2016 has not been kind to musicians, man. Yesterday, when Glenn mumbled that Prince had died, it kind of felt like time had stopped for a minute, like I was hearing him say those words while drowning in the deep end of a pool.

 The only silver lining to these major celebrity deaths is the brief “coming together” stage of grief. Even if it’s just reading people’s posts on Facebook about the first Prince song they ever heard, or the time they went to one of his concerts—I like knowing these things about people.

So while everyone was sharing their favorite Prince songs on Twitter and Facebook, I’m kind of shocked that my mind didn’t go straight to When Doves Cry, because DAMN, THAT SONG. However, the first Prince-related memory that popped into my head was actually not from my beloved 80s, but the 90s. It was the first album he released after changing his name to the love symbol. I was in middle school and listened to the ever-loving fuck out of that CD on my bad-ass Aiwa stereo.

But most of all, I listened to “The Morning Papers.” It wasn’t a super successful single from what I remember, but there was something about it that resonated with me. Look, I love 80s-era Prince, but his early-90s work was just bananas to my ears and it soundtracked a very pivotal time in my life when I was starting to really piece together my own identity, culminating in my inevitable entrance into the Yo Girl Years. (Junior high was rough, you guys.)

And don’t even get me started on “Love Sign,” his jam with Nona Gaye. So many memories of begging my mom for Karl Kani boots while that song played on the radio.

But of course, I can’t find either of those songs on YouTube so just go buy the albums or make it up in your head if you’ve never heard of them.

Wait! Here’s a live performance of The Morning Papers from Arsenio Hall, lol:

This sucks. Another piece of my childhood shattered. SOMEONE PLEASE WATCH OVER PHIL COLLINS.

I asked Chooch last night what makes him happy. Without so much as a pause to consider, he said, “Going to concerts.”

Good thing I snagged us two tickets to see Pierce the Veil perform their soon-to-be-released new album in its entirety at the House of Blues in Cleveland!

It’s the best feeling in the world to be able to go to shows with my kid. I hope that one day when he’s older, these will be some of the best memories for him, the things he loves to tell his friends about. How his first concert was Pierce the Veil when he was 6. How he started going to Warped Tour when he was 7. How he met his musical idol Christofer Drew backstage at the Grog Shop in Cleveland. His Emarosa connection. His obsession with The Summer Set’s lyrics. And I hope that when things get rough for him, music will help soothe him like it helps me. I keep telling Henry, “Bled Fest and Warped Tour will help me. I just need to get through this, and then Bled Fest and Warped Tour. BLED FEST AND WARPED TOUR, HENRY.”

And because I’m in a very TREAT YO’SELF state of mind, I also got myself a ticket to see John Carpenter in July because the Halloween theme, you guys. The fucking Halloween theme.

I DO WHAT I WANT AND I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.

And now it’s time for Daily Cry. Bled Fest and Warped Tour need to get here quick.

My music obsession was definitely sculpted and honed in my grandparents’ house. I made my first mixtape there using a Fisher Price tape recorder; it had a lot of family conversations that I captured without permission and Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” which I recorded off the music video that was playing on the TV. I’d eat my grilled cheese at the kitchen counter to a soft rock soundtrack wafting out of a stereo kept tucked away in a cabinet behind me. My friend Amy and I played on the enclosed porch a lot, where I would often play a BRUCE WILLIS cassette that had his cover of “Under the Boardwalk” on it and my god was that song THE FUCKING SHIT.

But when I think about my romance with music in the 80s, the distinct memory of sitting on the floor of the game room, playing song after song on the jukebox,  always comes to mind.

SHE BOP!

LUCKY STAR!

SAY SAY SAY!

But the one that stands out the most is Phil Collins and Genesis. My love for Phil is unabashed. I’ve always been open about it too, even in high school when I went to see him at the Civic Arena and I gave no fucks about everyone knowing. I decided to torture myself the other night, so on my drive home I put on “Tonight, Tonight, Tonight” and just fucking lost it, but it felt really good to get it all out. I was a little girl again, sitting on that game room floor, playing my favorite songs over and over again.

Seriously, this song is everything. Whatever that means.

There was also a jukebox in the other game room at their house, but that one played “old people” music and I didn’t like it.

Music is the best damn time capsule. Sometimes I find myself getting a little too dead on the inside and all it takes is one song to bring back the feels. My dad had a jukebox too, in his garage, but that one had of 90s jams on it. I used to play Toad the Wet Sprocket over and over while hitting a tennis ball off the garage door. But it never felt the same as that jukebox in the game room.

The good jukebox. Not the old people jukebox.

My mom is all, “Why don’t you guys take the jukebox?” and I’m like, “ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER ME WITH MEMORIES?”

There’s no real point to this other than I love jukeboxes, I’m so goddamn tired, and I really fucking miss my Pappap.

Anyway. This song is relevant to my life right now because GET ME OUT OF HERE.

In an effort to do something normal, I went to Journeys yesterday to buy some new TOMS. Henry and I weren’t even all the way into the store yet before a young salesguy was firing off apathetic scene kid salutations at us. I was annoyed at first, because everything annoys me anymore, but then he came over while I was examining the TOMS situation, and I mumbled something about not wanting a white pair because I planned to wearing them outside a lot, like to Warped Tour.

“You know we sponsor Warped,” he casually said as we rooted through the TOMS table together. I actually did know this but I still quietly stood there and listened as he told me that he’s actually in a competition right now to get sent to Warped and run the tent.

“What’s it based on, sales?”  I asked.

“Well, right now it’s socks actually. We’re being challenged to sell the most socks.”

This is when I noticed that he kind of resembled Tilian Pearson from Dance Gavin Dance and that made me want him to win. So I picked out of a pair of pink TOMS and told him to throw in some low-cut socks too because Chooch’s current sock stash have the texture of paper mache. I mean, these fucking foot swathes can stand up on their own, even when washed.

And the stench is forever.

While he was ringing me up, he asked for my email address.

“But Gavin Can’t Dance,” I started to say, and he interrupted me.

“Is that a Dance Gavin Dance reference?

They’re my favorite band!” He gushed, his bored vocal cadence getting a small shot of life.

“It is,” sighed his co-worker who had just emerged from the back.

“SAME!” I cried happily because THIS NEVER HAPPENS. “Did you go to their 10-Year Anniversary tour?”

“No,” he said sadly. “My girlfriend at the time had a dance competition and I had to go to that, but Dane next door at Game Stop went to the Columbus show.” I looked at Henry and tried to imagine choosing something he was doing over seeing Dance Gavin Dance, and I just laughed a lot on the inside.

I told him that Henry and I went to the Cleveland show and he was all, “WAS IT AMAZING?! DID JONNY AND KURT SING TOO?!” And then we expressed mutual sadness over Kurt Travis leaving A Lot Like Birds and I told him and his co-worker who was still standing there about the Kurt Travis house show I went to in Oakland last summer and how I had an easy 15 years on everyone there and the co-worker guy was like, “Hey, music has no age limits” and I seriously considered quitting my job and applying at Journeys.

MY PEOPLE.

I tentatively asked my new bro (Sam, in case you care) his thoughts on Emarosa, because oftentimes DGD fans are still rabid supporters of Jonny Craig.

“I LOVE THEM! And Bradley is just amazing as their singer. I actually really like Versus a lot. Have you heard their Reimagined album?”

I mean, DUH. So we talked about how fantastic Bradley is and my heart felt like it was beating again for the first time since Wednesday morning.

“Honestly, I used to really like Jonny Craig, but if you ask me, he can only sing in the key of A, and he tries way too hard anymore. I honestly do not like Slaves at all,” Sam said, handing me my bag while his co-worker and I both vehemently agreed with his assessment. (I was still a fan of Jonny when he started Slaves and even then I was like, “Ew, this is not good at all.” It makes it easier to not support him anymore, that’s for sure.)

“I was a huge Jonny Craig fan-girl for years and years, but I finally divorced that whole scene,” I said, and we all laughed about that together and I gave Henry this frantic look that screamed, “DO WE HAVE TO LEAVE SO SOON? CAN’T YOU PRETEND LIKE YOU WANT TO TRY ON 18 PAIRS OF VANS?!”

As we turned to leave, Sam said it was always great to meet another Dance Gavin Dance fan and that if I needed anything, come back and ask for him. I thanked him and as we walked back out to the car, I was like, “WAIT WHAT DID HE MEAN BY ANYTHING?!”

His favorite DGD songs are Carl Barker and Tree Village, in case you were wondering.

Leaving work on Friday, I could barely contain myself inside the elevator. My co-worker Mitch was kind of side-eying me so I blurted out: I’M GOING TO SEE CARLY RAE JEPSEN TONIGHT!!!”

Pregnant pause.

“Wow,” Mitch laughed. “Was not expecting that!”

Even though I like a wide array of music, and am constantly dipping in and out of genres and decades, I don’t think it’s a surprise that most people likely associate me with heavier, “screamy” bands. And that’s fine, because I love that stuff. But I’m not one of those music snobs who thimbs her nose Top 40. (Although there are several artists, and I use that title very loosely, who I really honestly can’t stand and truly believe are ruining the face of pop music. COUGHMEGHANTRAINORCOUGH)

I have always unabashedly loved Britney Spears and have supported Lady Gaga from the beginning. I don’t even hate Justin Bieber. ANS I LOVE THAT FUCKING CAKE BY THE OCEAN SONG, OK??

However, pop music doesn’t usually tug on my heartstrings like my main bands do. It’s just something nice to listen to every now and then when I just need something on in the background.

And then came CRJ.

You guys. I wish I could put my finger on what it is about her that turns my heart into a clump of sweet sweet gummi bears.  Particularly her most recent album which I’m sorry to tell you, it is a motherfucking pop masterpiece. It makes me feel like I have roller skaters right the fuck back into my charmed childhood, before everything got shitty, when all that mattered was puffy-painted sweatshirts and side-ponies. She makes me feel pure, unadulterated happiness, and that right there brings real, genuine tears to my eyes.

You can make fun of me all you want. Constantly remind me that you “don’t get it.” Smirk at my excitement. I don’t really give a fuck. She’s not my guilty pleasure, because I feel zero ounces of guilt when I listen to her music. She is my PROUD pleasure.

Interestingly, she has some major crossover appeal with others in my scene. Anytime there is a news post about her on Absolute Punk, the fan-girling is strong. She is a breath of fresh maple-scented air in a pop scene over-saturated with twerking and vulgar schticks and sexually explicit lyrics that you pray your nine-year-old doesn’t understand.

She is wholesome without being lame or cheesy.

She is a goddamn Canadian princess.

And I couldn’t get to Mr. Smalls fast enough!

Chooch and I have had our tickets since the moment they went on sale. I had a feeling it would sell out since Mr. Smalls isn’t very big, and it did.

After feeding us, Henry dropped Chooch and me off down the street so no one would see us getting out of Daddy’s car. We had about 20 minutes to kill before the doors opened, but the line kept growing so even though I was shivering in my too-light jacket, I was glad I didn’t have Henry drive around the block one more time.

Originally, I figured Chooch and I would snag a spot in the back, right where the bar is separated from the main floor, so that GOD FORBID Chooch could sit down on the floor between bands since his limbs are SO WEAK from being A NINE-YEAR-OLD. But then I saw that there was some prime real estate along the front of the stage, but over to the side a bit, so I dragged him over to there and at first he was like, “WHAT WHY” but then he saw that at least he could lean against the stage to take some of the weight off his WEARY BONES.

For fuck’s sake, Chooch.

We made small-talk with the burly security guy who was guarding the emergency exit/staff only door which leads back stage. Apparently, I was the cut-off for that side of the stage, because when some broad came over later and leaned past me to look toward the center of the stage, the guy was like, “You can’t stand there.” She explained that she was trying to see her two daughters that she left alone in front of the stage and he was like, “UNLESS YOU’RE GONNA BE WORKING HERE, MOVE.” Yeah boy!

Before the show even started, Chooch went to the bathroom twice. He’s obsessed with public restrooms. The first time was legit, he honestly had to pee, but the second time was because his gum made him sick and he supposedly went to the bathroom to puke.

Guys, I don’t know how much truth there is to this. Mostly because I tell Henry all the time that I was “SO SICK THAT I PUKED” and 99.99999% of the time, this might be a slight exaggeration.

Fairground Saints started promptly at 7:10. I would have guessed they were from Nashville—two guys, a girl, three acoustic guitars, and an alt-twang sound. They were pleasant-sounding, and the girl had one hell of a fucking voice, but it wasn’t really my thing. Chooch loved them because they covered Justin Bieber and he was so relieved that he had enough battery life left on his phone to get a video of it.

He’s clearly my kid.

The second band was Cardiknox and I definitely liked them a lot more because SYNTH. I love most anything involving synth. And the singer, Chooch’s new lady love, was really entertaining and high energy. She kept singling out one of the guys standing near us and it was adorable.

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

I thought Chooch for sure would have liked Cardiknox more but he was blinded by his love of Fairground Saints, especially after they not only liked his Instavid, but also went back and liked a picture of his cat, Drew. They have his heart now, probably forever.

Also, Chooch was starting to get super ornery by this point because it was getting more crowded and he claims the guy next to him kept pushing him into the stage but I was standing right there and I swear to god this never happened. That guy and his girlfriend were pretty mindful of the fact that a kid was standing behind them, and the girlfriend even slapped her hand over her mouth when she said “fuck,” and I was just like, “Please, if you knew the words that came out of this child’s mouth, you’d blush.”

Sometime during Cardiknox, two younger girls (they were definitely under 21 based on the Xs on their hands, and at first I thought they were middle-school aged but then I found them on Instagram afterward (NOT INTENTIONALLY! They came up when I was perusing the #gimmielovetour hashtag the next day) so now I guess they might be around 17 or 18…either way, the one girl who was right behind—I guess the security dude made a concession for her–and she was SO FUCKING IDIOTIC. Like, I get it — we’re all excited. We’re all screaming. I was screaming my fucking face off. But her scream was RIDICULOUS. Like one step down from a dog whistle. And right against my skull.

Then she would do these death metal growls and I kept slowly turning around to get a glimpse of her because for a while, I honestly couldn’t figure out exactly what was behind me.

Other than that, though, the show was AMAZE. When CRJ came out, I shed actual tears and started pushing Chooch excitedly. He was really excited too and had his phone out, ready to record her entrance.

She came out and immediately started singing “Run Away With Me” which is one of my favorites and oh, if only she had been performing at a roller rink — that’s the only way the night could have been any better. She sounded amazing, you guys, and she was such a joy to watch that I don’t think my eyes were dry for even a second of that show.

I’ve never really fan-girled over a pop star before, so this was new territory for me. But I was right there with all of the teen girls and gay guys, shrieking and thrusting out my arm in hopes that my fingers could even just slightly graze CRJ, even if it was just the sleeve of her shirt. AT LEAST IT WOULD BE SOMETHING. And also proof that she’s not a holograph.

BAE!

During “Tonight I’m Getting Over You,” I noticed that she had tears streaming down her face, and she continued silently crying for the next two songs. It was extremely intimate and touching so then this made me cry even harder because crying is like yawning for me: if I see someone crying in real life, I will start crying too without being able to stop it. IT’S MY BIGGEST CHARACTER FLAW. Seriously, it’s hard to maintain my misanthropic asshole persona when I’m fucking crying all of the time, ugh.

I’m crying again.

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There were grown men who looked dangerously close to flinging themselves off the balcony in sheer ecstasy during “Call Me Maybe.”

Chooch and I were desperate to get her to touch us! Before the show started, one of the stage guys came over and told the people next to us that they had to move their stuff off the stage. We were like, right on the side, where the stage winged out a little, and he said, “Carly walks out here and I don’t want her to slip.”

So of course we were all like OMG SHE’S GOING TO WALK OVER HERE AND BE STANDING LITERALLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF US?!?!

But that guy was a goddamn shit-sucking liar because she never came over that far. She never got any further than the guys who were two heads down from us, we were SO CLOSE yet SO FAR AWAY. But I swear to god there were multiple times when she came over and smiled RIGHT AT me and Chooch. Right at our dumb idiot faces.

I was goo. A pathetic wad of goo.

Meanwhile, Screamy behind me kept death-growling, “I LOVE YOU” which ricocheted off the back of my head, along with her phone which she kept shoving past my face in order to record CRJ’s every last movement. I mean, OK—so was I, but I had my phone at chest level so it wasn’t blocking anyone’s view!

That girl was seriously the only blemish on the whole entire night. Not even Chooch’s supposed “mental breakdown” toward the end of the show managed to put a damper on my spirits. (He was oddly preoccupied with the fact that he had a knot in his shoelace and it wasn’t until he finally untied it on the sidewalk after the show that he was finally able to exhale and go back to being normal. It’s always something with him.)

After the show, we went straight to the merch booth so I could buy a shirt and my record-snob son wanted E.MO.TION on vinyl. I’ve created a monster. It was after 11 by the time we made it outside of Mr. Smalls, and we were originally just going to leave, but then a group of older men started talking to us, asking Chooch if he got his record signed, etc. We said no, and they pointed out that there was a line forming outside of CRJ’s bus, which pretty much ended right where we were standing. It didn’t seem very long, and even though there was no guarantee that she would come out, I told Chooch I would absolutely die if I missed a chance to meet her. He wasn’t very pleased because he was cold and cranky and I like CRJ more than he does (seriously, if this was Christofer Drew’s bus, though…). I think he was also getting pissed that these guys kept talking to us while waiting for their Uber. The one man told us that he had literally flown in just for the show last minute and got there right as she started singing the second song. Then he showed us pictures of his twin grandkids and Chooch was like, “OK WOW GR8 BYE” but I thought these guys were very nice and I appreciated their flamboyance. It was a refreshing change from the usual too cool for school crowd I usually find myself immersed in at shows.

After about 20 minutes, Chooch pointed out that people at the front of the line were taking pictures. I asked the tall guy behind me if Carly was out of her bus and he said, “Yep, she’s up there now” and I started fucking sweating and hyperventilating.

The line moved up quickly and smoothly; everyone was very respectful of her time and space, no one asked for more than they were entitled, and she wasn’t straight-up mobbed. There apparently was already a VIP meet-and-greet before the show, so she totally didn’t have to be available for us, but she still came out and that made me evict a few people from my heart so she could have some cozier real estate.

By the time it was our turn, I was a nervous wreck and thoroughly coated her with my word-vomit.

“OMG I JUST LOVE YOU YOU WERE SO GREAT TONIGHT I CRIED SO MUCH!!!” and she just smiled graciously and said “Thank you” after each of my psycho declarations. Then Chooch very calmly and nonchalantly asked, “Can you sign my record?” like it wasn’t CARLY RAE JEPSEN standing before us all petite and perfect with her little hat on and OMG I WAS STANDING NEXT TO CARLY RAE JEPSEN ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME SHE WAS JUST IN THE LIVE TV PRODUCTION OF GREASE SINGING WITH BOYZ II MEN!??!?!

I really hate having my picture taken but there was no way I was missing this chance, because who knows if it will ever happen again, so I whispered, “Will you take a picture with us…?” and she was all, “Sure!” and I gave my phone to the tall guy behind us and only vaguely remember CRJ draping her arm over my shoulder because I was pretty much experiencing a blinding out-of-body moment and by the time we found Henry and scrambled into the car, my hands were shaking so bad that I almost dropped my phone while trying to show him our picture and he just mumbled, “You’re sad,” but then he was trying not to smile so I think on the inside he was like, “Holy shit my kids met CRJ!”

Not to be That Person, but I really did lose my fucking shit when she sang “Call Me Maybe.” I am overcome with beautiful memories and happy feelings every single time I hear this song. I’m reminded of the Summer Olympics, extreme laughing fits, ROSS’S BLACKBERRY…it’s just pure, unadulterated summer joy. So, try to belittle me for liking a “one hit wonder,” but it won’t work. My love for CRJ is real and I’ll own it forever. No shame, no guilt, no regrets.

On Friday, we went to the Mr. Smalls Theatre for Carly Rae Jepsen’s Gimmie Love tour. So First, when we got in line and waited, mommy complained it was freezing. She had a coat on and I had a T-Shirt on, I didn’t complain. When it was finally 7:30, the doors opened and we got to go in.  The first band was Fairground Saints. They played “Love Yourself” by Justin Bieber. They’re kind of country singers. They do covers mostly. But the songs they did at the concert was mostly their songs.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDI6_9HlHJK/?taken-by=butt_jam

My Instagram is butt_jam, if you didn’t already know. You would see this video on my Instagram. It’s a video of them singing “Love Yourself” by JB. I also have many more videos on Instagram.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BDI-0jYlHBt/?taken-by=butt_jam

Such as this one: Carly Rae singing “Run Away With Me”. It was epic and could cause seizure, so warning if you are able to get seizures by strobe light don’t watch. 8-) While she was playing, I had many problems, such as: Being claustrophobic was one. This guy behind me had so much room but he chose to push me into the stage, I had about a foot of room. I threw up, because I chewed too much gum. My phone was at 1% and I couldn’t record anything or else my phone would die. There was a knot in my shoe and it bothered me. I hate everything!

At the end of the concert, we went to the merch table and I got a record, mommy got a shirt. We left and outside there was a line at the side of Carly’s tour bus. We waited and waited. During our wait we met a lot of gay guys.  This one guy was so nice he showed mommy a picture of his grandkids. I tried to get the knot out of my shoe and it worked, all of a sudden I felt better.

When Carly came out of her tour bus, nobody screamed. I told mommy she came out, but she said everyone would’ve screamed. But I said people were taking pictures. She said they were probably taking pictures of each other. Then mommy heard Carly’s vice and got excited. We got up to the front and I got my record signed and got a picture. Mommy almost cried and fainted but I was calm. Carly was really nice. Daddy parked righted in front of her tour bus so when we got our picture, we walked to the car and left.

As you can see, I had a lot of fun. The concert was good, Carly has a good voice, and Fairground Saints is very good as well.

**WARNING: Lots of words about bands and music ahead. Maybe there might be something you like though, so you should give it a chance. It’s 2016! You never know!**

It’s not that I don’t look forward to every show I attend, but the last few months have been excruciating waiting to see Citizen. I’ve been listening to them a ton since summer and this tour lineup was golden, start to finish. Originally, I was going to go by myself, which is no big deal but this show was at the Altar Bar and the vibe there always brings me down when I’m alone. I can’t really put my finger on it, but somehow that place is a magnet for assholes and I almost always have a problem with someone. And I knew I was going to have to stand on the balcony on account of my old lady brittle bones, which meant I was going to be surrounded by the drunk assholes who shout to their friends over top of the music. And what’s  more annoying than paying money to see one of your favorite bands when you can’t escape banal conversation?

Mr. Smalls > Altar Bar, forever.

Anyway, on Monday—two days before the show—I twisted Henry’s arm hard enough* that he conceded. Thank god too, because I had already bought his ticket, ha.

*IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

Before the show, we had a quick dinner at Thin Man Sandwich Shop. I had that grilled ricotta chiesi you see down there. IT WAS SO GOOD. I love that place.

Guy: Henry, how are you?

Henry: Not thrilled, guy. 

After dinner, we walked over to the Altar Bar, where Henry immediately started grimacing as he saw generations way below his lining up at the door. To be fair, it was a pretty mixed bag as far as ages go, but Henry’s so old that he’s always going to stick out. I at least got carded still.

We were early enough that I was able to snag my favorite balcony spot, which is practically right over the stage. I knew it was going to get crowded on the floor and I haven’t been feeling well enough to risk getting a shoe in the face, or to even be that close to people in general.

Milk Teeth came on promptly at 7:

Talk about being transported back to the mid-90s, holy shit. And I mean that in all of the best ways. They have a grunge throwback sound that made me feel like I was back in Lisa’s Jeep, learning to drive in Jefferson Memorial.

They’re from England and this is their first time touring the US. And Pittsburgh got to be their first taste of America. That’s….alarming.

I’m pretty vocal about my pickiness for female singers, but I’m board with these guys 100%.

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The girl next to me whipped around, look me straight in the eyes, and said very seriously, “She is everything. My God!” I agreed with her wholeheartedly, but then she went back to talking to her date and I was like, “HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHEN YOU HAVE BEEN TALKING THROUGH THEIR ENTIRE SET!?”

Other than that, my balcony neighbors weren’t too bad. I even helped her date save her spot when she went to the bathroom. That’s very un-Erin-like. I really must have been sick.

Chooch really likes this video:

Henry had to think about it for two days before committing to a solid, “They weren’t bad.”

I was all up in some GIRLPOWER after that, though. SOMEONE TEACH ME HOW TO PLAY BASS. Or how about whatever the easiest instrument of all time is, but maybe one step up from a triangle.

Next up was Sorority Noise! The crowd started to get a little rowdier at this point, which chiseled deeper frown lines into Henry’s weathered face.

This one young girl came pushing through the crowd right as they started and she shouted back every single word, and what the hell is my problem, but this made me cry tears of joy!? I had to stop myself from saying into Henry’s ear how happy it made me to see young kids having something to feel passionate about, but I knew he would roll his eyes so I veiled my face with my hair and cried in private.

I think a lot of it is that I didn’t have that when I was a teenager. I had a lot of canned happiness and sobbing alone in my bedroom.

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I hope when Chooch is older and starts going to shows with his friends, that he’s one of those kids down there ferociously pointing his finger at the stage and shouting along to all of the words that get him through his days.

AND I LEARNED TO LOVE MYSELF MORE THAN I COULD EVER LOVE YOU – gets me every fucking time.

Turnover was next and I had to brace myself for their beautiful blend of modern shoegaze, and also I had no idea their singer had such a Henry-esque haircut! I kept asking Henry if that’s what he looked like in the nineties and he would only answer in various degrees of frowns. He was even wearing Henry-approved jeans. Also, he recently shaved his mustache, so imagine how much more Young Henryish he must have looked.

I was almost peeing my pants, waiting for Turnover. Listening to them makes me feel like going out and catching lightning bugs, or some other precious summer activity that you would never expect me to do. Like, holding hands with Henry.

I was really glad Henry was there, because Turnover is the kind of band that seeing alone would be depressing.

Would you come here and spin with me?
I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,
Find a way up into your head
So I can make you feel like new again

Also? They’re on my record label crush, Run For Cover. There’s not one bad band in that bunch.

Like, for instance….CITIZEN.

As soon as they started playing, there was this massive surge of people pushing toward the stage, and Henry leaned against the balcony with a big smile because looking down disapprovingly upon a mass of crowd-surfers is worth the price of the ticket for him. So while he stood laughing out loud at the kids below, I used that as my opportunity to openly weep and mouth the words to every song, like the true sad girl I am.

I could honestly fill this entire post with Citizen videos because it’s too hard to choose one song to represent them. A lot of people hated their last album because they shifted from a pop-punk vibe to a more grungy slow-burn sound. I personally like them both ways and to me, they’re still the same band. Isn’t that the point of being a musician, to continually evolve and hone your sound? Who wants to keep putting out the same album over and over.

Their old songs seemed to merge effortlessly with the new ones that night, it wasn’t like a jarring shift in the vibe as they bounced back and forth between their discography. I kept reading things on various forums about how crowds weren’t responding well to the new songs, and I’m sorry, but the Pittsburgh crowd was fucking in it to win it.

It was everything I hoped it would be and I felt so alive. Meanwhile, the guy next to me got ditched by his date. Maybe she ran off to find the singer of Milk Teeth, since she thought she was “everything” even though she talked through Milk Teeth’s entire set. So he ended up forfeiting his spot and I was so worried that assholes were going to swoosh in, but two peaceful, older guys (older as in like late 20s, lol) took the empty spot and my night got to continue along down the river of tranquility. Everything was fucking perfect and beautiful and I loved everyone that night, even kind of Henry.

This is how you keep my top from popping off. Get me to at least two shows a month and I won’t rip your face off.

I love them so much.

The next day, I was at work and Henry sent me a text that said, “Last night wasn’t bad.”

THAT MEANS, IN HENRY-SPEAK, THAT HE HAD A NICE TIME!

HENRY IS A CITIZEN FAN!

HENRY LIKES SOMETHING I LIKE!!

What a fucking beautiful night. My heart is exploding.

After catching Frameworks open for United Nations during the summer of 2014, my heart was hooked like the lip of trout. They’ve got that emo revival sound that resonates with me, so I’d been keeping a watchful eye on this Florida bunch.  Finally, they announced a headlining tour with Donovan Wolfington, and I was on board. I didn’t even bother asking anyone to go with me. I’m over that hassle.

In exchange for not having to go, Henry gave me a free Lyft to the Smiling Moose on Sunday, and also an allowance to cover my ticket and cider. Clearly, Papa Tightwad was in a good mood, knowing he could go home and binge-watch How It’s Made in his underroos.

Before the show started, I chilled in the bar in the back of the room, drinking some outer space-priced pumpkin cider and being entertained by a pair of older Bosnian gentlemen who were apparently there to support one of the local bands but I couldn’t tell if they were being serious or not because my facetious meter has been damaged through years of hard use. In any case, I chugged my ritzy cider so that I could go closer to the stage. (All Ages show, yo.)

The first band was Curse Words. I felt drawn to them immediately. That sad boy emo gets me every last time, and I already can’t wait to see them again/stalk them all around the ‘Burgh. Our neighbors moved out so maybe I can get them to come over and play a house show, OMG.

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After their set, an influx of old people rushed the stage. Mom-types started skipping around, hugging teenage girls and thanking them for coming out, and it became clear that the entourage of the second band had arrived. It was adorable and fucking annoying simultaneously, but I’ll tell you what: I was buffeted by the comforting scent of freshly laundered sheets, hand sanitizer, and Werthers Originals, thanks to the grandparents closing in on me. This was a nice change from the usual stench of B.O. and farts that usually permeates the upstairs of the Smiling Moose.

The band of the hour was another local band called the Incandescence. I want to jump on board and tell you that I was blown away, but…I didn’t get it. Musically, they were all over the place and I understand that genres are binding, but in their case, it felt like they didn’t have an identity. Aside from having a super-charismatic drummer who reminded me so much of my old friend James Hosfield with long hair, I was pretty bored and disconnected. Plus, I was surrounded by all of these preppy girls who were clearly classmates of these guys (I couldn’t tell if the band was high school- or college-aged) who were totally clueless on how to act at a show and kept complaining that it was too loud.

STILL, I was happy to support them.

And then the whole place cleared out afterward.

#loner

Anyone who hates opening bands would be super pissed at a Smiling Moose show because it’s the openers that pack the place. It’s always a family affair at every show I’ve gone to there, little Billy’s band got their first real gig and the whole fucking family tree has to storm the venue. It’s actually super awesome to witness. I can’t imagine my family ever coming together to support me in something like that, so it gives me hope when I see Aunt Betty and Grandpa Walt cringing and beaming with pride at the same time. And this is why, even if the band isn’t my thing, I will still scream and clap alongside the people who are required to scream and clap.

Also, for the first half of these shows, they take the heat off me with their white hair and wrinkles and I don’t have to be That Lady Standing Alone who is either Someone’s Mom or Lost.

(In all honesty, the only time I ever got any weird looks was when I was the Young Girl Alone at the Boz Scaggs show.)

By the time Donovan Wolfington’s set started, there were only about 15 of us left. Like you couldn’t hang out for another hour, guys, really?

D.Wolf was super entertaining. I’ve never seen them live before but I was really looking forward to it. I will give most any band on Topshelf my full, undivided attention and these guys did not disappoint. They were pretty hilarious, which always makes me love bands even more.

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Finally, it was time for Frameworks. I wish I could properly explain what it is about this style of music, and this band in particular, that makes me weak in the knees. I tried to articulate it at work the other day, the whole screaming thing. Because I know, it’s a curious concept for a lot of people who think that it’s just screaming for the sake of screaming. Sure, there are definitely bands out there like that. But those aren’t the ones I like. I tried to get my work friends to believe that there are different types of screaming, but that was received by a collective “come the fuck on” look from all of them.

But it’s true! For instance, people assume that I must like death metal, because of the screaming.  But I don’t! I’m not a fan of that type of screaming, and it also has a lot to do with the music behind the screams.

“The kind of screaming I like is the emotional kind,” I said, attempting to delve into a lesson in emotional hardcore/Emo Revival, but if anyone had been taking me seriously before that point, I had definitely lost them with the “emotional” thing. And then somehow I heard myself casually admitting that I pretty much cry at the drop of a hat. “I started crying before the opening credits of Fuller House even started,” I laughed. “Like, Henry was still looking for it on Netflix and I started crying.”

“Oh my god,” Glenn muttered. “WHY?!”

I’M JUST REALLY FRAGILE AND SENTIMENTAL OK!??

But whatever. I laughed along with everyone because it was a pretty funny conversation for a Tuesday morning, but this really is something I take seriously. If I’m not at a show, I’m listening to music, and if I’m not listening to music, I’m reading about it. And somewhere in between, I’m watching music videos on YouTube. It really is practically my entire life, oh well. This music has been slowly suturing my heart for the last several years and I will keep going to these shows as long as they exist because it’s so much cheaper than therapy and anti-depressants.

There is just something so cathartic, standing feet away from the stage, while someone is shouting his words in your face.

I had been looking forward to this show ever since it was announced and it honestly didn’t disappoint. It was perfectly abrasive, beautifully raw, and the only way it could have been more intimate would have been if we were all sitting cross-legged on my bed.

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In between songs, one of the guitarists thanked everyone for staying after all of the “Church dwellers” left, which was an accurate assessment. Selfishly, I love these shows with sparse crowds because it’s so much more comfortable and relaxed, but it really sucks for the bands. Pittsburgh is so fucking backwards with some things. Get with it, Pittsburgh.

After the show, I mustered up the courage to talk to Luke, the singer. I felt so bad that my town didn’t show up for them (their other shows in bigger cities seemed to do well, big surprise) and I really wanted him to know that I appreciated them. During their set, Luke had mentioned that this was only their second time playing here, so I used that as my conversation starter.

“I was at that United Nations show two years ago, and you guys totally stole my heart,” I freakishly gushed. He put his hand over his heart and said that meant a lot, and then he formally introduced himself with a handshake. This is the part in every conversation with bands where I have no idea which route to take, so I always pull the ripcord and take the emergency exit while shouting, “OK THANKS HAVE A GOOD NIGHT YOU WERE GREAT BYE.”

Sigh. This part never gets easier for me.

Whenever I start to get pulled down into negativity’s undertow, I just have to look back on these moments and remember that I am living my life. No one is stopping me from enjoying the things I love. And I don’t mind being alone anymore, and my life is full of beautiful music and experiences because of that. Things are so much better now.

I think I shook for two whole days after this show. It was some kind of spiritual to-do, you guys.

For a day that’s supposed to be steeped in calendar-dictated synthetic love and bacon-flavored sentiments on beds of rose petals (isn’t that what you young couples do these days? Wrap everything in bacon?), my house was popping off with explosive attitudes and screeching histrionics. I was still half-sick and miserable; Chooch was code orange whiny—and if we’re being frank, probably feeding off of my irritability;  and Henry was just tired of taking the brunt of it.

So, no gluten-free, lavender-infused, edible-gold-sprinkled, heart-shaped Pinterest-approved pancakes for us. :(

It was starting to look like Chooch and I weren’t going to the Never Shout Never shout that night after all. My only saving grace was that he hated me slightly less than Henry.

(Henry committed some heinous slight against him that evening, didn’t make him a King’s banquet for dinner, and then when Chooch whined about wanting more, different food, Henry started yelling about how he’s not a restaurant and he’s tired of making separate meals for everyone and then I got involved by yelling, “Well fuck me for being ethically against eating meat!” and the night just went south from there because it’s all about Henry. Henry Henry Henry!)

The only thing we had in common with Valentines Day was the color red we were all seeing.

But we managed to compose ourselves and push in our devil horns long enough to get in the car and have our chauffeur drive us to Mr. Small’s, where we were magically transformed into MOTHERFUCKING SWEETHEARTS.

This could only mean one thing.

HENRY is the catalyst. Henry, you reactant! Henry, you motherfucker. 

As soon as Chooch and I walked into Mr. Small’s, one of the guys from the opening band, Waterparks, interrupted his conversation with some young fan girl to say to Chooch, “Hey, I like your hair!” Chooch just casually shrugged, like, “Yeah, of course you do.”

Duh.

I wish I was more like Chooch. Instead of cooly brisking past, I was choking on my tongue in an attempt to thank the kind boy on Chooch’s behalf.

We purposely arrived two hours after doors. I rarely miss the opening bands, and I think it’s so important to support them, especially the ones that are local. But I have to consider that my nine-year-old has a low threshold for standing in one room. So, we missed Waterparks and Get the Picture (sorry, guys) but arrived just in time for JuleVera, whom I was really looking forward to after missing them at Warped Tour due to conflicting set times.

Their singer Ansley is only 18 years old. So young! And as soon as she started singing, Chooch looked at me with ruddy cheeks and this big goofy grin that I recognized as his I’M IN LUFFFFFFF AND CANT FIGHT IT HELP I’M DYING face of anguish.

“We have to go to their merch table after they’re done!” he hissed.

Guys, I didn’t expect to like them as much as I did, but they sounded great, and any young band that can spend three minutes between songs doing a drum and guitar solo without coming off as douchey or losing the interest of the crowd has genuine talent.

Chooch declared that this is his new favorite band and I’ll co-sign that.

As soon as their last song ended, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to their merch table, quickly, before the line gets too long!

Sadly, most people there were more interested in the dregs of the music scene, namely Metro Station who were up next. So not many people rushed to the merch tables.

I was super proud when Chooch passed up the row of CDs and pointed to the vinyl, which I happily purchased for him. CHOOCH IS AMAZING. THE NIGHT IS AMAZING. EVERYTHING IS AMAZING WHEN HENRY ISNT THERE!

Lol sike. But seriously, Chooch and I generally get along much better when. Henry isn’t in the temperament equation.

Right after I paid the top-knotted merch girl for the record, Ansley walked over. Begin obligatory awkward transmission of the night.

She seemed shy, he was definitely shy, and I was shoe-horned into an uncomfortable position of being Son’s Mouthpiece. So I quickly said it was our first time seeing them.

“Oh cool! Did you like it?” she asked Chooch directly.

“#^*^^+£[#^@&$” he gurgled with a nod. Then I quickly took their picture and whisked him away before we could fall any further into social peril.

LOOK HOW RED HIS CHEEKS ARE!

We went back into the main area afterward and scored a decent spot in a sparsely populated area by the bar barrier, and I was thankful to sit down on the floor with my back against a wall, because I had the day-after-food-poisoning weakness. Chooch smiled deliriously at his record for awhile and then eventually, Metro Station came on.

I try really hard not to flat out hate a band, but my feelings for Metro Station come very close to simulating bricks of ultra-negativity being hurled through glass walls. OK I hate them. They were pretty popular in what, 2007 or something? Because Miley Cyrus’s brother is in it? And they had one catchy song called “Shake” that made all the Radio Disney kids feel like rebels for listening to what they were told was “punk” music?

Then they went away and it was wonderful! Five Metro Stationless years!

And now they’re back. And disgusting. Honestly, they sound like mediocre karaoke at the corner bar. But they have BRIGHT STAGE LIGHTS  and TRACE CYRUS!

That’s MILEY’S BROTHER Y’ALL.

He took his shirt off at one point and all the girls screamed their panties right off their bodies and onto the stage, and I was just left standing there in a stupor, like “Ew, why?”

And when they lovingly name-dropped their homeboys in Attila and Falling In Reverse, I was ready to go home and start my own Pittsburgh chapter of Girls Against Misogynistic Bands.

Get the fuck out of my face with your Ronnie Radke shout-outs.

Total lowpoint of the night. And they didn’t really match the vibe of Never Shout Never anyway, so why. Even Chooch was cringing.

Turnover playing over the sound system while Metro Station’s fecal residue was being scrubbed off the stage. I actually cried out, “Ooh, it’s Turnover!” and I doubt anyone cared.  Chooch definitely didn’t.

The singer of dumb Metro Station walked past us and I was really angry to note that he had a CURE PATCH on the back of his dumb black denim shirt. Robert Smith’s face does not belong on such filth.

Never Shout Never took the stage at 10 and the night vastly improved. Chooch’s excitement was contagious. Every time Christofer would describe the next song, Chooch would quickly shout out what it was going to be and he was so happy the one time that I got it wrong, because he’s Mini Erin, and that’s something I too would gloat about.

At one point, Chris mentioned that he had been eating “marijuana-infused honey from Denver” all day, and what he really needed right then was a cup of red wine, half wine half gingerale, and someone should be awesome and get that for him. Chooch was like, “MOMMY! DO IT!!!” I mean, we were standing right on the other side of the bar so I could have easily turned around and snapped my fingers, but I figured 20 other broads were well on their way back to the stage with his wine…

Also, I’m such a great mom for exposing my 4th grader to this shit.

After another song, Chris said, “So…where’s that wine?” because no one had actually gone through with it so then I was like OMG SHOULD I BE THE ONE!? SHOULD I DO IT!? but by the time my mind worked out 87 different variations of how this scene could play out, some dude had climbed onto the stage and handed him a cup, courtesy of some chick who is probably still Snapchatting about her 10 seconds of recognition.

It would have been pretty hilarious to send Chooch up with it, though.

Ugh. Missed opportunity!

Anyway, they played one of my favorites, “On the Brightside” and I was so glad!

And Chooch kept screaming “Red Balloon!” and then when they finally played it, he smirked at me, like “See what I did?” Sure Chooch, whatever. He was stoked when a menagerie of balloons was released from a net in the balcony. Kids and balloons, amirite?

We moved closer toward the end of the show, once I was confident that I could stand without leaning back on something sturdy and we realized that there was an empty pocket near the left side of the stage.

Being there made me think of all the shows I’ve seen in that place, and how fucking fantastic it is that now Chooch is seeing shows at this exact same venue. This night was pure magic. (With the exception of Metro Station, ugh! That part was fucking voodoo.)

I left Chooch alone during the encore so I could buy him a shirt before the merch table was swarmed with people. The merch guy told me that Chris wasn’t going to be coming out after, and that he already had done a meet and greet before the show, so part of me was sad for Chooch, but super stoked for myself because all I could think about was RESTING MY WEARY BONES IN MY BED.

“Oh well, at least I’ve already met him once,” Chooch shrugged, content with his JuleVera experience and just an overall night of beautiful music (and 30 minutes of garbage cacophony).
  

***

On the way home from the show, I was angrily retelling the horror story of Metro Station to Henry.

“One of their songs was literally just them yelling ‘she likes girls girls girls,'” I seethed.

“Oh, I thought they were saying ghosts. ‘She likes ghosts ghosts ghosts….'” Chooch piped up from the backseat.

You’re giving them way too much credit, buddy.

After last month’s experience at the Smiling Moose, I wasn’t sure that I was ready to go back there again alone. But Hail the Sun was playing and I really wanted to see them because they bring me great joy, and after the last few week’s of feeling bogged down by…what? Dismal weather? Restlessness? Mental illness? Bad Mexicans? I really needed to get my ass to a show. It had been a month since the last one and that’s just unacceptable.

I was prepared to go alone, especially after Henry ignored the Hail the Sun Facebook invite I sent him. And then yesterday, he sent me a text that said, “Did you get tickets yet? Because it’s sold out.” And my face was flush with panic as my fingers quickly typed in the information to Facebook because one of the local bands on the bill was selling tickets directly and I was prepared to beg them for one. But then Henry was all, “Lol.”

I hate him.

Good thing I asked Janna to watch Chooch because Henry ended up going with me after all! I was in such a great mood because of it that I actually paused outside of the Smiling Moose in order to have a pleasant conversation about my ray-gun purse with some pink-haired lady smoking a cigarette. She asked if it was Betsey Johnson and I was all, “Ha! I wish. If it is, someone accidentally sold it to me for super cheap!” And then we talked about Betsey Johnson’s current line of things while Henry stood there, bored and cold.

That is how you know I’m in a fine mood: when I engage in real life, proper conversations with strangers!

It was happy hour when we got there, so Henry happily went to the bar in the back of the upstairs. For as many times as I have been there, I have never gone to the bar upstairs (only the main one downstairs) because I always go right to the front near the stage and people-watch, i.e. nervously text and tweet while watching people out of the corner of my eye. The first band was still setting up, so I  joined Henry and had whatever Arsenal Cider was on tap. Henry asked the bartender—who was super nice, and one of the best parts of the Smiling Moose; I fucking love their bartenders—what some kind of beer was and a man turned around and said, “If you like IPAs, you will really like that.”

Henry doesn’t like IPAs, whatever that means, so he was like awkwardly trying to thank the guy for his suggestion without actually ordering one.

I stood back there with Henry through two songs from the opening band, Scene Stage the World, but finally Henry sighed and said, “Go. I know it’s killing you” so I happily skipped away to the stage. I liked this band, but no offense to them since I have no clue what the meaning behind it is, but I really hate the name. I’ve had to double check 5 times to make sure I got it right because y brain just won’t accept it as a real thing.

After their set, I weaved my way back to the bar and saw that HENRY AND IPA GUY were talking! They looked like all ‘Nam buddies, too, all casual and comfortable against the bar, beers in hand, until I rolled up and it got awkward real fast. I caught the tail end of their conversation, and Henry was saying something like, “Yeah, I like them” about some band which is probably a total fucking lie because Henry likes nothing. My presence really put a damper on their budding romance though: the conversation seemed to taper off mid-stream and Henry’s new boy toy uncomfortably shifted away from the bar, leaving me and Henry standing there alone. Then he eventually drifted away.

“Whoa, did I interrupt something?” I laughed.

“What? No! He was just telling me that he came here from West Virginia to see that band. One of the guys is his downstairs neighbor or something…”

WHOA, he was telling Henry about his living situation?! UBER INTIMATE.

And that’s when I discovered that Henry, Mr. Ew, IPAs Are Yucky, had an IPA IN HIS HAND.

“It’s actually not bad,” he said, wiping foam off his mustache with the back of his hand. “It’s like….creamy. Here, try it!”

Bitch, get that glass of adultery out of my face.

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Just then, someone walked by and Henry quietly shouted, “IS THAT DONOVAN? HE CUT HIS HAIR.”

For someone who doesn’t like any of the bands I take him to see, he sure as fuck can spot all the members. Yes, Henry, that was indeed the singer of Hail the Sun. Good job!

“That guy has a fake leg,” Henry whispered. “DON’T LOOK! I saw him adjusting it earlier.” This is what Henry does at shows. He rarely looks at the stage. So if you’re ever at a show and see Henry there, you better check yourself because he will definitely be watching.

Like the fucking background creeper that he is.

I ditched Henry again in favor of the second band, False Accusations. Before they even started playing, I felt like I had seen them before because their bassist especially looked very familiar to me. Then they started playing and hearts sprung out from my eye sockets and a crown of blue birds circled around my head.

The guitarist’s dad was in attendance, and he pushed his way through the crowd in order to snap some pics with his flip phone and I melted from the adorableness of it all. Turns out that the dad was also Henry’s fake-leg friend from the bar. He couldn’t wait to tell me afterward.

Anyway, I scoured my blog after their set, determined to figure out where I had seen them before, and it turns out that they were the opening band when we went to see Icarus the Owl 9/2014, but we had arrived during the tail end of their set and never caught their name. WELL, NOW I KNOW.

And this is why I continue to write on this thing regardless if people read it or not, because it sure beats relying on my own memory.

The third band was Makari, and I was excited to see them because I had heard of them and thought they were going to have that Blue Swan vibe that I love. But no. It was like something from a 2008 Rise Records showcase. I mean, they weren’t BAD, but they were kind of boring and the singer was a little annoying.

However, their bassist looked like a young Raising Arizona-era Nic Cage and I pretty  much spent their entire set marveling over that while trying to scream about into Henry’s furry ear. Henry just frowned in disagreement.

Makari doing Makari things. They’re from somewhere in Florida, but the singer told us that he was actually born in ALTOONA, PA which no one was that impressed about but I really wanted to scream, “DID YOU EVER GO TO LAKEMONT PARK!?!?!?” This was the most interesting part of their set for me.

That’s the wall where I almost died last time.

Before Hail  the Sun came on, I turned around to talk to Henry (trust me, it pained me to do so), and I noticed that two of the guys from Save Us From the Archon were there!

“Henry!” I urgently hissed at him. “I want to congratulate them for getting signed to Tragic Hero!”

“Oh my god,” Henry sighed. “Then just do it.” Which of course kickstarted the hamster wheel of self-doubt in my head. SHOULD I?!?!?! SHOULDN’T I!?!? HOW SHOULD I SAY IT!?!? WHAT IF I STUTTER?!?! Ugh, I hate myself. Some prog-head was chatting their ears off anyway, so that was my sign to just turn back around.

But then finally, finally, finally it was time for Hail the Sun and I rejoiced! This was maybe the sixth time we saw them live and I have to say, it was definitely my favorite. I love that Donovan is the drummer/singer JUST LIKE PHIL COLLINS but that they have someone slide in for him halfway through the set so that he can get up front and center and scream into our faces. I love watching Aric Garcia do his tight, concise head shakes, and I love watching maniacal Shane Gann show off his skills for all the prog nerds.

Just being there righted so many wrongs. This is the only drug I’ll ever need.

(I mean, unless I end up with some serious illness, then I guess I’ll consider taking actual drugs.)

This song especially rips out my heart every time:

My heart drops when the t-t-telephone rings..

I like turning to Henry afterward and saying, “Maybe…” with a shrug. And he just smirks and rolls his eyes. Because he knows that I’ll probably starve if our lives ever divide.

The crowd was great, better than I could have imagined that night. That’s not to say that it didn’t smell like piss and B.O. up in there, because it still definitely did. Probably more so than the last few times I’ve been there, to be honest.

Set List:

• Will They Blame Me If You Go Disappearing?
• Cosmic Narcissism
• Paranoia
• Rolling Out the Red Carpet
• Human Target Practice
• Falling On Deaf Ears
• Black Serotonin
• Relax / Divide
• Ow! (Splidao!) [I Like It, Though]
• Anti-Eulogy (I Hope You Stay Dead)
  Encore:
• Railmaster
• Eight-Ball, Coroner’s Pocket

I wanted to buy merch afterward but Cheap Henry had no cash on him (ON PURPOSE probably) so I was like, “Fine, forget it!” and we left. On the way back to the car though, I saw AJ and Samantha from Save Us From the Archon, so I stopped them and just quickly let the congratulations blurt out of my mouth without thinking too much about it. They were super stoked about it and formally introduced themselves; it was wonderful and I was so thankful that Henry had kept walking because he always makes me feel 150% more stupid about fan-girling. When I caught up with him, he laughed and said, “Happy now?” YES, THANKS.

****

When we got back to our house, I noticed that Janna had driven HER MOTHER’S CAR to our house!

“OMG does she know you drove her car, JANNA?!” I cried while laughing hysterically.

“Yeah!” Janna scoffed, already regretting this poor choice of vehicle. “My car needs inspected so she told me to take hers!” she added defensively.

“BUT DID SHE REALLY!??!” I screamed, practically squatting to keep from peeing my pants. Janna just rolled her eyes. Then I took a picture of Janna’s mom’s car to send to Corey.

THOSE ARE THE EMOJIS HE USES FOR THE SILHOUETTE OF JANNA’S MOM IN THE WINDOW AS SHE IS BEATING HER AND YELLING AT HER.

OMG, TEARS. This will never get old.

What night, man.

Alternative Press finally posted the video of Craig Owens performing a brand new song, and it’s super exciting for me because Henry, Robbie, Nikki, and I were there, in the same room, watching with drool as this was filmed last month. (Well, maybe Henry wasn’t drooling; he probably waited until later and let it all out in private.)

That was such a beautiful day. I’m happy to have this video so that we can all relive it! Can’t wait to see what Craig has up his sleeve for 2016.

It’s Wednesday. There was a 2-hour delay because I guess it’s very cold out or something. (Yesterday was very cold too but when I checked the weather before leaving the house, 20 degrees somehow seemed like it would be “warm” so I wore a lightweight jacket and no gloves. I’m killing this adult game.)

I spent all morning designing new Valentines for non compos with intermittent KpopX mental health breaks. It is literally the only thing keeping me stable, thank you KpopX. My current favorite song/routine is 2Eye’s “Pippi” and did you know that if my birth dad hadn’t died and my mom hadn’t remarried, my last name would be Pippi? Seriously, shoot me. I would have said yes to one of those other pre-Henry dudes who actually asked me to marry them. (What were they thinking?)

Here is Chooch’s expression from when I made him watch the Pippi video this morning:

I’d like to add that a few minutes later, I was upstairs putting MY FACE ON, when I heard him in the living room absentmindedly humming 2eye’s masterpiece. Yeah, that’s what’s up.

I made Henry watch an acoustic rendition of “PIPPI” last night and his expression was pretty similar, except his eyes were more glazed.

(Don’t worry, everything else I listen to is depressing as fuck so I’m no less emo.)

***

Last week, Glenn happily sent me an article about “South Korea resuming propaganda broadcasts hated by North” because it mentions Kpop, but not only that, it gives a shout-out to one of my favorite KpopX routine songs!!

So, between KpopX and making new Valentine cards, I’m keeping busy. Gayle tried to force me to borrow a book from her and I was like, “NICE TRY GAYLE BUT I AM IN NO PLACE TO READ A BOOK RIGHT NOW.”

Also, I feel like I’m getting sick. I AM SLOWLY BREAKING, HELP. EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE. #SOS #911 #187

One of the first, if not the first, music videos I ever saw was for David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance.” My dad was really into recording (see also: taping) Friday Night Videos back in the early 80s, pre-MTV.

I still have one of his VHS tapes of homemade music video compilations; it’s labeled with a piece of masking tape and I refuse to pitch it.

“Let’s Dance” is on there.

Even as a super young kid, when I saw this video, I knew this guy was cool as fuck.

And then obviously “Labyrinth” happened. I watched that movie for the first time in third grade, at my friend Elisabeth Holtz’s house, sitting on the floor making shitty beaded jewelry and thinking, “I would not mind one bit if David Bowie kidnapped my little brother.” Legend.

In high school, I “borrowed” one of my dad’s Bowie CDs because I wanted to put “Changes” on a mix tape I was making, and then I conveniently “forgot” to put it back. That ignited a nice little fight. My dad and I were almost constantly feuding during my teen years so it was no big thing to me at all, but looking back on it now, it was pretty ironic that he was the one who introduced me to David Bowie and then there we were all those years later, fighting because of him.

I ended up just going out and buying my own Bowie CDs after that.

(With my mom’s money, haha!)

Waking up to the news of Bowie’s death this morning took my breath away. I woke up Chooch and said, “Something terrible happened…

David Bowie died.” And that’s when I realized I was crying.

Chooch shot up from his bed like Nosferatu from a coffin, and cried, “WHAT?! How!?” I told him it was cancer, and he went on a tear, motherfucking cancer up and down.

“Now there won’t ever be a sequel to ‘Labyrinth’,” he added somberly.

This feels like one of those universal deaths, the kinds that suck so hard and touch people on such a worldwide level, that we all kind of come together for a moment. It’s comforting. Especially when I open Facebook and see people mourning the same loss as me, when I didn’t really think we had much in common. David Bowie is the glittery, otherworldly, sonic thread that connects us. And there will never be another like him.

Thank you, David Bowie.

Hi guys I’m into things. Here are some of those things.

1.Not giving blood. Amber² gave blood today at work and then tried to thrust her vamp-wound in my face and I thought I was going to pass out. Then I made the mistake of telling her, Glenn and Todd that I donated blood ONCE in high school and honestly did pass out. “Someone had to help me walk to the nurse’s room. It was like a big scene,” I said. “Wow, that’s hard to believe,” Todd said and I think he was being sarcastic. Glenn tried to get me to donate blood by saying, “They brought their best leeches.” That was the second time in two days I almost puked at work. The other time was the day before because it was the first day I was wearing my new, non-trial pair of contacts and I had such a headache from my eyes struggling to adjust,  that I had to bury my head in my arms for a few minutes in the afternoon because I really thought I was in for an unfortunate lunch reunion at my desk.

2. KpopX. Yes, I’m still kpopping. I kpopped so fucking hard tonight too, you have no idea, and my goddamn gums are tingling somehow. I kpopped something in my neck the other day so that wasn’t good. Here is my current favorite KpopX routine, because hello, apples:

3. Making a Murderer. Yes, I’m basic. I’m obsessed just like everyone else. I mean, I’m already done watching it but that doesn’t mean I don’t spend every free minute reading Reddit and hounding my co-workers to watch it. (I heard that Lou has watched it but I try not to speak to Lou, so…)

4. The Law Firm Zine. I think I already mentioned this but I’m making a zine for the department at work and I am really pouring my heart into it. For literally no reason whatsover. I have two pages done so far with three more in the works. It’s going to be a real fucking stunner when it’s finished. I CAN’T WAIT TO SHOW EVERYONE.

5. Anticipating the new Basement album. They were on hiatus for some time and now they’re back and I’m excited. Did I say enough? You should watch this video and let the sounds enter you in whichever way you see fit.

6. Making plans to stay alive this winter. New year, same drill: keep busy so the winter depression doesn’t kill me. So far, there are several shows on tap, Corey and I have a pb&j and Mattress Factory trip planned for next month (and Kara too if she’s interested—KARA??), and some lame YouTuber has taught Chooch about geocaching so I’m apparently doing that with him this weekend while Henry hangs back and reupholsters the bar stools with fun fur, because I’ve projects for days, you guys. PROJECTS.FOR.DAYS. (That’s inaccurate. Projects for years.) Last night, I could hear Chooch in his room, cracking the fuck up, so I assumed he was watching one of his idiot YouTubers, but later I found out he was reading the blog post I sent him about the time we went geocaching (LETTERBOXING—I’m a purist; get that GPS jizz out of my face) when he was three. FLATTERED.

Um, other than all of that, I’m just sitting here, making Henry watch music videos with me on YouTube because I’m 16.

I guess that’s all. I’m always the lamest version of myself in January.

Fuck you, January.

It had been a minute since I was last at the Grog Shop in Cleveland, so I was pretty stoked. The Grog Shop has provided some great times for me and also is where I was first introduced to Strongbow in 2009. That was a gamechanger.

This is where Craig Owens was playing his acoustic set on December 16th, and it had all the promises of being intimate and beautiful.

Henry, Nikki, Robbie and I got there before doors opened. We had been standing for a bit in line when we realized some older lady was going around with a notepad, interviewing the people in line in front of us. I mumbled to my group, “Oh god, let’s not make eye contact. This lady looks—HI YES I WILL ANSWER YOUR QUESTIONS ABOUT CRAIG OWENS!” My  tune changed as soon as she approached us because I LOVE TO HEAR MYSELF TALK.

Not really.

OK SOMETIMES.

She was kind of creepy, I’m not going to lie. She said she goes to all of his shows and does this, makes a list of why all of the kids are there, and then she gives it to him at the end of the night. She made it sound like they are tight, and who knows—perhaps they are. But she was still kind of annoying.

I made some past-tense comment about Chiodos and she snapped, “He’s still in Chiodos. They’re still together.”

Oh. OK.

(I really don’t think they are. But she clearly knows it all.)

Then she said something about how she wants him to play “3 AM” but she knows he won’t because he doesn’t plat Chiodos songs at his solo shows, which made me raise my eyebrows because he certainly has in the past.

“Isn’t it interesting to hear a man’s POV of a one-night stand?” she asked us in regard to the meaning behind “3 AM” and we all just  nervously laughed until she finally moved along.

The doors opened around 7 and we traded in our toys for meet-n-greet wrist bands and then I pushed away imaginary people on my mad dash to claim us seats at the bar. Henry gave me that “why are you running?” smirk.

BECAUSE I AM ALWAYS IN A HURRY? How is he not accustomed to this by now. I hate him.

And then I found out that they didn’t have Strongbow and sighed a sigh to end all sighs. They had some kind of cherry cider though so I got that and it was beautiful. Henry was the DD so he just sat there nursing his water while the rest of us went to town. That’s what you get for being a dad, Henry.

The first band to play was a local group of seemingly high school-age kids (I think they might have been slightly older but we’ve already established a few blog posts back that my eyes are third-rate) called Trusting Obscurity. They had a girl singer and I will give them an A for effort: they had enthusiasm and moxie.

But they weren’t really for me. Or Robbie. Or Nikki.

(I didn’t ask Henry though because he doesn’t have opinions.)

They were mostly alt-rock, did a decent Paramore cover (“That’s What You Get”) and a questionable Fall Out Boy one (“Sugar, We’re Going Down”) and then a mixed bag of originals. I thought the girl had a pleasing voice, kind of husky, but their set was kind of long and I was getting antsy. And then they did some bastardized reggae banger and here’s a fact about me: I don’t like reggae. SORRY MARLEYS.

I just can’t with the reggae.

Me and Sober Hank.

From the moment the second band started playing, my eyes dilated with pure hearts. whenskiesaregray were the perfect blend of hardcore and emo, reminiscent of The Saddest Landscape and Pianos Become the Teeth, and I thought I was going to catapult off my bar stool. I was so into it, that it was making my ribcage hurt.

It was like someone handed them an Erin Will Love You starter kit and they followed it step-by-step:

Their set was over entirely too fast.

We were talking about how none of us were very fond of the first band.

“Yeah, that first band played way too long,” I cider-shouted just as the singer walked by.

She might have heard. I don’t know.

About whenskiesaregray, Robbie said, “They reminded me of that one genre…you know, like The Number 12 Looks Like You and…”

“Circle Takes the Square!” I added, because I always have to add. If you’re not adding, you’re subtracting, OK?! Get on my math level.

“But what’s that genre called?” Robbie asked, and Henry at this point had the glazed-over eyes that he probably had all throughout high school too.

“Grindcore!” I remembered a minute or so later, and Robbie was like, “Yeah!” and Henry looked like he was having really bad flashbacks to the days when I was really into grindcore. (For example: THE LOCUST.)

Too Close To Touch was next and they were your basic post-hardcore type of band and in a perfect world, I would have been all over them. I don’t know if I was just way too excited for Craig or if I was losing consciousness from inhaling the French whore perfume of this one aging, over-dressed scene queen who kept sauntering past, but I don’t really remember much of their set. Plus, I was on my second drink — a real life beer — and another fact about me is that I drink so infrequently these days that two ciders/beers is going to more than do the trick.

I think it was right after this band when we Facetimed with Chooch and Nikki got really excited and came running over to say hi to him; Robbie, you better watch out! I know that Chooch was fine back home with Judy, but I still hate it when we’re apart for too long.

Until we reunite and start arguing three minutes later.

Before Craig came on, we all got up and found good spots near the stage. Robbie and Nikki went straight for the middle of the crowd, but I dragged Henry over to the right and we parked ourselves right between French hooker and her friend, Other French hooker.

I was prepared for them to start screaming like Japanese girls at a Corey Feldman concert, but when Craig came out and started playing, they stood there, motionless and with stony faces.

Very weird.

OK, here is where I eat crow. I had really lost interest after the last time I went to one of Craig’s acoustic shows. It was boring, I thought it was weird that he kept doing Hulk Hogan-esque “I can’t hear you!” motions with his hands, and I was irritated that we drove through a snowstorm (true story, published in 2011) to essentially hear a roomful of teenage girls sing the songs instead of Craig. I was really worried it was going to be that way again. But nope. Craig came out, strapped on that guitar, and sang his fucking face off.

The ratio of Craig Singing : Fans Singing was exactly proportionate to what you want if you paid to hear one of your favorite singers sing his songs. I was OK with the singalongs. The vibes were positive. Craig seemed absolutely jubilant. His voice was on point.

And the setlist was diverse and spanned his career perfectly: from Chiodos to D.R.U.G.S, to Cinematic Sunrise to his recent collaboration with Before Their Eyes:

He and Pete teased the new song that we got to hear earlier that day at the Alternative Press office, but then at the last minute they stopped playing it, laughed, and went on to another song. I felt kind of smug because we had been lucky enough to hear that song multiple times in one sitting and it is a glorious jam!

He ended the show the same way he had the other times I had seen him solo: by jumping into the middle of the crowd and closing it down with “Baby, You Wouldn’t Last a Minute…” which will always be my favorite Chiodos song.

(Because Craig doesn’t perform Chiodos songs when he’s out on his own.)

Afterward, we ran over to the merch tables, where a line was forming for the meet and greet. Even though we had already met him earlier, my stomach was churning. But I at least wanted him to sign the tour screenprint that I bought, because why not.

“Look, that lady’s giving him the list she was writing in line,” I laughed, and we all watched as she basked in the attention Craig was giving her. “Jesus, that’s going to be me one day, isn’t it?

” I groaned rhetorically. Ugh, she was SUCH A MOM.

We were pretty close to the front, so before I was fully ready, it was our turn. Nikki and Robbie went first and Nikki, true to her word, asked Craig if he’s ever met Justin Bieber. (She’s a pretty big Belieber.) I know you’re dying to know the answer: Craig has not ever met Justin Bieber.

When it was my turn, I just gushed endlessly about he’s been like, an icon in my family for years and my kid has quite literally grown up listening to him (I showed him this picture on my phone, even though we gave Chiodos a copy of it at the 2013 Warped Tour), and he made all the right “I’m interested in what you’re saying” facial expressions and hand gestures. Nikki took this picture so here, I have proof that I’m not always invisible:

He signed my screenprint and said that he was really happy I bought one, that there were only 100 made (I got #3!) and that no two are exactly the same and again, I blew my chance to mention Loma Prieta, Hotel Books, or any of the other 6 unique topics I had on the tip of my tongue instead of opting for the typical fan-gushing. I am the actual worst at talking to musicians.

The lighting was terrible in this corner. I tried to take a group picture of Nikki and Robbie with Craig using the flash, but it was even worse. I wish we could go back and have a do-over!

You know what they say, you guys: those who meet Craig Owens together, stay together.

What a fucking epic day. I’ve been going to so many shows by myself lately, and it felt really great to have a crew there that night. Even Henry said, “Yeah. It was good” when normally his highest praise is “it wasn’t bad.” Henry actually said the g-word!

Going to work the next day sucked, but it was totally worth the exhaustion. Cleveland, you’re so close, yet so far away.

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