” However, he did get choked up during a new song, “It Can Never Be the Same,” which rumor has it is about his mother who passed away last year. When the song ended, he said something along the lines of, “The last song is a new one…. haven’t quite… haven’t learned how to hold back….so…”

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He is a motherfucking god. No one will ever replace him in my heart.

NO ONE.

***

As soon as we got back to the hotel, I raced to the bathroom and plucked the contact off my eye, which exacerbated the pain. Now it was like my eyeball was in labor with a hatchet-coated fireball. A thicket of natty homeless person pubes. A briar patch of all the human bones found in Jeffrey Dahmer’s apartment.

My eye was so red that it looked like it was bleeding, like it had been CHEESE GRATED. Tears were squirting out left and right, like some completely crude, X-rated, optic money shot.

“I CAN’T KEEP MY EYE OPEN!” I wailed, flapping my hands and hopping from one foot to the other.

I was panic-stricken, screaming about having to go to the hospital; but instead, Henry calmly went out and got me eye drops. I had cried myself to sleep while he was gone, but don’t worry! I woke up in the middle of the night and as soon as I realized that it wasn’t just a nightmare and that there were still flames licking the inside of my eyelid, I started screaming. Henry woke up and secretly pretended he was killing me when he held my head down against the pillow and put the drops in my eye.

In the morning, it still hurt and I felt like a vampire, screaming about the sunlight. As the day wore on, I was mostly OK again, though my eyelid was slightly puffy and I wasn’t even about to try to put my contact back in for the next two days. So I went about life squinting and walking with my arms outstretched. One-contact-wearin’ Erin.

But none of that was enough to tarnish the beautiful memories of the night before. Le sigh.

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The Phil Collins vibes are strong AF at Gillcrest. Every time I turn on the kitchen stereo, there he is. And twice on Sunday!

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It’s all at once comforting and haunting. Absolutely impossible for me to hear any Genesis or Phil jam and not think of my childhood in that house.

I guess that’s why when I couldn’t fall asleep Friday night, I found myself painting a picture of Phil.

When Chooch saw it the next day, he happily said, “Oh, Phil Collins!

I was just thinking about him, too…” Can’t imagine why.

Speaking of my fake stustudio, I finally got this bad boy up on the wall. It was originally hanging in my grandma’s clown room and she always said I could have it. And now I have it, so…

This post is brought to you by late night iced coffee, kettlebell fatigue, and MTV’s Are You the One*.

Coming up later this week: an emotionally disjointed recap of last week’s Cure show, maybe another music video no one will watch, an essay on my political stance (lol no), HOPEFULLY HENRY’S WARPED TOUR VIDEO, and probably some furry love because Anthrocon is this week and I have a date with a walrus!

*(I tried so hard to resist, but it finally sucked me in. I’M WEAK, OK??!!)

(Also, I wonder if Henry and I would be a match if we were on Are You The One. Omg lol that’s a hilarious thought.

I just woke him up to tell him that and his response was muffled on account of his dumb face being buried in his pillow.)

Last Sunday, Chooch and I went to the Pierce the Veil “Misadventures” show at the House of Blues in Cleveland. When they announced that they’d be performing their new album Misadventures in its entirety for this tour, I was all in. I bought tickets for Chooch and myself the second they went on sale (balcony seats because I’m not taking a 10-year-old into the pit for PTV — those girls are aggressive!) and then Henry agreed to be our chauffeur.

Henry likes Pierce the Veil, but what he likes even more is that our kid also likes them enough to be my concert partner and Henry can go off and be an old man somewhere.

Since we had actual seats, I didn’t feel the need to get there hours before the doors opened, but even 45 minutes before-doors, the line wrapped all the way down the block. I just asked Henry how many people he thought were in line when he dropped us off and he said, “Everybody.” It was the longest line I have even stood in for PTV and while it was mildly annoying, I was also really happy for them. They have come so far since the time I saw them playing for 150 kids at an indoor skate park in Buffalo, NY!

Some old man walked by and said, “Wow, this is a really long line. What band is playing?”

“Pierce the Veil,” I said proudly, like I’m their fucking mom.

“Never heard of them. Where are they from?”

I was acutely aware of all the people in line who had turned around to look at me at this point, and I ALMOST blanked! So much pressure! But then at the last second, before any of the dumb kids could steal my thunder, I answered, “San Diego” in a voice quaking with uncertainty.

“I hope everyone fits inside!” he laughed, and as he walked away, I wiped the sweat from my brow. I hate when strangers ask me questions!

However, if I overhear strangers passing around incorrect information to each other, I have NO QUALMS with inserting myself into their conversation. For instance, when the people in front of us where talking about the Stanley Cup Finals and the girl was all, “I think tonight might be game 6 but I don’t know” and her boyfriend was all, “No, I think it’s game 5. The Pens are up 3 games to 1” but I knew the correct answer.

“Excuse me,” I said, holding up a finger. “We’re from Pittsburgh. Tonight is definitely game 6. AND IF THE PENS WIN, THEY WIN THE STANLEY CUP.”

They both mumbled thanks and then turned their backs on the crazed Pittsburgher who couldn’t mind her own business. HENRY HATES WHEN I DO THIS.

It happened later on too, before the show started. We were in our seats (which Chooch found on his own and then an usher came rushing over ready to yell at us for taking seats that weren’t assigned to us and then felt stupid when he checked our tickets and muttered, “Oh, you found your seats”) when the kid next to me said to his girlfriend, “Oh man, I love this song, but I can’t remember who sings it!”

“Do you want me to tell you?!” I leaned over and asked him in this super weird husky voice I get when I’m excited. He was kind of caught of guard, I think, but he humored me by saying, “OK sure.”

“THE USED!” I cried, and he and his girlfriend were basically like, “Cool story, psycho.”

And then I ask myself where my kid gets his know-it-all-ism from.

You wouldn’t know it, but Chooch was saying, “Tampax Pearl!” in lieu of “Cheese.”

There were only two opening bands for this show and while I’m certainly no hater of opening acts, I was secretly happy that this wouldn’t be a super long show. I was way too hyped for PTV and also I was hoping that the show would over early enough that I’d get to hear the final minutes of the Stanley Cup final in the car.

What a conflict to have, you know?

The first opener was Movements. At first, they sounded like your standard Warped Tour-caliber band, but then the SPOKEN WORD happened. Chooch gave me a knowing look because this genre is my motherfucking jam and he knows it.

“Let me guess — you’re going to buy their album?” he said. FUCK YEAH I AM. AND I DID. On vinyl, son. And it sounds glorious.

I the Mighty was next and somehow I have never seen them live. I have no idea how they’ve escaped me this long since they literally roll with some of my scene faves. In fact, they’re touring with Artifex Pereo this fall!

“He looks like Chris Kunitz,” I yelled in Chooch’s ear, pointing to the bassist. And right after that, I got an alert that the Penguins scored the first goal of the game, AND CHRIS KUNITZ HAD THE ASSIST.

“They’re going to win,” Chooch said in a very calm and wise tone. “This is their year.”

And you know what? I felt really reassured and peaceful in that moment, because Chooch knows everything.

Not as much as me. But he’s getting there.

So I will now always associate I the Mighty with the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup.

Chooch made me buy him a soft pretzel with cheese before PTV’s set started. I’m pretty opposed to eating during concerts—it just feels weird to me—but Chooch was in a very good position to ruin my night if I let his hunger get out of hand. A soft pretzel in his pie hole seemed to really do the trick and we were able to coexist peacefully for the rest of the show.

This album is kind of a big deal for PTV fans because it took 4 years to create and it seemed like maybe they had lost a lot of the momentum they had built up coming off their last album.

And for as much as I love PTV (and I’ve stuck with them from the beginning), I didn’t love their last album. I still had fun at their shows but it kind of made me wonder if I was growing out of the PTV scene. Time to move out and buy a Coldplay CD…?

Thank god Misadventures was released and saved me from bland Mom Rock.  I’m back in love, people! This album somehow feels like such a throwback to their first album (my favorite) without making them sound young, regressed, or un-evolved. (You know, un-evolved. That’s a word. You must have been absent the day it was on the spelling test.) I can’t put my finger on it exactly, and I’m not even sure if they did it intentionally, but there are nuances and subtle nods to their past work, almost like secret part 2s or reprises. A “getaway” reference that just can’t be an accident. There were a lot of skippable songs for me on their last album, but Misadventures is fucking solid and I have already come close to wearing out the record.

And hearing them perform it in its entirety was fucking priceless. And for their encore, as the Penguins were watching the clock tick down in the final moments of the third period, PTV came out and played “Bulls in the Bronx” and “King For a Day” — the two songs Chooch was screaming for them to play so of course now he thinks he made that happen, and that’s OK, because I MADE THE PENGUINS WIN THE STANLEY CUP.

PANT PANT PANT.

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This might have been the best PTV show I’ve ever seen. Obviously they sounded fantastic, but that combined with Chooch and me singing our faces off together and the Penguins winning the Stanley Cup—it was a priceless trifecta. So many stars aligned, mood swings remained unswung, not a single douchebag sat near us.

I want to do it all again.

But my favorite part? That Chooch and I got along so magically! Anyone who has ever hung out with us knows this is like some rare familial occurrence. It was really choice quality time, and I’ll tell you, sharing moments like this with my kid is my favorite part of being a parent. He was just a little babe back when I started listening to PTV and now we’re both fans — that’s kind of an amazing thing. The kind of amazing thing that really makes your life feel super rich.

****

Henry was waiting for us in the car across the street from House of Blues when we came charging at him after the show, screaming “PENS!!!!! PENS!!!!!” like drunks. Henry just frowned and yelled at us to get in the car. He apparently spent his time tooling around Target and various grocery stores, which is probably what the other moms did after they dropped their kids off at the PTV show. His frown fluttered into a slight smile when he showed us the limited edition Blueberry Pie Oreos he found. Henry’s life is super rich, too.

i like your starry eyes

they yell SURPRISE SURPRISE

i’m in love but not for long

Just gonna leave this here. #relevant

The key to my survival is to continuously have concerts lined up on the horizon. Tonight Pierce the Veil will be performing their new album in its entirety in Cleveland and Chooch and I will be there for it. Ya gotta break up the doom & gloom every so often, you know? And if you don’t know, now you know don’t worry because that will be a chapter in my upcoming self-help pamphlet available on every corner in your nearest slum.

I’m also excited to eat at Happy Dog. I’ve been dreaming of the Fruit Loop-dog ever since last November. Small things matter.

AND HOPEFULLY THE PENGUINS WILL WIN THE CUP TONIGHT TOO?! I’ll be following along via NHL alerts.

I’m going to cry so hard tonight and it’s going to feel wonderful. #masochist

Meanwhile, my cats are acting like they ingested peyote so god only knows what condition we’ll find the house in when we get back from Cleveland.

And I’ll put my fingers in the door, so when I close it on you, I’ll hurt a little bit too.

Chooch and I are watching music videos and I’m swooning while he says things like, “I just don’t understand what these songs are supposed to be about…?” YOU WILL SOMEDAY, SON.

Being this emotional is a fucking full-time job.