Last winter, I suffered through this bizarre episode where everyone around me accidentally had me convinced that Boz Scaggs didn’t exist, but then he started popping everywhere and I felt a small victory. Hats off to the universe for backing me on Boz Scaggs’ existence.

Thank god I often have old people radio stations playing in my bedroom, else I may not have known that Boz was going ON TOUR and that there was a Pittsburgh show! This was less than a week after I got a new succulent and named him Boz Scaggs; not trying to say I’m magic but I’M MAGIC.

I looked up tickets right away and my heart sank a little when I saw that they were pretty expensive — starting at $67. You have to remember that the shows I go to are for relatively small bands and I’m usually paying less than $20 for a ticket.

But you guys — fucking Boz Scaggs. He played a role in my childhood, and 2015 seems to be The Year of Sentimental Shows for me (Mike + the Mechanics, Howard Jones, SNOOP DOGG?!), so I knew that I had to go, and I also knew it meant going alone because we’re not made of money, you guys. I know it’s shocking that my blog isn’t pulling in the big bucks. But then someone bought two paintings from me on Etsy, which equaled the cost of one Boz Scaggs ticket + fees almost down to the cent. If that’s not fate stepping in…

So I was able to splurge and buy a ticket for the center seat in the first row of the balcony (there were no good seats left on the floor, and I prefer the balcony anyway), which is how I wound up spending what might have been an ordinary Sunday evening at the Carnegie Library Music Hall with several hundred of my elder-mates.

I arrived early enough to go to the “bar area” —which is just a table of Barefoot wine varietals  set up in the library— and bought a plastic cup of cheap Zinfandel. I stood alone, laughing to myself, sipping the wine, and texting Henry.

“I am the youngest one here by a very large margin. People are staring at me suspiciously!”

Henry’s response was his famously succinct “LOL.”

There was a teenage girl there with her dad and she looked PISSED.

I wasn’t sure what appropriate “Going to the Boz Scaggs Show” attire consisted of, so I just wore jeans and my favorite Lauren Conrad sweater. I realized immediately that I was just fine with what I was wearing, right smack in the middle of Steelers-sweatshirted Yinzers and over-dressed Big Night Out broads, like this one old woman in a long fur vest who almost fell thanks to the voracity of her seat-dancing during Lowdown, and an old bitch who looked like she was at the fucking opera. Her husband was dressed like he just walked off a yacht to the tune of “What a Fool Believes.” Aging yuppies are amazing to watch.

There were a lot of blazers, loafers, and yes Alyson—a sea of slacks! One woman in her 60s had on a sheer white blouse, and I mean SEE-THRU, with nothing more than a black bra underneath. She was sitting in the front row off to the side, and I sure hope Boz was able to see her from where he stood onstage.

After downing my $5 wine, I made my way upstairs and handed an elderly usher my ticket.

“Oh, this is the BEST seat up here!” he said enthusiastically.

That’s one of the perks of going solo — there’s always that one lone vacancy in the middle of the sold-out seats!

“Don’t throw any of your clothes over the balcony!” he laughed, and then I started cracking up too, at the thought of old ladies throwing bras on stage for Boz.

My seat was right smack in the middle of the first row of the balcony: a perfect view, 100% unadulterated by fat, bobbing heads and wanton usage of cell phones. (However, the Library Music Hall ushers are quick to smack down on recording—pictures are fine, though. This makes me happy, because even though I do love to post Instavids at shows, I can’t stand it when people hold up their phones for the entire show. I like to grab my 15-second clip for sentimental reasons and then shove my phone back in my pocket.)

There was no opener, so I just relaxed in my seat between two sets of old couples and enjoyed the people-watching. I don’t know why, but I expected to see at least one person wearing culottes for some reason and I was really sad when that sighting didn’t happen.

For the record, the only reason I know what culottes are is because my idiot MOM made me wear them in elementary school, because nothing adds to frumpiness like wide-legged knee-length shorts paired with ANKLE SOCKS AND MOCCASSINS, THANKS MOM.

Boz and his band came out a little after 8:00 and the night of blue-eyed soul and soft rock jams. His backing band was incredibly jazzy — there were even a few sax solos! This pleased the old people greatly and much cheering and exploding applause occurred throughout the night.  I was happy for these people to be out enjoying an artist that they loved, instead of wasting away at home, eating liver and onions and watching QVC. I hope that I’m still going to shows when I’m old.

Boz played a lot of stuff from his new album, none of which I knew, but that didn’t make it any less enthralling. I love his voice so much, and that band of his was FIRE. His back-up singer, Monet, was a show-stealer though. Halfway through the set, he said, “This is my favorite part of the night, when I get to introduce the talented Monet. But I just have to tell you: better buckle your seat belts.”

Boz took a step back while Monet blew our faces off with her rendition of “Until You Come Back To Me (That’s What I’m Gonna Do).” She can SANG, ya’ll. Every last arthritic body shot up from their seats to give her a standing ovation and I was like, “FUCK YES I was here for that!” Totally following her on Instagram now.

Boz played three of my favorites: Lowdown, Lido Shuffle, and motherfucking JOJO, which he prefaced by saying he wrote with David Foster and I got really giddy because I was obsessed with David Foster in the early 90s when he hosted an informercial for something that I no longer remember but I feel like it was some sort of radio or stereo system? Google is not helping me.

Sadly,  “Look What You’ve Done To Me” was not in the set list for Boz’s last show of the tour, and this pains me because I noticed it was played at some of the other shows, ugh. I love that song! There was, however, another slow jam that he played that I didn’t really recognize, but it gave me the “Sitting In Pappap’s Kitchen” feels and I started openly weeping, which should shock no one as I always cry at least once at every show.

(You should have seen me at the Eisley and Copeland show last Friday. Two bands that make me sentimental to begin with, playing on a night that a Paris concert venue was just attacked by terrorists, and then someone gets engaged on stage!? My face was slick.)

Boz ended the last of several encores by 9:45 and said one final good night. I’m not used to getting out of a show so early, but I didn’t mind — now I’d have time to go home and watch The Walking Dead before it got spoiled for me!

***

What a great fucking show. Boz is like, 71 now, so I’m happy that I got the chance to see him. Even though the very next morning, I pulled something in my back when I was brushing my hair! Tell me that’s not a side effect of being immersed in a crowd of grandparents for a whole evening. It still hurts, too, FYI.

We were talking about the show at work and Todd said, “I knew it was real when Glenn said he knew who Boz Scaggs is.” And then Amber was like, “Oh yeah, how was the…..Bose…..Scaggs concert?” She will never be able to say his name right!

Life is so weird. I started the week having water squirted in my face by Beau Bokan at the Blessthefall show, and now I was ending it in what could have been the set of a new Cocoon movie. BOZ SCAGGS BRINGS THE LIFE FORCE.

(Ugh, now I’m thinking about how dreamy Steve Guttenberg is.)

I’m really excited to write about something different today, you guys! J/K. This is totally about another show.

But not just ANY show.

During the summer, when I was at the height of my Warped Tour frenzy, my favorite thing to do was watch YouTube videos of it. There was this one YouTuber who was on the entire tour, making videos for one of the labels. I can’t remember which one exactly, but I want to say it was Fearless. Anyway, he was funny as fuck, way better than the “actual” YouTubers who were there as some strange, freak show attraction, so I subscribed to his channel and then made Henry watch all of his videos too.

Oh, his name is Jarrod Alonge. I guess that’s vital for people who enjoy details.

One of the videos he made was a series called Bless the Office, which was a spoof of The Office, starring the band Blessthefall. I have no beef with BTF, but I also never really paid much attention to them. However, these videos made me fall in love with them as people and I figured it was time to actually give their music a chance.

(These seriously make me laugh so hard. Being a scene kid is great, you guys.)

And then, about a month later, they announced that Slaves would no longer be a part of the BTF headlining tour, and that they had replaced them with EMAROSA.

FATE.

The show was at Mr. Small’s last Monday. It was Chooch’s first time seeing a show there, and we were all really excited because Emarosa is just the best. Henry was excited too, but his demeanor never changes. Bradley saw us when we were waiting in line and he called up to us and asked us how we were doing and Henry was the only one who was able to remain calm and answer him back like a normal human. Chooch and I gave each other the OMG DYING BYE looks and then giggled because we’re 12-year-old girls and someone noticed us.

(I mean, Chooch wrote about all this too but after I read it, I was like, “OK don’t act like this didn’t faze you, liar.” But look, it’s not easy writing about things that hit you hard!)

Once we were inside, the very first thing Chooch noticed was that a girl he knew from school was there with her friends. I think she was in 8th grade when he was in 1st, and they know each other because she was the classroom helper and he was wearing a Pierce the Veil shirt one day, so you know—-soul-mates. She kept waving to him and trying to get him to come over to her but he was Suddenly Shy and practically buried himself under Henry’s arm until Cane Hill started, at which point he began throwing horns with abandon.

I really enjoyed Cane Hill, but then Oceans Ate Alaska came on and my hysterical declaration of “Hashtag Obsessed!!!” was met with a heavy frown etched into Henry’s face. I’ve listened to them before, but hearing them live was a whole new ballgame. Those breakdowns tho. It’s like having the year 2008 wrap its big, warm arms around me.

Seriously, fuck Alaska.

The three of us moved all the way up to the side of the stage for Emarosa because we fucking love them, don’t you know that by now? It’s like #lifegoalsreached now that I get to see them with Chooch. He was 2 when I started listening to them back in 2008, so this is literally the stuff he was raised on and it makes my heart swell to watch him get all excited and smile so big when he sees them walk on the stage. I think this might be my favorite part of parenting, you guys.

Emarosa came out hard, but I could kind of tell that Bradley was feeling under the weather. But you would barely even know it because he was still running into the crowd, doing flips, and spinning Will upside down. He told us after the show that he thought he maybe had the flu, and I just can’t imagine what it must take to still get up on that stage and perform with such fire. I get a tiny cold and I can barely manage to SIT AT MY DESK and do a job which requires 0% LABOR.

So much goddamn respect for this band.

(The sound on this is terrible, but you know me and my compulsion for Instavids.)

After their set, Bradley came out and went right over to Chooch and hugged him, which was amazing. In my mind, we talked for a bit, but what really happened was Bradley tried to make normal conversation and Chooch and I were just like HNNNNNNG. Chooch somehow was able to ask him to sign his new Emarosa shirt, and Bradley teasingly sighed, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll sign your shirt.” Chooch looked at me and started laughing because he LOVES being teased.

Bradley asked if we were going to stick around, but Chooch made it clear all evening that he was leaving after Emarosa. But I stayed because I have this thing about leaving shows early. Plus, after the Warped Tour videos, I felt compelled to see Blessthefall at least once. So I quietly slunk back into the stage area and went straight to the bar for a cider now that my under-aged concert buddy was gone.

Stick To Your Guns was on next and they were OK. I did not feel strongly about them one way or the other, and that’s fine because Chooch was texting me the whole time from Henry’s phone because they apparently came back to Mr. Small’s after Chooch ate and he got to meet the rest of Emarosa and I’m SO JEALOUS because I still haven’t met the rest of them and here’s why: I AM A SHRINKING VIOLET when it comes to meeting bands that I really love. Ugh, I hate myself.

Henry told me later that Will asked him if this was their first Emarosa show. “Did you tell him that I saw them in Buffalo in 2008? With Pierce the Veil?!” I frantically texted back.

“No. You weren’t there, so why would I tell him that.”

“DID YOU TELL HIM ABOUT ME AT ALL?!?!”

“No.”

FUCK.

And then apparently Bradley was asking him what shows we’re going to next.

“DID YOU TELL HIM I’M GOING TO COPELAND AND EISLEY ON FRIDAY!?” I asked.

And he didn’t! He told him that the next show is Never Shout Never in February. Whatever, Henry. You’re so dumb.

“WAS IT SUPER AWKWARD TALKING TO THEM!?” I asked.

“Uh, no. They’re just regular guys. They were all extremely nice.”

Oh I could just die.

Henry said that Chooch was besides himself, couldn’t even talk.

I can’t blame him! I love that he already has such respect and admiration for musicians, at such a young age.

Meanwhile, I was still inside for Blessthefall and I don’t regret it. Even though I don’t know very much of their music, it was hard not to get swept up in the energy. Plus, Beau Bokan sprayed me in the face with his water and touched my hand, so it was a pretty fantastic night for this scene kid in an old lady suit.

God. That night and all of its feels. I will never, ever forget it.

The next morning, Chooch woke up on his own and promptly threw on his new Emarosa shirt. He couldn’t wait to show everyone at school, and now he wants to buy a frame to keep it in. Everything about this rules.

***

Sadly, Emarosa ended up dropping off the rest of the tour yesterday because of health issues, and I feel so terrible for them, yet really proud that they were able to play the shows that they could and win over more fans. Forever my faves.

On Monday, we went to Mr. Smalls. It was my first time there and we went to see Emarosa. But the main band was Bless The Fall, I didn’t stay for that. When we were in line and went up the stairs, Bradley (THE SINGER OF EMAROSA) waved at me smiling and I waved back. At Warped Tour I waited in line to meet him and I told him that he was better than Jonny and he agreed so that is probably how he remembers me.

When we got in there was a guy who gave out paper wrist bands but he drew a smiley face on my hand because I was kid and I wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol.

When I walked in to the stage area I turned around and I saw the eighth grader who had a crush on me in 1st grade. She had her friend with her, and their boyfriends.  I felt kind of shy because I hadn’t seen her in a while. When Emarosa came on Me and my mom moved up to the front so I could see better.

I liked Emarosa my whole life because my mom has listened to them since I was a baby.

Bradley is so nice because when Emarosa was over and me and daddy were leaving he came right over to me and gave me a hug. (:   He’s not a drugatic like Jonny Craig.

He also gave the other fans who wanted a hug, a hug. Then when I asked him to sign my shirt he said “Allrighttt I’ll sign your shirt.” :P    When me and daddy went to leave (mommy stayed for the rest of the show by herself) the whole band was outside packing everything back up. We left to eat and came back hoping they would still be here so I can get a picture with the whole band. We went to Hardees to eat. When we came back for the picture, Bradley came over to us and asked us what we wanted again. When I told him I wanted a picture with the whole band he went around looking for everyone. I also wanted them all to sign my shirt, I got that.

When we got everyone, daddy said “my phone is dying because SOMEONE’S been using it.” Then Bradley kindly gave him his phone to take the picture, and he texted it to daddy. I was so happy that this was happening. So I had the BEST NIGHT of my life. The picture with my shirt signatures is on my Instagram, so check it out. @butt_jam.

***

This is my favorite Emarosa song because it sounds better than Johnny and also its better the original version of Mad. Maybe you can check out more Emarosa songs!

This afternoon, I went to the Hollywood Theatre for a viewing of the La Dispute documentary “Tiny Dots.” It was nice to have some time alone, in the dark, some time to be still and quiet and just decompress, phone tucked away in my purse. The last few weeks have been exhausting. October in general was so exhausting, it was hard to enjoy it at times.

I had a ticket for the most recent show La Dispute played in Pittsburgh. It was sold out and I was really looking forward to it. And then that ended up being the day that Marcy died. I couldn’t even get out of bed that day, not even for a show. So, I didn’t go. I think that was only the second time in my life that I had a ticket for a show and didn’t use it.

It still hurts, you know? One day last week was National Cat Day and I’m sorry, but I had to stop looking at Facebook and Instagram that day because it was too hard. I didn’t want to see pictures of your cats.

But watching this film kind of inspired me. I left there wanting to write again.

I can’t remember when I last wrote something that wasn’t just a blog post or a product description on Etsy. Most days I feel like that ship has sailed, and I don’t feel like swimming after it.

(That song up there, though. My god. Even if you don’t care for this kind of music, you could probably relate to those words. So many of Jordan’s phrases just leave me stunned.)

I must be getting at going to shows alone because as soon as I saw that Better Off was coming to town with Pentimento, I just bought one ticket and assumed that Henry wouldn’t be joining me. My assumption was correct!

The show was at Smiling Moose, and those shows always have early start times because the Moose always has late night shit going on. Knowing I would have to go there right after work, I brought clothes to change into. My boss-person Rachel passed me on the way out of the bathroom after I changed and commented on my band shirt, which opened up my favorite can in the world: Cure worms. Turns out, Rachel’s brother-in-law grew up across the street from Robert Smith in England. MIND = BLOWN. And she said it so casually, too! I can’t believe we have worked together for over five years and this is the first I’m hearing about it.

I WORK WITH SOMEONE IS RELATED THROUGH MARRIAGE TO SOMEONE WHO PROBABLY SAW ROBERT SMITH CUTTING THE GRASS OR TAKING OUT THE GARBAGE AT SOME POINT.

Remember to breathe, Erin.

My personal Lyft driver picked me up from work as usual and then booted me out of the car at Smiling Moose around 5:45. The hardest part for me is walking in. I’m cool once I get inside and assess the room, but those several minutes leading up to that moment totally ravage my stomach. Typically, I’d go straight to the bar and get a drink to help calm my nerves, but this time, I went straight upstairs and waited for Quarter Crisis to come on. They’re a local band and it was their first real show, so there were some family members milling about and I was thankful for that because their elder status helped me blend in a bit. These types of shows tend to draw in the high school and early college crowd, which is strange to me because the music definitely isn’t young or immature in any way. People at work asked me what kind of bands were playing and I just gave them the vague “pop punk” response, but that’s really not what genre this is at all. I like to consider it modern emo, to be honest. And also, I hate labels.

Old people acting giddy for the family band. One of the Quarter Life guys was standing near me for a short time before they were ready to play, and a woman who I assume was his mom kept trying to get him to just please stay at her house after the show. He was all, “Look, I appreciate it, honestly, but I have class at 9am.”

“So, you can leave at 7!” she countered, so this is where my excellent deductive reasoning skills figured that he must go to some college outside of Pittsburgh.

“I’ll be fine!” he promised. “I’ll drink a lot of coffee tonight, I swear.” This didn’t seem to satisfy her but then one of his bros showed up and bro-hugged him so she sighed and then started annoying her granddaughter about taking pictures of the show and the granddaughter snapped and said, “Grandma, staaaahhhp! I will just take pictures with my phone! God!” because I guess grandma didn’t know how to use her camera, who even knows with grandmas these days.

Anyway, the band had some sound hiccups during their set, but I still appreciated them for what they are and was glad that I was there to help out fill out the room some (or, with my girth, A LOT). My favorite part was when the singer pointed out that his older brother and dad were filling in and that’s when I noticed that the dad behind the drumset could have easily have been GLENN.

I DIED.

Me, leaning against a wall, cracking up so hard that my ghost gave up right there and reverse-slurped right out of my mouth.

We had a fun convo about it this morning at work!

Meanwhile, I had scarfed down a cheese sandwich before leaving work that day, having the foresight to actually prepare something before leaving home that morning, knowing that I wouldn’t have time to eat a real dinner before the show. Because I ate it so fast, I kept burping up cheese and mustard, so you’re welcome, anyone standing close enough to me to catch a whiff of my regurgitated culinary wizardry.

Next up was Carolyn and Caleb, but every time one of the other bands would give them a shout out, I thought it was some variation of Carrots and Kale. They were….OK. Inoffensive. Nice, complementary voices. But, kind of boring and too twangy at times. Also, “Kale” resembled that d-bag Pittsburgh Dad (if you’re not from Pittsburgh, he’s a “comedian” who makes parody videos of stereotypical Pittsburgh dads, and I have yet to find a single one of them even mildly humorous, but people here flip their shit over him for some reason) so I immediately felt inclined to dislike him. They also seemed to take themselves too seriously.

Sterile and bland. Their Bob Dylan cover was tight though and I don’t even really like Bob Dylan.

I wish Carrots would have sung some things on her own instead of just being Kale’s accessory.

There was a girl standing alone near me and part of me thought, “MAYBE SHE IS HERE ALONE TOO AND YOU SHOULD SAY HELLO I AM HERE ALONE AND SHE WILL SMILE AND SAY OH THANK GOD ANOTHER SINGLE DAME!” and then you will become besties and go to every show together from then on until you realize that the reason she kept tossing furtive glances over her shoulder is because she was waiting for her actual friends to arrive and of course she wasn’t alone because why would she be and also no one has said “dame” in a hundred years.

Also, I was the only girl there not wearing some combination of olive, maroon, black and cream. Hot pink Cure t-shirt up on this bitch’s torso, thanks.

A Will Away was completely unexpected. They had some major technical difficulties which prevented them from starting on time, so their set got cut short, and that was a shame because they had That Sound, you guys. The vocals and the music and the lyrics, sad boy music reppin’! I wish that Carrots and Kale hadn’t been in the line-up, affording A Will Away some more time.

I think “Home” was my favorite.

I bought their EP after the show and I’m already looking forward to seeing them again!

And then it was time for Better Off! I didn’t get any pictures of them because I was too excited and caught up in the music, OMG can you imagine. The sound was questionable in the beginning, but it gradually got better (I have issues with the sound at Smiling Moose no matter what — the room is so goddamn small and the sound is actually too loud at times and vocals can be hard to hear). I was really feeling it hardcore, especially when they launched into “Dresser Drawer” WHICH IS MY FAVORITE:

And cue more technical difficulties. They ended up having to cut their set short after like, I don’t know, FOUR SONGS. I was pretty wrecked, but I have faith that I will see them again real soon because I’m basically stalking them on every social media site so that I don’t miss a single thing. This is why I don’t have time to keep up with the Kardashians. Too many bands to stalk.

Something about this band reminds me of the Jealous Sound, and that’s a really good thing. There’s not one bad egg on their new album and you should all go buy it right now. Or here.

OR MAYBE STREAM IT FIRST, GOD.

(That took a lot of effort so that’s how you know I feel strongly about this album. Go make yourself a PB&J and think of me while you eat it.)

Pentimento was headlining, and I have to admit that I’m only just a casual fan of these guys. I like their sound just fine, but last night was a game changer; now I’m on their jocks hard bro. It’s unclear to me how anyone could stand still during their set, but most of the room was going nuts and that shit is contagious. My legs are pretty sore today.

“Thanks for coming out on a school night!” Jeremiah, Pentimento’s frontman, joked. I cheered and laughed along with everyone else, but my 36-year-old self was crying on the inside. Please, I would never let something as insignificant as my age stand in the way of going to shows, but I’m not going to sit here and pretend that it isn’t occasionally awkward at certain times. At least this one seemed to have more college-aged people there.

I tweeted something similar to that after the show, and a guy who was there last night replied to let me know that he’s right behind me, turning 31 in a few weeks, and that he’ll forever be the old guy at shows. And I’m like “good for you, guy! don’t ever stop!” All I know is that I have definitely been having better experiences at shows in my 30s than ever before. This is going to sound amazingly contrary given the fact that I paint myself as someone who is really concerned about age (see also: last 8 sentences), but now that I’m older, I feel less pressure to look or act a certain way at shows, because who gives a fuck. I’m not there to impress a single person. Ultra Chill: Unlocked.

Later on, Jeremiah gave a very heartfelt mini-speech about how they aren’t sure how much longer they’re going to have the opportunity to live out their dream, and how they never know if a show they’re playing is going to be their last, but they never take it for granted. Hearing gratitude pouring forth from such a down to earth band really gives me hope that the scene isn’t entirely going down the shitter. And of course, I always picture my own kid up there and hope he can someday turn a passion into a career.

But then I started thinking about this in my own terms and had a mild panic attack because I don’t ever want to have that “last show” I go to but I know it’s inevitable, because hello mortality. My mind was reeling there for awhile until they started playing again and then everything in my head calmed down. You can’t do shit like that to me! My mind is fragile.

It’s such a good feeling when you go to a show alone and then once the show starts, you suddenly don’t feel like you’re alone anymore. It was a good crowd. A SPARSE crowd, but definitely good quality.  Youth might be fleeting, but I’m not going to let go to this part of my life that easily, not when going to shows makes me feel so alive and hyper.

And if I ever stop feeling that way? Stick a fork in me, because I’m done.

This concludes another predictable chapter of the Emo Erin Diaries. Thank you for yawning, I mean, reading.

I have been playing the shit out of the new Better Off album “Milk” for the last few weeks. There is this deliciously messy image of a multi-layered PB&J on the cover that has  been triggering some fierce feels for me lately and I finally put my finger on it the other day.

It reminds me of my old hair stylist, Gwen.

In the fall of 2001, my friend / co-worker Carol arranged for me to visit her stylist Gwen after I endured the worst dye job ever at J.C. Penney’s. My hair was tiger-striped and I had to wear a hat.

I do not rock the hat look well, you guys.

I liked Gwen immediately. For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable enough in the swivel chair to engage in non-stop conversation with a stylist. Typically, I would just stare off into space and pray that I wouldn’t be spoken to. I walked out of the salon that night with haute highlights and a new regular stylist.

Full disclosure though, Gwen was far from perfect. She had abhorrent time-management skills;  it would take her upwards of four hours to complete my cut and color because she was always running off to call her mom or have a smoke or flat out forgetting what she was doing. One time she even left me sitting there idly while she ran across the street to get a cappuccino.

It would anger me so badly that I would always consider walking out. But then she would come back and apologize profusely and we would start bullshitting and she would tell me I was funny and all would be forgotten. An abusive relationship if anything.

About a year later, she lost her job at the salon. She was accused of stealing. But she didn’t do it, honestly, you guys! I only half believed her. She gave me her home phone number and from then on, I would get my hair managed in her garage. She lived in a nice house in the suburbs near my old turf. She had a handsome husband who worked for the FBI and two beautiful daughters who I would eat three-layered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with at their kitchen counter while waiting for the dye to set. Gwen made sensational PB&Js. So good that I became spoiled and when Henry would attempt to make me one, it would get tossed back at his face.

(That may have also had something to do with that pesky bi-polar thingaling too, though.)

Every other month, I’d arrive at her house for my appointment. If I was lucky, she would remember and actually be home to open the door for me. Other times, her husband would come to the door and tell me he didn’t know where she was, but I was welcome to wait. Sometimes, no one would be there at all and I would sit on the front steps like a lost puppy with mange.

After some time, her appearance began to change. The skin on her legs were marred with red bumps and scabs and her hair consistently looked unwashed. She would tell me stories of her new friends that were prostitutes. Legit prostitutes!  I was horrified but at the same time loved hearing stories of how she picked up these mythological creatures and drove them to “appointments.” How does a suburban housewife get such a gig, I wondered. I don’t think Craigslist was around then.

Sometimes, Gwen would forget to have the dye ready and I would have to drive her to the beauty supply store five minutes away. Seems like a hassle, but for gas money and a candy bar, there’s little I won’t do.

Despite her erratic behavior, my hair still came out shining.

Gwen was more than just my hair stylist, though. She had become my sounding board. I would cry to her about my nightmare job at Weiss Meats, and she understood because she knew the people there.  Gwen was someone who I might not have been able to rely on in terms of being on time to do my hair, but I could tell her anything and feel comfortable doing so. I could talk candidly about Henry and she was one of the few people who never made me feel weird or self-conscious about our age difference, which seemed way more extreme when I was 23 and Henry was 37.

She became sort of a running joke with my friends. “How long did Gwen leave you sitting on her front porch this time?” they’d ask. No matter how angry she would make me, she would always do something to make up for it, like only charging me half price or plying me with chocolate, and I would leave her house smiling.

My then-friend Keri’s wedding was coming up and I was desperate for hair therapy. Gwen eventually called me from her mother’s house; her husband had kicked her out, but if we made the appointment while he was at work, she said, we could sneak into her house. It was like renegade hair styling with her, you guys. A true, ridiculous adventure every time. She gave me highlights the week before the wedding, and then scheduled me to come back the morning of the wedding so she could style it. When I told Keri, she panicked. “Oh my God, she’s going to make you late! Do I have to remind you that you’re my bridesmaid?” But Gwen pulled through with plenty of time to spare. It made me think that she was turning over a new leaf. Maybe she bought a watch?

And then I never heard from her again. I’d call her, but her voice mail was perpetually full. The last I heard, she had been picked up in a park for prostitution and was even heavier into drugs. It made me realize that you could have the nicest house in a suburb called Pleasant Hills, for Christ’s sake, and still succumb to a stereotypical life led by someone living in a tenement.

I quit calling her and found a new stylist, one who worked within walking distance of my house and never, and I mean never, left me waiting.  I eventually just stopped wondering about Gwen altogether.

One August morning in 2006, Carol informed me that in the beginning of July, Gwen had OD’d. She was 41.

I realized then that I didn’t have any photos of Gwen. I wrote in my journal that I was afraid I was going to forget her. Yet here I am, nine years later, listening to Better Off, eating a three-layered PB&J that Henry made me per request, and thinking of the whirlwind in my life that was Gwen.

Henry’s PB&J still doesn’t have the same magical effect as Gwen’s crustless creations had, but it made me feel some kind of comfort.

Sometime over the summer, I was outside taking a walk during my lunch break when Terri texted me that Armor For Sleep had announced a very small tour to celebrate the 10th anniversary of their best album, What To Do When You Are Dead. I freaked out. Then I saw the dates and my heart sank when I saw Pittsburgh wasn’t on the list.

Philly was, though! And it was a Saturday show! However, it also happened to be the weekend after Riot Fest.

I knew there was no way Henry was going to go for this, but I called him at work anyway and his response was LOL.

So then I went back to work in a complete huff and whined to Glenn whose response was LOL.

Of course, I could just go by myself, and that’s what I probably would have wound up doing because the thing about Armor For Sleep is that they were an extremely influential band for me in their short existence and they’ve been broke up since 2009.

I was lucky enough to have seen them at least once, in 2008, but unlike a lot of bands, they didn’t do a grandiose “farewell” tour, except for a random reemergence at the 2012 Bamboozle which I tried to get Christina to do to with me since this was during one of our brief, short-lived “makeup” stints, but the one major thing that happened to Christina during the Great Tragic Friendship Blackout was that she basically “grew up” and quit caring about music. Don’t worry, not everything was different—she was still a gigantic lying piece of shit! Thumbs up for consistency!

This was our band! This was the album we would listen to together on so many late night drives to Cincinnati. (I used to make her take the Greyhound to Pittsburgh so I wouldn’t have to drive to Cincinnati alone, hahaha. Somehow, I was fine driving back home by myself though.) In a nutshell, What To Do When You Are Dead is a concept album from 2005 about a boy who kills himself and then quickly realizes all he’s left behind. I love me a concept album when it’s done properly, and this one was fresh, poignant, and timeless. In fact, it was so relatable, that I had to stop listening to it for a certain chunk of time in my life.

The wonderful thing about Henry is that even when it seems like he doesn’t get it, like all those years I cried in his face while listening to this album, he actually really did get it. He knew that this was one those “can’t miss” shows for me, and that is why he changed his mind and said, we will go to Philly but you and Terri can go without me.

(When I told Glenn that I got my way as usual, he was pretty disgusted and said, “Henry needs to stop rewarding bad behavior.” Oh god, did I laugh!)

The show was at the Trocadero, which I was happy about because it’s so beautiful inside. We started the night with drinks up in the balcony and of course I chose a spot right in front of two Chatty Chats who only spoke louder to each other once the opening band, Cold Seas, started playing. Terri and I kept tossing annoyed glares over our shoulders, but they were oblivious. How are people so unaware sometimes?! I had to laugh because they applauded and “Woo!”d after some of the songs, and then at one point, one of them shouted to the other, “I love mellow shit like this.” Terri and I made eye contact and started cracking up. “How are they even listening!?” she cried.

They split after the first band so we were able to enjoy Prawn without incessant Bro Talk being projected at the backs of our heads. But then I realized that a piece of my bracelet broke off so I was too focused on exploring the floor under my feet and experiencing mild anxiety because I only just bought that bracelet at Riot Fest and I hate when jewelry breaks! I have an entire drawer full of broken jewelry waiting for Henry to fix them. Terri ended up really enjoying Prawn a lot, and after their set, I found the missing piece underneath the girl’s butt who was sitting in front of me, so now that my bracelet is whole again, I will have to give Prawn my undivided attention at home.

After Prawn, we went downstairs. We had a really great spot up there in the balcony, but I just really needed to be down there on the floor for this. It didn’t feel right any other way. Terri was fine with whatever, because she is the BEST, so we squeezed and tiptoed our way to about three heads back from the stage, and over to the side. There was literally no one on the right side of us and for as packed as the Troc was that night, we somehow managed to make it through the whole show without incident! Except for some mad-looking girl who kept edging her way closer to Terri and one of the security guys who made me hit my head off the archway I was standing in front of when he pushed his past to pull some guy out of the crowd. Other than that, and the 87 times I hit  my head on my own, it was great!

I’m not going to get into great detail here, because short of splashing the computer screen with a bucket of my hot, salty tears and blood, how else can I really describe the “Ow” factor of this show? The came out and, with minimal fanfare, launched right into “Car Underwater” and my heart fucking stopped, restarted, and then exploded like a water balloon filled with Spring of 2005. It was like that, and on and on, over and over, for 90 minutes of pure, sentimental, turn this moment into a commemorative Christmas ornament, bliss. I can’t remember the last time I sang so loud at a show (sorry, tall black guy in front of me) and it felt so cleansing to purge even more of those pesky lingering feelings. Not all of them. I’ll keep some. But the amount I’ve been hoarding all of these years is unhealthy and makes me feel like a broken record.

They didn’t play the album in complete order, and they did sprinkle in some songs from their other two albums, which I was ambivalent about at first, but then I realized that if they only played WTWYAD, that show would’ve ended much earlier and I wanted to spend as much with these guys as possible. Just seeing them together again on that stage was beautiful. I don’t know what this means for them as a band, if they will decide that they missed making music and consider getting back together, so I am so grateful that I got the chance to see them that night. This band, and especially that album, has touched so many lives over the years and it was really nice to see that the reception for this short run they’re doing has been great.

^^^Back in 2005, I had emailed the band to tell them how much I loved them (probably in my most psychotic manner). My email signature was a link to my old my LiveJournal and it said “Have you had your Vagynafondue today?” PJ was the one who replied to my email and we had this ridiculous discussion about “vagina fondue” and seeing him all these years later made me crack up at that memory. I wish I still had that email.

Did I cry a lot? YOU BET YOUR INTERNET-STRAINED EYES I DID. Especially during “Basement Ghost Singing” because that song has some twisted meaning to me. However, it wasn’t a sad cry really. I promised myself when I woke up that morning that I wasn’t going to let the past dictate how tonight would make me feel. I refused to get that awful, sick-to-my-stomach feeling of crippling grief and heartbreak. I was going to enjoy the music that was prevalent during a very formative time of my life. It was going to be good.

And instead, it turned out to be amazing. Because I was there with my friend Terri, who gets it, who doesn’t judge, and who loves this shit just as much as I do. I’m so glad that I got to share this experience with her! Armor For Sleep 4ever!

Another intensive therapy session in the books.

Let me preface this with a preemptive apology because I know without even reading it that this post is sloppy as fuck. I wrote it like a lunatic on frosted Ritalin. I JUST GET SO EXCITED ABOUT THESE THINGS! One day I will come back and edit. Months later. I’m such a professional.

Sunday was a great day! We had the best weather of all three days (dry, sunny and warm!), a really great Lyft driver (Venus!) who dropped us off at alternate entrance which had NO LINE. And apparently the main gate hadn’t opened yet because there was practically no one inside. It was eerie and quiet. We had time to kill before any of the bands started, so we finally got some shopping in. I’m still daydreaming about all of the merch booths, to be honest. (Just to be clear, you know that anytime I say “to be honest,” everything else is a bold-faced lie, right?)

Interestingly, we noticed that the schedule for Sunday had been revised because a band had dropped off, so now there was a block of time for one of the smallest stages that just had three question marks in lieu of a band name. “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!” I asked Henry, who gave me his standard IDGAF glare.

Our experiences at Riot Fest really couldn’t be any more diametrically opposed. It’s like comparing Julie Andrews spinning around in the hills of Saltzburg to Charlie Sheen in Platoon. How we work as a couple is a mystery.

The third and final day of Riot Fest was the one day were I didn’t have a ton of bands that I absolutely needed to see; there were really only three. But there were a few playing on the two smallest stages that I had a passing interest in, so we spent a large portion of the day in that area. This was also the most sparsely populated area, so Henry was extremely thankful. The bands playing on these two stages all day were mostly in the emo/indie category, if I’m forced to pigeon-hole them. It’s a sound that I really love, that No Sleep feel, so I wound up walking away with several new bands pinned to my heart. Loitering at those stages was like being at a mini Fest, which attending has been on my bucket list for years.

(Not Henry though. His review of basically every band we saw all weekend is “*shrug*” so I quit asking him to contribute to these posts.)

• Signals Midwest – Indie/punk band from Cleveland; they had a slight Balance & Composure feel to them, and I was down for it. Solid start to the day and a sneak peek of what the small stages had in store for us that day. I wish that all of the bands had their own merch booths there, like at Warped, because I would have for sure bought their record or a shirt.
  

• Foxtrott – I really am super picky when it comes to female-fronted bands. I don’t know what it is about me and the female voice, but we aren’t friends. However, on the drive from Pittsburgh, I looked up Foxtrott on Spotify and, while there was only one song on there, I actually liked it. When I saw that there was nothing else going on at the same time, I added them to the schedule in my Riot Fest app. (Isn’t technology strange? I barely remember the days where we’d scrawl set times on our hands at festivals. There actual schedules being handed out at the gate every day at Riot Fest, but if you programmed your own schedule into the app, you’d get fifteen-minute reminders to get your ass to a certain stage, and believe me — those were really convenient.)
  

Henry’s style icon during Foxtrott. He also had another style icon who looked like if a young Jeffrey Jones was a gym teacher in the 70s.

• Cayetana – Caught a minute of them because Signals Midwest gave them a shout out so I figured, sure, why not. Turns out they’re a girl band. What is my issue with girl bands?! I think it stems back to my strong adversity to 4 Non Blondes. (Sorry, Linda Perry. You just don’t do it for me.) Let Henry use the porta potty and then we split for the Riot stage.
  
• Kevin Devine – If you can believe it, this was actually Henry’s pick. I never really gave Kevin Devine a chance before (although I did briefly like his collab, Bad Books, with Andy Hull), so when Henry asked me who he was, I was just like, “I dunno, dude. A man who sings with a band.” He’s one of those guys whose music blends into the background for me, but we had nothing else pulling us in a different direction at that time, so we made the hike over to the main stage. And it was a great set! Totally one of those situations where I like a band better live. “Good call, Henry,” I said, giving him a hearty pat on the back. He just sneered at me. Like he does.

• Souvenirs – On the drive to Chicago, I was reading the bios of some of the bands I hadn’t heard of, and Souvenirs mentioned in theirs that they’re influenced by Sunny Day and Mineral. This was enough to get me to the Revolt stage at 2pm. My plan was to watch them for 15 minutes and then run to the main stage to see Hum, but they were so goddamn good that I wound up staying for almost the whole set and sacrificing the beginning of Hum. While we were at their stage, I got a Riot Fest alert saying clarifying the mysterious “???” addition to Sunday’s schedule: Taking Back Sunday were going to fill the slot! I thrust my phone into Henry’s face and even he admitted that it was cool. TBS on that small-ass stage? I consulted the schedule and saw that this conflicted with Andrew McMahon and the Wilderness. But TBS on a stage that small? Sorry, Andrew; can’t pass that one up.

• Hum – As a fan of shoegaze, once upon a time, I needed to see Hum. They were playing the main stage and while they sounded great, it was hard to engage in them because we weren’t very close. It definitely brought back some memories, but I definitely would have preferred to see them in a club venue. I feel like something got lost in translation out there midday, on such a large stage.
• New Politics – We watched two of their songs, but they were pretty bland, radio rock-sounding, and low-energy. Ditched them and went back to the two smaller stages, and thank god for  that because the band playing on the Revolt stage was much better.

• Modern Chemistry – Skipping out on New Politics proved very fortuitous because Modern Chemistry was way more my style. Also, it turned out that I was standing near them during Souvenirs set earlier, when I kept saying to Henry, “God, why can’t you dress like THOSE guys?!” Cling is currently my favorite song of theirs and I’m really anxious to see them again, hopefully soon.

• Taking Back Sunday – Thank god we had already been loitering around this stage, because once word spread about the surprise set, people fucking poured into that tiny area, which guaranteed hadn’t seen that much of a headcount all weekend. There really isn’t a way to describe seeing TBS on such a small stage with no frills, other than FUCKING AWESOME. Total Warped Tour vibes and honestly, I thought it was better than their headlining set. I don’t know many people in my demographic who don’t find certain nostalgia in this band. And there was something special about seeing them that day, all humble and #soblessed to be playing a second set in the middle of the day; it just intensified the feels and hearing those old songs (admittedly, I stopped following them after Louder Now) was such a goddamn throwback. I don’t need all the fancy lights — I just want to see Adam up close, swinging that fucking mic. “We are Riot Festing SO HARD this weekend,” he said at one point, and it was just really nice to see a band of that size and stature so into it and genuinely excited to be there. The crowd was great too and Henry actually said these 30 minutes (yes, they stayed within the 30 minute set time that was vacated!) was the highlight for him of the entire weekend.
  
  • Later on that afternoon, Henry nearly knocked me over when he excitedly pushed my shoulder and said, “LOOK LOOK LOOK!!! It’s Adam!” as Adam Lazzara casually strolled past us as we walking from the Riot Stage. It’s so amusing (and adorable) to me that he (unwittingly) knows so much about the scene that he can recognize people.

• Manchester Orchestra – Man, I kept telling Henry all weekend, “Just wait until you see Manchester. They are so goddamn good. You’re going to love them!” I have only seen them once before and it was one of those shows I attended with a pile of fake Mexican shit (akaex-BFF) so I generally try to block it from my mind. This particular show was in Cleveland, and Manchester was opening for Brand New. I was already a casual fan of theirs, but I remember being 100% blown away by their stage presence. Unfortunately, Christina and I started fighting pretty much right after their set ended, so the memory of this show is completely tarnished for me. It was such a terrible night that I didn’t even blog about it. Ugh. Needless to say, I was really looking forward to a do-over and because of this,Iwantedto be up front. They were playing on the main stage, but itwasstillearly-ish so it wasn’t impossible. I was at the barricade, off to the side (seriously, I can’t stress this enough—never underestimate the power of side-stage) and the girls I was standing next to were so fucking nice, itwasalmostconcerning. The one was obsessing over my finger tattoos and the other was admiring my jewelry and at one point I thought I might get mugged? But no, they were just really nice and added to the beauty of the Manchester Orchestra experience.
  • I haven’t seen pictures of them in awhile, so when the band came out, I was waiting and waiting for Andy Hull until some other guy who sounded exactly like Andy Hull began singing, and that’s when I realized that holy shit, Andy Hull lost a TON of weight.
  • They were just as excellent as I remembered.
    • Um, apparently not according to Henry, though. He had a major adverse reaction to them, to the point that he said it was literally the lowest point of the weekend for him and that he was almost falling asleep and that he hates them. We actually had a mild fight about it last week because I was pressing him for more details. I don’t CARE that he hates them, but I wanted to know WHAT exactly he hated. Andy’s voice? The songs?Theactual music? The fact that Andy made a mockery of Henry’s beloved industry by wearing a trucker hat when he clearly is not a trucker? But Henry was all, “I don’t know! Stop asking me! Don’t make me hate you, too!”Oooh, OK tough guy.
      • It didn’t help that when we were in Philly, Terri had the same questions because she too enjoys herself a little Manchester every now and then.

Cookie Time during Manchester.

• Superheaven – total 90s grunge vibe with these guys and I loved it. Again, those two small stages were killing it on Day Three. I didn’t get a chance to check out the line-up over there on the other days and I have much regret. There were a few bands that I already know and like who were playing there that I had to miss because Riot Fest just has way too much good shit going on at once, bands like Joyce Manor, Sleep On It*, Foxing, Knuckle Puck, and Have Mercy. That might be the biggest first world problem I’ve ever had.
  
  • FUN FACT: On Day Two, a group of guys walked past us early in the day, before any bands were playing, and one of the guys stood out to me. He was wearing a Fuck Seaway shirt and I suddenly had the urge to enthusiastically cry, “THAT’S SICK!” It dawned on me that it was the singer from Bonfires, who recently opened for The Spill Canvas. I excitedly texted my brother Corey about it and then I found out later that Sleep On It brought him out for a song, but of course I missed it.

• Beach Slang – I almost didn’t stick around for them. I’ve listened to them in passing and it was one of those “I don’t care either way” feelings. I definitely didn’t hate it, but it didn’t leave a lasting impression on me. However, seeing them live flipped a switch inside my ears. They’ve got it all: musical ability, good songs, entertaining stage presence, a frontman who could be the next Charles Manson—he’s that effervescent and charismatic. I fell for them hard. HARD. After 30 seconds, Henry leaned in and said, “I’m gonna, um, move back a little and sit down,kbye” and I just murmured, “Yep” and then moved up closer. When James broke a string on his guitar, he tried to get their guitarist Ruben to do the Jonathan Davis beat box from “Freak on a Leash,” but Ruben was like, “No, I will not do that in front of these people” so then some guy in the crowd said that he could do it, and James let him come up to entertain us. It was pretty funny and props to that guy.
  • Also? James has the best, most adorable laugh of all time and I will definitely be seeing them again. THAT IS A THREAT, BEACH SLANG. I am going to come to your show and love you and then not talk to you, so there!
    • Not at all the music, but his voice reminds me a little of Richard Butler (Psychedelic Furs) and Blair Shehan (Knapsack/The Jealous Sound <3).
    • Take all of my money.

• Airborne Toxic Event – Caught the end of their set on the main stage while waiting for Snoop. It was OK. I never really got into them much.
  
• SNOOP -Guys.SnoopDogg.Themotherfucking D-O-G.Doggystyle ruledmyfuckingLYFE in high school. My notebooksandfolderswere covered in Lodi Dodi lyrics and sketches of Snoop. My parents fucking hated this era. HATED. I was such a yo-girl, it was scary at times. And when Riot Fest announced that Snoop wouldbeperformingDoggystyle IN ITS ENTIRETY? Oh snap. We started out closer to the stage, probably around the area we were standing for Faith No More, but I got ridiculously paranoid. This was a much different crowd. Lots of former frat boys, drunk off their asses, high as fuck, looking to relive their youth. We still had about 20 minutesbeforeSnoopwas scheduled to come out and I was alreadyfeelingagitatedand also slightly concerned for my well-being. “Back, move back,” I shouted over the boisterous crowd to Henry. We ended up moving two more times before I finally felt safe and comfortable, and we were REALLY FAR back by then. But I didn’t give a fuck. I could enjoy it just fine back where we were. I really just wanted to know that I was in the same general vicinity of this rapper who was such a huge, defining part of my life. I know that sounds dramatic, maybe, and I wish I could force all of my old high school friends to weigh in on this (probablywithexhaustedsighs and annoyed eye rolls). Anyway, Airborne wrapped up their set on the neighboring Riot Stage and the Rock Stage lit up with green lights. And then…nothing. 7:45 came and went, still no Snoop. 8:00 came and the lights shut off. People started booing.Trashwas thrown on the stage. We waited and waited, for an announcement, something, anything. People started chanting his name. “I don’t think he’s coming,” I said wistfully to Henry. But we stuck around,justin case. And finally, around 8:15, the lights came back on and some DJ came on stage making some grand, flourishing introduction for Snoop, but then Lady of Rage came out instead and started performing Afro Puffs and those of us who weren’t drunk (definitely not the man in front of me) were like “The fuck?” This weird intro just went on and on, because clearly they were stalling, something was definitely happening behind the scenes. I started to get worried that we were going togetsomesecond rate,last minute MC in Snoop’s place, but then he finally came out, flanked by two gyrating dancers and someone dressed as a dog. It was NUTS. However! He didnotplayDoggystyle in its entirety, which was really disappointing. Especially when Drop It Like It’s Hot happened. I hate that song. But!Hedidperform Lodi Dodi and I am not afraid to admit that I cried and then buried my head in Henry’s shoulder. AndIrememberedall of the words, even though I honestly haven’t listened to that album since probably 1996.
  • He spent more time BS’ing on that stage, making big productions of smoking his weed, and was eventually told that he only had 3 minutes left. At this point, he had only performed for about 25 minutes and was supposed to have an hour set, but Riot Fest gave zero fucks that he got a late start. They weren’t going to let him go past 8:45, because Modest Mouse was ready to go on the Riot Stage. So he gets his 3-minute warning and flips the fuck out. I mean, he’s Snoop Dogg, so even when he was flipping out, he was still talking slower than Janna on a Sizzurp high. “Thesebitchassmotherfuckerstryna tell me that I only got three minutes left!Pssssssh, fuck that shit!” and he went on to allude to the fact that it was Riot Fest’s fault that he was late to begin with, and then told his security team to guard the monitors to make sure no one tried to unplug him. He had just finally startedtomoveonto a new track when BOOM, plug pulled. Riot Fest was not fucking around. Snoop’s stage completely shut off and Modest Mouse started playing on the Riot Stage. Right on time. The crowd collectively was like, “AW SHIT!” Who does that to Snoop!? It was hilarious, but it really did suck too because I was looking forward to seeing him all weekend.
    • Still, those 30 minutes were enough to resurrect a little bit of Yo-Girl Erin. Mostly though, it just made me crave Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, which I listened to the next day on the drive back to Pittsburgh. Henry was thrill-thrill-thrill-thrill-thrilled.

• Modest Mouse – I can’tevenpretendto be a Modest Mouse fan. I genuinely liked them in 2004 because it was hard not to. They were fresh-sounding. “Float On” was the jam. That was back when I was really into that type of music, like Death Cab and honestly pretty muchanythingonBarsuk. Riot Fest provides this magical, flower petal-lined path down my musical timeline and it is undeniably funtorevisitall of these old sounds that dominated so many formative stages of my life. We didn’t stick around for much of Modest Mouse, but just having them on my radar again inspired me to dig back into my archives for other old bands I used to listen to love around that same time, like The Prom, French Kicks, Now It’s Overhead, Kind of Like Spitting,TheNotwist, Ugly Casanova.AndobviouslyXiuXiu, but I never stopped listening to them.
  • Vintage feels, man. Vintage feels.

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

I’m beyond depressed that it’s over. But I took so much away from the weekend. Imagine spending one day trudging along from stage to stage at a music festival when music isn’t really your jam. Now tack on two more days and think about how bad that must have sucked for Henry. I don’t know many people my own age who would think something like this is fun, let alone a 50-year-old. I gotta give props to Henry for doing this for me and for barely complaining. I’m going to admit to something GROSS, but we even held hands a lot. Probably because I was in such a state of euphoria that I had no idea what I was doing. But man, I love Henry. I couldn’t spend three intense days like that with anyone else. Thank you for making this whole weekend possible, for making sure I ate enough to survive, and for preventing me from getting lost in some random Chicago ‘hood. Adult supervision is a good thing in some cases. This was one. Henry, you da man.

Shows in general are so therapeutic and cathartic for me, so festivals like this are the equivalent of a lobotomy, I guess. I never realize how much stress I’m carrying and how many bad feels I’m internalizing until I leave a show and realize that I’m holding my head higher and gritting my teeth less. Music chases the bad noise out of my head. I know a lot of people reading this can relate, and if you can’t, just think about the thing in your life that gives you the most pleasure: watching movies, eating fancy food, 10-inch weeners on midgets.

It’s like that.

**********

Last night, I had a dream that my brother Corey was picking me up for work, but he couldn’t find my house. I was getting really pissed because how could he not know where I lived? He asked me to text him directions, so I sent him a map.

It was the map of Riot Fest. The fucking illustrated map of Riot Fest with all of the stages and the Ferris wheel and the bright green Douglas Park grass. Because in my dreams, that is where I live.

Saturday was a beautiful day: blue skies, in the low 60s, and the line to get in wasn’t as clusterfucked as Day One. We only stood for about 10 minutes before the gates opened and had plenty of time to roam before any bands started.

If I had to say one thing about Riot Fest (me? limited to one thing? can you imagine?) it would be this: It feels like your entire person is an excavation site and Riot Fest is digging up parts previously forgotten. Even a week later, I’m still letting music guide me down memory lane and it has been tremendous fun, if not eye-opening to how much much things have really changed. Some of those bands, good Lord, I haven’t listened to them in 10+ years, and the memories and feelings that came over me were overwhelming – most in good ways. These weren’t necessarily old wounds being torn open, but just some decent feels having the dust brushed off. Although it did make it even more evident that 2004 is a time in my life that could use some more healing. Watching some of these bands, like the Dear Hunter for instance, made me ask myself why I ever stopped listening to them in the first place. And I can’t remember. Other than the fact that there is just so much music to listen to and some bands just inevitably fall through the cracks. That felt like the theme for Saturday though; all of these bands that I was so excited to see even though I haven’t listened to any of them in years.

Seriously though, I’m going to try to be brief for real this time. Wish me luck.

• Chon: We recently saw these guys open for Circa Survive a few months ago, so I threw Henry a bone and told him we could skip them. They were the main stage openers though, so I at least got to still hear them while we stocked up on food tickets and bought some deep dish, which we ate like Fat Americans At a Concert while watching….
  
• The Ataris – I have never really given a shit about them, not because I think they suck or anything, just because I never really bothered and no one has ever tried to force them on me, either. I did think it was kind of odd that they were playing so early, but what do I know. They were playing on the Roots stage, which had slight hills on either side of it, so Henry and I stood on one of those while eating our pizza. Because, Fat Americans At a Concert. (Seriously though, if there is one thing I really don’t like, it’s eating at shows. I think it’s weird and kind of disrespectful to stand there shoving food in your face while a band is playing. But we were just trying to get it out of the way because there was a long day of stage-hopping ahead of us. So, we joined the douchebag masses and fed our faces.) “Did he change his hair?” Henry asked. “What? Who?” I replied, which always comes out as a frantic yell while I whip my head from side to side, looking for what, I don’t know. “The singer for the Ataris,” Henry said, pointing at the stage. LIKE I KNOW?! The Ataris could sit next to me on the trolley and I would have no idea it was them. Why is Henry so concerned with band hair?! (Never forget: Sceney Todd.) Then they played their “Boys of Summer” cover and I was like, “Oh yeah. Them.”
• The Dear Hunter – Another band that I used to really love and then inexplicably stopped following. I’ve seen them once before, when they opened for Thrice in 2009, but it was at a really annoying venue and the experience wasn’t optimum. But at Riot Fest, the crowd was fantastic and I could see perfectly because it was the stage with the tiny hills and the crowd wasn’t too large yet. Henry asked, “Who are these guys now?” and that’s basically my favorite question because then I can start rambling useless facts and playing connect-the-dots with other bands (“The singer is Casey Crescenzo and he was also in The Receiving End of Sirens, remember when I loved them, and you know who else was in TREOS? BRIAN SOUTHALL do you even know who BRIAN SOUTHALL is well he basically wrote the entire Isles and Glaciers EP, so go suck a dick, Henry.” And that’s how it goes.) The Dear Hunter was exceptional, but my favorite part, maybe even in my Top 5 moments of the entire weekend, was when the guy next to Henry offered him a joint. Father NARC politely declined and I lost it; Henry was so annoyed, but if I hadn’t laughed with abandon, my cheeks would have holes in them right now from when the force of my pent-up laughter ripped right through like giddy cannonballs.

• Gwar – I mean…I associate Gwar with my ex-boyfriend Psycho Mike and I usually try to avoid them, but this time I was like, “Fuck it, we’ve got some time.” I still don’t like their music, but their performance was mildly entertaining. The only song I knew was “Meat Sandwich” because I’m a poser.
• The Movielife – YES! I was really looking forward to this one, because the Movielife haven’t been together since…2003? Someone help me out here and Google for me; I’m tired. I wasn’t a rabid fan, but I have always liked Vinnie Carauna (he was the main reason I got into Set Your Goals back in 2009) and I Am The Avalanche, so this was a must-see for me. And they fucking brought it! Vinnie looked so happy and the camaraderie within the band seemed great. It was basically one massive singalong while Henry stood there, squinting at his phone, looking at a visual history of the Ataris’ hairstyles.
  

• Dead Milkmen – My friend Bill texted me that morning and said, “Please tell me you’re going to see Dead Milkmen today” and I was like “BILL. YOU KNOW IT.” I’m by no means a huge fan, but this is one of those bands that I used to always hear my BFF Christy’s older brother talking about when we were kids. I’ve always considered this a “big brother” type of band because of that, and it always made me sad that I didn’t have my old big brother who was teaching me about good music. (I mean, I actually do have an older brother, but I didn’t find out about him until I was 19, so…) Then in 8th grade, I had a pen pal from Seattle who used to make me mixtapes and she too loved the Dead Milkmen. I felt like I owed it to my youth to be at the Rock Stage for their set that afternoon, and I’m so glad I was, because they were wonderful, and the crowd was great. I love festivals like this because they give me the opportunity to see bands that I normally wouldn’t see at a club show. My favorite part was when Joe went off on a tangent about hipsters and how he couldn’t believe that Riot Fest was making the Damned and Echo and the Bunnymen play in daylight, all of the hipster bands should be playing those slots because hipsters love the sun and gentrification and riding their bicycles and opening trendy popsicle stands—and it was all true. Every last word of it, and I was laughing so hard because fuck a hipster. I just want to be able to walk into a coffee shop and order a cup of coffee without some asshole with stupid hair, wearing a scarf in summer judging me. I originally planned on leaving their set early to run over and catch the end of Babes In Toyland on the Rebel Stage, but the Dead Milkmen were just too much fun. Even Henry was like, “Yeah” when I said, “Wasn’t that awesome?”

• Desaparecidos – Early-20s Erin pissed her pants when she saw this band on the Riot Fest announcement. Henry was like “Who?” and I snottily yelled, “DON’T YOU REMEMBER THEM?! CONOR OBERST’S SIDE PROJECT FROM WAY BACK IN THE DAY!?” and he was like “Nope, but thanks for essentially giving me the heads up that I’m going to hate them.” I used to love Bright Eyes before it was hipster to love Bright Eyes, before Winona Ryder dated Conor Oberst, before your mom came home from Whole Foods with her hemp satchel stuffed with organic Diva Cups and kale and started telling you about the haunting song she heard at the check-out counter, but JOKE’S ON ME YOU GUYS because just admitting to any of this is basically publicly outing myself as a secret hipster. But seriously, who cares. I is for everyone and Bright Eyes is the shit and at one point in my life, they were everything to me. Actually, the Saddle Creek record label had me eating out of their hands back then. I loved Cursive (still do) and Now It’s Overhead and AZURE RAY! Goddamn, I was a different person back then! And Desaparecidos was one of those bands. I loved them because I hated George W. Bush and their music was smart and political—they were on my side, and not on Henry’s; I used to be smug about that. (I know, it’s hard to imagine.) I never had the chance to see them back in 2002, so I was READY. This was one of those times when Henry mumbled about going to get a beer and then he never came back. But that was OK — I was fine because I was amongst my people. And Jesus Christ, Desa fucking went hard. I forgot how much I loved that beautiful Midwestern emo sound. And seeing Denver Dalley brought back such memories! I struggled all weekend to remember the name of the band he used to be in, and I was determined not to google that shit. “Remember we saw them at Club Cafe? Now It’s Overhead opened for them?” I kept pressing Henry. “Nope,” he’d answer disinterestedly. “His band name had something to do with math. Not Subtraction….” Then, late Sunday night, I shouted from my side of the bed, “Statistics!!! It was Statistics.” Henry was like, “No one cares.” But I digress, seeing this band was amazing. Seeing Conor Oberst was amazing. Being so close was amazing. Life was just amazing that day. All days. LIFE FUCKING RULES. CHOOSE LIFE. FOREVER AND EVER. KUMBAYA AND JAMBALAYA.
• Echo and the Bunnymen – Seriously, fucking Echo and the Bunnymen. I got to hear “Lips Like Sugar” live – another bucket list item. I would have liked to have been closer for them, and also to have stayed for their whole set, but remember when I mentioned in my Day One post that there were three bands that were the Big Draws for me? Well, the third one was about to start during Echo’s set.

Saw this bro’s cat shirt and tried to ask him where he got it but he was so fucking high, his answer was covered in drool and question marks. So his friend was like “I BOUGHT IT FOR HIM. I SAW IT IN A STORE. I BOUGHT THE SHIRT AT A SHIRT. CATS.” Wow, thanks guy. Luckily, I posted it on Instagram and one of my friends said Urban Outfitters sells it, but I guess that was like, so last season because it’s not in stock anymore. SORRY CHOOCH, I TRIED.

• Alexisonfire: Fucking fuck fuck fuck.  This is the band, out of all the bands that weekend, that walked away with my heart. I listened to them heavily from around 2005-2007, but I never got to see them live. A thing that you should know about that time in my life is that I was unemployed for most of it, and then pregnant, then I had the thing (a/k/a Chooch) and then I worked from 4pm-midnight. So I was either poor, pregnant, figuring out how to be a mom, and then working shitty hours; all of this is to illustrate how infrequently I was going to shows back then. It was near impossible, and I had to be very choosy with what shows I did go to because $$$. Not surprising, I was extremely depressed during these days too. Major correlation there. When I was working the job with the horrible hours, Alexisonfire used to come up a lot on my Zen and I just loved them because I had some aggression, one might say. This was around the time I was really starting to get into post-hardcore more exclusively, and would soon discover Chiodos, which just changed my whole world, musically. Alexisonfire was right there in the middle of it, so I was really anxious to see them last weekend, especially because they haven’t toured in ages (Dallas’s main gig is now City & Colour, and Wade fronts Gallows). I got up as close I could, near the barricade on the right side (that’s my sweet spot at shows; never estimate the side of the stage) and Henry was like, “I’m gonna….” and then ran away. Which is fine, because sometimes I prefer to be alone during these times.  I mean, I knew I was experiencing some level of excitement while waiting for them to start, but what I hadn’t anticipated was the grip they were about to have on me. The feelings and emotions that came over me as soon as they started playing was inexplicable…and also maybe a little concerning. I was crying and losing my mind, quickly remembering just how much I used to like them and knowing that this was all out of my control — I was about to walk away from that stage TRIPLE liking them. It was nuts how many of those songs I haven’t heard in about 10 years, but the words came right back to me. I like City & Colour just fine, but Dallas Green was born to sing in Alexisonfire. From the moment he opened his mouth, I could barely breathe, and George was a fury of testosterone on that stage, and by the end of the set, he had bent the mic stand around his neck, folded it in half, jumped on it, and then folded it again. I was inspired to do the same thing, using Henry’s neck though. “So are they like a big deal or something?” one of the security guys asked the girl next to me, watching the crowd lose their shit. “Oh god, yeah,” she laughed. “And it’s because they haven’t toured in a really long time.” He nodded but you could tell he was like, “The fuck.” One of Henry’s friends, I guess. It’s crazy how something just clicked; all those times I listened to them years ago, I liked them so much but not like this. Not on this level. They blew me away and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since, constantly playing them while I get ready for work, in the car, in my head, relearning all of the nuances and split second parts that make my heart flop. After their set that day, I slowly walked back to Henry, who was standing far back not near anyone, looking distressed and angry at what he had just been subjected to. “CHILLS” I shouted to him, and he rolled his eyes. I need to see them again. Immediately.
  • My co-worker Aron likes to keep tabs on me via Instagram and then he’ll walk by and casually namedrop something I’ve posted on there, just to prove that he’s in the know. So on Tuesday, my first day back to work after the glorious weekend, he came over and said, “So Alexisonfire, huh? SO GOOD, RIGHT?” I agreed and then said, “But….just so you know, it’s ‘Alexis On Fire,'” because he pronounced it ‘Alex Is On Fire’ — a common error! “Goddammit, are you serious?!” he asked in defeat, and it was so funny. Poor Aron, he tries.
    • When they played “This Could Be Anywhere In The World,” I sincerely I was going to cry my big ugly face off and I am CRYING RIGHT NOW just thinking about it. (Also, back when I liked them years ago, I always wanted to sing “The city is burning” instead of “the city is haunted” and I was doing the exact same thing last Saturday during this song. Old habits.
      • Honestly, I just want to delete everything else in this post and replace it with every last Alexisonfire video I can find on YouTube. I am smitten. LIKE A MITTEN.
        • ON A FUCKING KITTEN.

Setlist

1. Accidents
2. Boiled Frogs (<3)
3. Old Crows
4. The Northern
5. We Are the Sound
6. .44 Caliber Love Letter
7. Dogs Blood
8. Drunks, Lovers, Sinners, and Saints
9. This Could Be Anywhere In the World
10. Young Cardinals
11. Happiness By the Kilowatt

I had my fingers crossed for “You Burn First” but it’s ok — they made up for it by playing 12 other songs that I wanted to hear. 

Can I go back to last Saturday now or….?

• Drive Like Jehu – Post-hardcore is one of my favorite music genres, a real close tie with 1980s synthpop for first place. And DLJ are veritable grandfathers of that scene at this point, so there was no way I was missing them. The crowd for them at the Rebel stage was pretty dismal, and definitely older. This was another big deal because they broke up in 1995, and only recently reunited last year, but have only played a handful of west coast shows. I had to, had to, had to see them. Also, their drummer is Mark Trombino, who has produced some of the greatest records (like goddamn Jimmy Eat World, for Christ’s sake) and admittedly, I was hoping that there would be booth for his donut company, Donut Friend. I AM OBSESSED WITH DONUT FRIEND! Their donuts are named after emo/punk/hardcore bands! Custard Front Drive! Drive Like Jelly! Fudgegazi! They could taste like dog shit for all I know, I’d still buy them all because music. (I got to see Drive Like Jehu live! What is this life.)

• Billy Idol – A few months ago, “Eyes Without a Face” came on my bedroom radio and I said out loud to the monster under my bed how much I would like to see Billy Idol live one day. I mean, it’s Billy Idol. And then because I said it, my under-the-bed monster made it so. (With a little help from some warm virgin blood and Faygo Moon Mist.)  Billy headlined the Rock Stage and when the monitors weren’t completely cutting out, he sounded fantastic. But there were some major, disappointing sound issues happening. Still, the crowd was great and it was basically the only performance that Henry and I were both looking forward to all weekend, so it was a nice, bonding moment and I think we held hands for a minute or two. And then, “Eyes Without A Face”! Gah, the childhood memories. This song, and “Drive” by The Cars are two 80s ballads that make my arm-hairs rise and my idiot heart fold in half. (OK, fine: “Is This Love?” by Whitesnake, too.)

• Taking Back Sunday: After Billy Idol was over, Taking Back Sunday was ready to headline the Roots stage. They were one of the second night headliners last year too, and I had deja vu as my teeth chattered and my feet froze into blocks of boot-shaped ice. We didn’t even attempt to get close to the stage for them, opting instead to stand back where the crowd was less dense. I promised Henry we could leave after a few songs, because he’s 50, you guys. He needs rest. I really wanted to hear “MakeDamnSure” before we left, but alas. Normally, I would pout about something like this, but the whole entire day was….I almost said made of win. Who even says that anymore.

Meanwhile, people were near death behind us at the Riot stage, where System of a Down was headlining. I watched some videos and read a lot of online accounts and “horrifying” is the only word that comes to mind. A lot of it had to do with the muddy conditions, but it sounds like the incident was in large part due to obnoxious, drunk, overzealous and disrespectful fans. I love festivals, you know I love Warped Tour to death, but this is shit you almost never see in a club show. (Or, for that matter, Warped Tour. You know why? Most of the people there are underage!) I feel like festivals bring out thousands of people who just don’t really go to real shows, and they don’t know how to act. People were falling into mud because the crowd wouldn’t stop pushing, even before SOAD came out, causing a domino effect until there were dog piles of people in the mud, unable to get up and some unable to breathe. By the time SOAD started playing, they apparently had to stop their set at least three times to allow paramedics to literally SAVE PEOPLE FROM DYING. This is why I won’t put myself that close to the stage like that in festival settings. Pack mentality scares the FUCK out of me. I love music, I love shows, I love supporting my bands, but I also love being alive. Some of the things I read on Reddit were horrifying, the way some people were treated, literally being pushed over and stood on, having their faces shoved into the mud, breathing in that dirty water and absolutely thinking they were going to die.

Nope. That’s not for me. Not at 36, not even at 21. I think the most scared I ever was at a festival was at the Rolling Rock Town Fair in 2001. You want to talk about a football field full of wasted, aggressive nu-metal-loving frat boys? Good lord, I thought that whole field was going to burn. Every time I see footage of the Reading, Leeds, or Glastonbury festivals, my chest feels so tight. I just don’t think I could ever do a festival that size.

Nope. Riot Fest is probably as large as I’ll go. And that’ll be over there, standing off to the side, thanks.

System of a Down aside, the whole day was one majestic moment after the next, ending with the best Lyft driver of the entire week, Bobby, who was hilarious and candid, hates No Doubt, and gave us an off-the-cuff tour of the Chicago outskirts the whole back to our hotel. Bobby was the fucking shirt, and as I rolled out of his car, I drunkenly told him he was the best Lyft driver of my life, and I wasn’t even DRUNK.

I have been on the verge of combustion all week because all I want to do is talk about the weekend but I’m trying not to be annoying (Henry is reading this, feeling puzzled right now. “Trying not to be annoying?”) Riot Fest, these things that you do to me. I can’t even.

So, this tour was announced yesterday and it’s a dream and a nightmare all at once. Slaves is Jonny Craig’s current band and I have been boycotting them for over a year now because GIRL POWER, etc. But….Dance Gavin Dance, A Lot Like Birds, AND Strawberry Girls all on one tour? (Strawberry Girl’s is Zach Garron’s band, and he also used to be in DGD).

When I first saw this yesterday at work, I almost fell out of my chair. Then I shoved my phone in Todd’s face and said, “TODD. LOOK. OMG UGH.” And Todd was like, “Oh shit! What ever will you do?” because poor Todd knows all about the Jonny Craig Conflict since he has to sit near me now. So I texted Henry who was just like “LOL” because not only is it Jonny Craig, but it’s also a show that will require us driving to Cleveland on a work night.

But then Chooch said he wants to go, too. “We just won’t pay attention to Slaves,” he said with a shrug. Like, duh. Just ignore them! We’ll stick our fingers in our ears and yell “lalala”!

Anyway, Kurt Travis posted on Facebook that in addition to singing with ALLB,  he’ll be coming out and doing some of his old songs with DGD, which makes me believe that Jonny will be doing the same, since this is a 10th anniversary tour, and you guys know that DGD is in my Top 5 favorite bands of all time.

I’m so conflicted!

I actually sat here and cried about it this morning because will I be a hypocrite if I go? I don’t want Jonny to get a single cent of my money, but I also really don’t miss seeing DGD (they were just here in August on the All Stars tour and I skipped it because I didn’t care for any of the other bands, it was right after we came home from vacation, and I didn’t want to spend $30 to see one band play for 45 minutes. I figured I’d just wait for their next headlining tour…Sigh.

So I called Henry and before I said anything, I blurted out, “OK I know you’re going to say no, but…” and then I told him about the Kurt Travis thing and what if he sings Happiness with them?! I have never heard that song live! And Henry said, “Well, I guess I can’t say no, then can I?”

OH MY GOD.

I might have a heart attack.

I really don’t want to deal with Jonny Craig, but this is an opportunity that I really feel like I can’t pass up because it’s DGD and ALLB, and there’s always the strong possibility that Jonny will do something fucked up between now and then to get himself kicked off the tour. (Also, it’s fucked that Slaves gets top billing over ALLB, but whatever.)

OK, that’s all. Thank you for walking down Freak Out Alley with me.

[disclaimer: my blog keeps smashing words together after I hit publish; that’s not actually me trying to form post hardcore band names out of everyday sentences.]

We were duped by Riot Fest again. They said “Gates open at 11, guys!” and we fell for it. Our Lyft driver, Bobby (he asked us to tell him things about Pittsburgh and he definitely doesn’t want a Primanti’s sandwich, guys), got us there promptly at 11, only for us to stand in line for 90 MINUTES. Why you do this, Riot Fest? Why so mean? Aside from having a musical know-it-all standing behind us (talking about Gwar like he didn’t know Oderus died, though) and then being rained on for 30 minutes, it wasn’t the worst line I’ve ever stood in.

But then the lines started moving and we were one of the first 50 to be let in. It’s so strange being there that early, before any of the stages are bumpin’, none of the food vendors are ready, and people are just roaming around aimlessly in an attempt to familiarize themselves with the grounds.

This was the first year for Douglas Park to host the festival. When Riot Fest started 10+ years ago, it was actually just a bunch of shows split up around different venues of Chicago. It was only within the last 4 or so years that it became the sizable festival that it is today. Since 2012, it was held in Humboldt Park, but after last year, Humboldt Park was like, “Hell to the no,” so the organizers were forced to move it to nearby Douglas Park. Douglas is smaller than Humboldt, so the layout had the stages closer together. A lot of people were complaining about this, but I kind of liked that it was easier to run from stage to stage — last year, two of the stages were so far apart from each other, god help you if you were trying to split your time between the two of them. Henry and I practically walked the soles off our boots last year. It was a lot more hectic and the I’M GONNA BE LATE sensation that I’m so susceptible to really put a damper on my fun at times.

I’m tightly wound. And I have found that I describe myself this way so often, that it’s got to be a future tattoo.

First thing we did once we got through the gates was sign up to be bone marrow donors, which involved having the inside of our cheeks swabbed, so that was an unusual way to start things off, but you know me, such philanthropy.

“Does it hurt, donating bone marrow?” I asked Henry after we walked away with our BONE MARROW DONOR cards.

Henry just smirked at me. “Uh, yeah.”

Fuck.

In an effort to dial back the amount of information I’m tempted to cram down the Internet’s throat, I am going to now make a list of the bands that we saw on Day One, even if it was just a partial set, and then briefly (LOL, what’s that word mean?) talk about the highlights. EVERYSINGLETHING! It was all a highlight! OK, but really. I’m going to try to do this. Henry’s comments/thoughts/reviews are indented.

Bands We Saw On Friday

• Coathangers –  I really am not a fan of girl bands. Luckily, we were just strolling past while they were christening the main stage.
• Into It. Over It. – I’ve wanted to see them for quiet some time so I was excited that this would be the first band of the day for us. Henry was not impressed. My favorite part was when Evan stopped playing a few notes into a song and said, “No. Fuck that. You people paid a lot of money to be here and I’m not playing this song out of fucking tune” before starting over. Respect.
  • I don’t remember.

• Real Friends – I missed them at Warped Tour in July, but was like, “It’s fine, they’ll be at Riot Fest, so…” but then their set overlapped with Mariachi El Bronx, so I only got to stick around for two songs before running to the Roots stage for a Mexican dance party.
  • We’re not real friends. At all.
• Mariachi El Bronx!! – God, I love this band! It’s literally the mariachi side project of the Bronx, a band that I used to really love but admittedly haven’t listened to in a while. I saw Mariachi El Bronx once at Warped Tour years ago and they stole my gringo heart. Even Henry smiled a little bit. Go listen to them if you’re having a bad day or so hungry that you’re not sure what you want to eat. 
  • Nope.

• Bayside – I don’t care how many times I have seen them, I can never miss an opportunity to hear my heart breaker jam “Don’t Call Me Peanut.” Chooch used to love that song when he was younger and would sing it quietly from the backseat, so I got all sad-eyed and missed him a ton during their set. I was a late-comer to the Bayside scene and never really bothered with them until 2009 when I saw Anthony Ranieri on the Where’s the Band? tour, which also featured Chris Conley, Matt Pryor, and Dustin Kensrue. What a fucking lineup of heart-eye emojis before heart-eye emojis existed. That’s one show I would love to relive. Anyway, Anthony ended up winning my idiot heart that day and I have been a Bayside fan ever since, but I still feel likean00b every time I’m in that crowd.  Anyway, go listen to Bayside. It’s like being hugged by someone you don’t mind touching.
  • It’s a band.

• Every Time I Die: I always, always, always miss this damn band every time they play Warped. But not on this day,motherfuckers. We got a good spot near the side and Henry was like, “Who are these guys again?” and seemed pretty relaxed during the intro where they played the theme to Perfect Strangers, like it wasgoingto be a bunchofBalkiBartokomouses andCousinLarrys playing chill 1980s sitcom scores on mandolins. But then Keith Buckley and crew came storming out andHenrysighed. I really liked what I heard/saw butmyactual highlight of their set has nothing to do with the music — we were standing right next to the press gate so after a few songs, a throng of photographers came filing out. I happened to glance at one of them and realized that she looked super familiar. “I think that’s Ashley Olson!” I shouted into Henry’s face. “WHO?!” he asked. I just rolled my eyes because he is so old and dumb and this just proves that he clearly never listens to me when I talk about my interests. Anyway, Ashley is one of the best up-and-coming music photographers I have seen lately. I started noticing her last year when she was on tour with Chiodos, because Craig Owens would always regram her photos and they were stunning. And I never use the word “stunning.”I’ve been following her on Instagram ever since, and her Warped Tour photos this summer just blew my mind. Plus, she has good taste in bands, so. She ended up walking away and I regretted notsayinghi to her. (I even double-checked on Instagram to make sure it was her, and her most recent post was from Riot Fest, so I figured that was a pretty good sign, haha.) Halfway through ETID’s set, she came back! She was standing in front of me for a minute, getting in some more shots, and then she retreated. The guy she was with was still standing in front of me, talking to someone, so she was just hanging back, waiting for him. I really dislike approaching people because I get so awkward and creepy, but I said to Henry, “Ok, I’m going in…” and dove right the fuck into Small Talk Ocean. And it went, well, swimmingly! (God, my writing skills just slay.) I thought it was going to be a “hi/bye” type of transaction, but we ended up having a nice, meaningful chat for several minutes, during which she hugged me TWICE, and said that she had noticed me earlier because I was wearing my (ugh, Chooch’s) Emarosa “For Fox Sake” shirt. So we chatted about how wonderful those guys are and I said, “My 9-year-old son met Bradley this summer at Warped—” Ashley cut me off to say, “You do NOT have a 9-year-old son.” I laughed and said, “I do! I’m 36!” and she was genuinely surprised and kept saying, “NO YOU’RE NOT!” I enjoyed the moment because I know my extended youth is fleeting and these days are slipping through my fingers. I’m reminded of this every time I look in the mirror and see more gray hairs and deeper bags under my eyes. Ashley gave me a sticker and we tookaselfie. “That’s really cute!” she said when I showed her, and asked me to tag her in it so she could save it. I think I’m getting better at talking to strangers! I’ll be kidnapped any day now. 
  • It all runs together after awhile.

Henry was like, “You and all your weird Instagram crushes” when I excitedly showed him the picture. I was happy that he didn’t come with me when I was talking to her because who brings their dad to Riot Fest, you know?

• Coheed & Cambria: Heard part of their set while roaming around. I used to really like them when they first came onto the scene but then I stopped for no real reason. Their drummer is a douchebag on Twitter, that much I know; tweeting shitty things to Jonny Craig’s ex-fiancee and it’s like, “Why do you care? Don’t you have some lame hip hop rhymes to lay down?”

• THRICE: You know how your elderly Uncle Milton is always telling the same stale-ass war story every time you sit down at the kids table to eat fucking figgy pudding, supposing you live inside a Christmas carol? Well, just call me Uncle Milt because DID YOU KNOW THAT MY KID IS NAMED AFTER THE DRUMMER IN THRICE? Well he is. It’s true. (His real name is Riley,btw.) And I am contractually obligated to mention that every single time I write on my blog about Thrice, or text someone about Thrice, or hear the song Three Times a Lady by Lionel Richie. CHOOCH WILL LOSE HIS NAME IF I DON’T. And then that fucker Bastion from Never-ending Story will have to give him a new one and it’ll be something stupid. Like Chooch.Ok Ok Ok, let’s reel it back in here for a second. Thrice is one of my all-time favorite bands and I won’t get too whiny about it because there are definitely more than one lengthy post in the archives about my love for them, so I will give you the truncated version: The last time I saw them was in 2009 and then they went on hiatus and everyone was like WILL THRICE EVER COME BACK!? They played a show (one show) a few months ago and I knew, I just fucking knew, that they were going to be announced for this year’s Riot Fest and I was fucking right because I spend way too much time analyzing this shit. There were three bands that were announced last May for Riot Fest that made me fall to my knees and beg Henry, and Thrice was one. I was fucking giddy all day, but then right before their set, my stomach got all knotted and my eyes got all moist and sting-y, and I knew I was in for it. Yep, I cried for most of their set—which was SO FUCKING GOOD and it alone was worth the drive to Chicago. Crowd was great and really into it and it felt sogoodto be there in the middle of it all. My connection with Thrice is on another level. Like some spiritual shit. This Riot Fest moment was brought to you by some strong 2003 feels.
  • They’re ok.

Those clouds, tho. Thrice was literally bringing Heaven down to earth. OH YEAH, I WENT THERE.

• Faith No More: Friends. This is the top reason I had to go to Riot Fest. Faith No More is one of the few bands that I never grew out; they’ve stuck with me through every musical phase I’ve gone through, from gangsta rap to synthpop. I was in middle school when I first heard Midlife Crisis (back when it was cool to discover new music on MTV!) and it was the first “heavy” band that appealed to me and I was like OMG someone take me to the mall right this instant so I can buy thatfuckingcassingle (which I still have!). I can’t say that they were a gateway band for me though, because they were literally the only metal-type band that I liked until junior year when I became a closet Marilyn Manson aficionado. Naturally,FNM would go on  to break-up before I ever had the chance to see them, so that sucked. (I did get to see Mike Patton’s sideprojectFantomas though, in 2000…or 2001?) As 7:45 approached, I started to freak the fuck out—I was so giddy and excited and probably super annoying forHenryto be around. (I mean,moreso.)FNM was headlining the second main stage, so there was a huge crowd there. We got a decent spot on the right side, andIwas relieved that there weren’t anydrunkdouchebags around us. Everyone was cool and excited, if not a little disappointed that they were only given an hour to play. But for someone who had never seen them before that night, an hour felt like a fucking gift. I thought it was fantastic — they sounded great, they played most everything I wanted to hear (unpopular opinion, but I REALLY like “Stripsearch” and would have maybe fainted if they played it), obviously MIDLIFE CRISIS. Just hearing Mike Patton’s otherworldly voice traveling across that park gave me chills. I have chills again just writing about it. Also, it wasreallychilly. This was definitely one of the Top 3 moments of the weekend for me, and I just kept murmuring, “That was so fucking amazing.” I need to invent some new adjectives to use when talking about music because “amazing” just doesn’t cut it anymore. The only downside was when Mike Patton told everyone to snap their fingers. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO SNAP MY FINGERS,MIKEPATTON!
  • They were good.

Setlist, according to the Internet (it looks right to me):

1. Motherfucker
2. Be Aggressive
3. Caffeine
4. Evidence
5. Epic
6. Black Friday
7. Midlife Crisis
8. Gentle Art of Making Enemies
9. Easy
10. Separation Anxiety
11. Ashes to Ashes
12. Superhero
13. Introduce Yourself

I still can’t believe No Doubt got to play longer than Faith No More. I mean, I can, because Americans have a knack for making mediocre bands rise above the good ones. But, THAT’S A POST FOR ANOTHER DAY, SMILY FACE.

• Ice Cube: Immediately after FNM ended, the main stage to the left came to life and I couldn’t get out of that area fast enough because — No Doubt. Words cannot express how much I dislike that band and Gwen Stefani. And maybe I’m biased, but holy shit they sounded atrocious. Not just her cat-in-heat voice, but the whole band. I know, I’m full of the unpopular opinions tonight. That band just gets under my skin for some reason that I can’t explain; it’s not even like I associate them with bad memories or anything. They just have never sounded pleasant to my particular ears. I remember in high school when No Doubt was playing at Starlake and pretty much every fucking female I knew went to that show, regardless of how much they liked them, if at all. I was like “Lol, nope,” stayed home and listened to Spanish gangsta rap, probably. Anyway, back to 2015: Henry and I finally made it across the park to the Roots stage, where Ice Cube was about to headline. I had no fucking qualms with Bye Felicia’ing No Doubt in favor of Ice Cube. I was never even really a big Ice Cube fan, but my inner Yo Girl was definitely curious to see his set, which to be honest was mostly one long commercial for Straight Outta Compton, but it was high-energy, he sounded great, and the crowd was fucking going nuts. There were people climbing trees, trying to get a better view. His special guests were his son, MC Ren, and Yella. Some people were speculating that it was going to be Dr. Dre, and if I had been one of those people, I would have stayed for the whole set to find out. But I was pretty confident that Dre wasn’t going to show up to perform for an hour on a stage that wasn’t even the main one. So we left after I got to hear Check Yo Self, which I have to admit, was pretty fucking cool.

Douglas Park didn’t have any lights so if you weren’t close to a stage, good luck. There was lots of stumbling and stepping in invisible mud pits on the way to the exit, and then a long walk into the sketchier area of the neighborhood, looking for the designated Lyft pick-up area, which is one of the reasons I could never go to Riot Fest alone: there are too many things you have to know about! Too many logistics! Thank god Henry looks into all of this or I’d probably be sleeping on a bench in Douglas Park right now instead of blogging in my dining room.

So, impromptu props to Papa H for getting me there and back all three days with absolutely no incident.

***

We got back to our shitty hotel after a pleasant ride with a Lyft driver (“You were really talkative with tonight’s Lyft driver; you must be hammered,” Henry observed, to which I clarified that I was not hammered from the ONE Strongbow I drank eight hours earlier, but that it was because I thought the driver was cute, duh) and I collapsed onto the bed and cried, “TONIGHT WAS FUCKING AWESOME.”

Then we fell asleep to Jaws, which was also on when we left earlier that morning, too.

GOD, EVERYTHING WAS SO PERFECT THAT DAY.

While I’m trying to sort through my cluttered, unsophisticated 15-year-old’s diary full of thoughts on all the bands I saw this past weekend, let’s talk instead about the VENDORS.

Music festivals are RUDE. You’ve already spent Heaven’s rent on a ticket (and if it’s more than a one-day festival, plan on eating lots of pb&j for the next month since you just sacrificed  your grocery money) and now there’s all these food vendors and merch tents lining up to take your car payment too.

I mean, unless you do a better job at planning for these things than I do. Which, thankfully, Henry does. He had been saving for months! What a novel idea that I didn’t even consider.

The downside to this is that he had been hoarding actual cash money so that we wouldn’t have to use our debit cards at all that weekend. I say “downside” because that money was in HIS wallet so I had to constantly ask him if I could buy things and I felt like Chooch, begging for every shiny thing.

What a strong, independent woman I am!

I’m so used to going to Warped Tour, where we’re at the mercy of the venue-provided food options. And it’s overpriced bullshit food too, like chicken tenders and nachos that cost $10. A vegetarian’s nightmare. But Riot Fest is a foodtruck Valhalla, and almost every food vendor has vegetarian fare for all of us plant gourmands. I was really sad last year because I felt like I didn’t have time to take advantage of this bevy of meatless options lining the perimeter of Humboldt Park. This year, I vowed to eat a shit ton of foods!

Aaaaand….I failed to eat a shit ton of foods. I’m sorry, but food < music. All three days, we grabbed something quickly for lunch before hitting the stages, and if there was enough downtime in between bands at some point, I would declare that a second feeding was allowed.

Henry didn’t like this rigid feeding schedule that I put us on, but shit gets real out there in the field, OK? Those food lines get so long after a certain point in the day and that’s time that I just don’t have to waste.

Day One:

As soon as I saw the Dark Matter tent, I was ON IT. I have been smitten with this coffee ever since last year’s Riot Fest, and I occasionally order bags of their coffee online—they’re the reason I drop-kicked my Keurig to the curb and bought a French press. God love them.

Henry handed me some cash and took off for a porta-potty, leaving me to approach the Dark Matter tent with way too much enthusiasm. There is something about Henry’s presence that keeps my exuberance dialed back (I think this is also known as STIFLING), so anytime he leaves me alone, I can get kind of over-the-top.

Like a dog off its leash.

“I LOVE YOUR COFFEE,” I yelled at the guy in lieu of saying of hello. I don’t even know if he is the Dark Matter guy. I don’t think he was expecting to be yelled at in such a positive matter that soon after the gates opened. “I’M FROM PITTSBURGH AND SOMETIMES I FIND MYSELF SITTING AT WORK, DREAMING OF DARK MATTER.”

“Oh wow, that’s really cool!” he said after I finally shut the fuck up. “Here, take some stickers and a pin,” he insisted, pointing to the free shit along the counter. And then, after filling up a cup for me, he said, “Wait right here,” before walking to the back of the tent.

Henry had returned by then and asked me why I was still standing there.

“I don’t know, he told me to wait here,” I shrugged, dreamily sipping my cup of wet happy. And then the Dark Matter guy came back and handed me a free t-shirt!

God, I love Dark Matter.

And I love Riot Fest.

AND I LOVE YOU.

(I didn’t bother giving my nails a fresh painting for Riot Fest. They barely hold up during a regular show, let alone a three day fest.)

Quickly scarfed down a vegan taco from Tica’s Tacos. It was OK. It had a plantain on it and plantains are good. But all I cared about was chewing that shit up quick-like and running to the next stage. Henry ate ribs or something. I’m not sure.

I made a mess of my taco.

I was really excited about Puffs of Doom after Googling them when the Riot Fest food vendors were announced.I was going to get some banana Nutella concoction but at the last minute decided that my mouth was feeling particularly contrary to bananas that evening (I have flip-flopping taste buds) so I yelled “NO GET THE PEACH ONE” to Henry who has to do all of my food ordering because I get anxiety. (I hate decisions!)

I’m OK in actual restaurants though. I just get nervous when there is a line of hungry people behind me waiting to order their food and here I am, being in the way as usual, god forbid.

And there’s another tangent no one cares about.

The peach thing was just OK. I split it with Henry and usually I want to eat all of things for myself. He ended up getting some delicious white chocolate dessert egg roll thing and split that with me and it was much more delightful than my peach puff.

Henry had fries for dinner because it was the shortest line and Faith No More was about to start; I had nothing because in case you missed it, Faith No More was about to start!  Food was the last thing on my feeble mind at that point.

I had a late vending machine feast at the “hotel” – generic chex mix and half of a Snickers. Concert lyfe,  y’all.

Day 2:

Older than Henry!

We got some Connie’s deep dish as soon as we arrived at Douglas Park. I know, I know, it’s no Giordano’s or whatever, but it got the job done.

Later I had Guinness ice cream because I love beer-flavored food but not beer-flavored beer. It was really good. That’s my Yelp review.

Dinner was another hectic scramble because we had a very small window of time and everything was crowded except for that idiotic Puffs of Doom place and some Billy Goat burger stand next door. So I had a savory artichoke puff which I ate so fast because I was in such a hurry to get to Billy Idol’s stage  that I don’t even remember what it tasted like. Spinach artichoke dip inside of a puff pastry, I’m going to wager.

Day 3:

Again, we got there before any of the bands started, so we hit up the Fat Shallot, where Henry got some type of weener and I got a grilled cheese. It wasn’t too fancy, but it got the job done. I don’t know why I was so excited about the food vendors being announced, because I knew that this was going to be a weekend of eating out of necessity and nothing more. To be honest, I probably could have gotten by on protein bars. Goddamn Henry, throwing wrenches in my festival schedule with his annoying habit always having to eat.

We spent a good portion of Sunday afternoon at the two smaller stages because the lineup over there was tight as fuck. Dinky Donuts was in the vicinity, so Henry bought a bag of chili cinnamon ones and they were so moist. MOIST MOIST MOIST.

Warm and moist.

I loved them.

We split curry fries later that night while waiting for Snoop Dogg.

I know, we really lived it up.

As far as merch goes, there was so much I wanted! One of my favorite Etsy sellers, Martha Rotten, had a booth there. (Not to burst your bubble, but her name is FRANCENE not Martha.) I was excited to meet her in real life, and we had the most awkward exchange of all time, because ETSY PEOPLE ARE AWKWARD. I should know. I’m one of them.

Anyway, I own one lone Martha Rotten piece:

I was really trying hard to add to my strange jewelry collection (she has a pewter Last Supper cuff that I had my eyes on) and I think that Henry was actually going to cave and give me money (Weak, Dependent Woman Almost Gets Permission From Big Man, story on page 6) but you know what happened next? I suddenly turned selfless and decided that I would just buy something from her shop at a later date, and instead just bought my KID things because I missed him so much and like my mom before me, I know all about buying a child’s love.

We bought him this cat shirt from Harebrained Designs (they’re partners with Period Panties, lol):

And one of my favorite t-shirt companies of all time, Choonimals, was there again! I’ve been following these guys for years, ever since they first started popping up at Warped Tour. This past summer, they actually partnered with Warped Tour and not only sponsored the two main stages, but also designed the 3D commemorative ticket for 2015. I love their animal designs so much and as usual, it was tough to choose one, and I started to get real gushy at this booth too, like the t-shirt version of Dark Matter coffee. “I GO TO WARPED TOUR EVERY YEAR AND JUST LOVE CHOONIMALS AHHHHHHH” as I shoved my bulging eyeballs back into their sockets. Henry was like, “OK PICK A SHIRT SO WE CAN LEAVE BEFORE THIS MAN CALLS THE COPS.” We ultimately settled on this one for Chooch, which he’s excited to wear for picture day:

It was cute — he was like Choonimals!! as soon as I pulled it out of my Epitaph bag.

Last year, this artist–-ChuckU—was there and I was drooling over his prints but Henry was like POOR PEOPLE DON’T BUY ART, MOVE ALONG. This year, I finally talked him into buying one of the cat designs for Chooch, who already has the best cat art collection in his room.

Some of my other favorite vendors were there again too, like Then Now Always (I bought one of their necklaces at Riot Fest last year and every time I wear it, I feel happy) and KoalaCore (the best t-shirts!) but Henry kept reminding me of his blue collar status and also the fact that we’re going to Philly this weekend and we don’t want to sleep in the car, do we? I hate having his gruff voice of reason in my ear CONSTANTLY.

(Don’t even make me calculate all the money he spent on beer, though! But, I guess he had to numb the pain somehow.)

Stheart was there again too and I was straight casing their tent; I think I was alarming them. I just really wanted Henry to buy himself one of their slouch beanies because I like him in beanies but I like him best in SLOUCH beanies because then he looks slightly more my type. He was so close to picking one out but then was like “NOT RIGHT NOW” so I guess I’ll just get him seven of them for Christmas, along with a closetful of fitted flannels, gray jeans, TOMS, a neck tattoo, and The Artist In the Ambulance on vinyl.

***

Today at work, I low-key cried at my desk because my body is nothing more than a giant flesh-chalice of  emo blood and I can’t even go to a club show without collapsing into a melodramatic lump of post-show depression, so how do you think I’m handling the first week after three entire days worth of music? NOT VERY GRACEFULLY.  I will try not to be too ridiculous with my music recap posts. NO PROMISES.

Henry’s response to my “I JUST CRIED AT MY DESK, WAH RIOT FEST” text was “oh erin.” He must have been too tired to type out “honestly.”

I’m very fragile right now. Handle with care.

Today was the last day of Riot Fest and I decided to take some Hipstamatic pics because how goddamn cliché and basic.  
“Why does this feel like Day 16….”

 We accidentally got there today too early and walked right in, because our Lyft driver (Venus, she was THE BOMB) dropped us off at an alternate gate that apparently no one uses. We had like an hour to roam around and finally get our shopping done (I wanted to buy Chooch every single cat shirt we saw but Henry was like I AM A WAREHOUSE MANAGER AND YOU ARE AN OFFICE LACKEY, WE DO NOT HAVE MUCH $$$ LEFT, HELLO.  Then we went to the area where the two smallest stages are and waited for Signals Midwest and Foxtrott to start our day off.

Yesterday, after I was joyfully jumping through mud puddles with wanton abandon, Henry asked me if my boots were waterproof.

“Yeah, duh,” I said. And then I stomped through another filth swamp and said, “Ew wait….no.”

The weather today was gorgeous (low 70s and sun all day) but there was still mud everywhere. Henry was such a bitch about it too. Like “OMG EW MUD” and he would jerk me another direction.
What a man.  
During Hum’s set. I was late getting there because I fell in love with Souvenirs.

 I was really fond of the sound that my boots made every time I pulled them out of the muddy quicksands, even after I realized they weren’t waterproof, I figured, what did I care. I’m not the one who does laundry.  

“THE RIDES ARE $5 A TICKET, ERIN. AND EACH RIDE IS MORE THAN ONE TICKET!” – when I asked Henry why we never ride anything.

  
New Politics.

 These were some MOIST MOTHERFUCKERS. The chili cinnamon ones were A+. I wish I had some right now.   I took so many sips of Henry beer all weekend that I think I like it now. (I’m not a big drinker at shows so for all three days, I actually only had two Strongbows.)

  
Looking at his phone and doing the math: 2 more hours until Riot Fest ends.

 If you hate when I write about music and shows, then probably avoid my blog for the next week because it’s going to be Riot Fest word diarrhea all up in this blog commode. SO MUCH HAPPENED! I love this weekend!!

    On our way back to the hotel after a beautiful, chill first day of Riot Fest. The weather was awful when we were waiting in line (of course the gates didn’t open until 90 minutes after they were supposed to) but it was gorgeous for the rest of the day. No repeats of last year!

The drive to Chicago was super uneventful. We left after work yesterday and drove as far as South Bend, IN and crashed at the Waterford, which is my favorite hotel in South Bend. (Also the only one I’ve ever stayed at, but Henry was going to book a different hotel and I flipped out because WATERFORD.) Got to Chicago around 9:30 and then Bobby from Lyft carted our asses to Douglas Park. So many beautiful bands were seen today. 

Here’s a picture of Henry giving some French Canadian broad directions in a city he doesn’t even live in. Professional driver 4 lyfe.  
I’m really looking forward to taking my boots off and hounding Henry about what parts of today were his favorite. I feel so heart-eyed right now. 

Not even the dump Henry has us staying in can ruin that. (But it comes close. Hilariously, Golden Girls is on right now and Rose, talking about Miles, just said, “He’s not just frugal, he’s frickenfrugal! What, it’s a Scandinavian term.” #apropos.)

Anyone who even casually knows me would probably say “obvi duh” upon hearing me declare that Warped Tour is my favorite day of every summer. And probably punctuate it with an eye roll. But it really is the one day a year that helps me relate a little bit to religious zealots, because being around so many of “my people” at once is a really powerful, exciting feeling. Much like being at one of those colossal mega-churches with people passing out and screaming.

A few weeks ago, I made a poster of all of my pictures from this year’s Warped Tour, which was one of my favorites.

And I feel weird saying that, because this year’s was rife was drama and controversy, starting with the allegations against Front Porch Step earlier in the year. This has been written about ad nauseum on the Internet, so I’ll keep it short: Jack Mcelfresh, the singer behind the Front Porch Step moniker, was using his scene status to lure underage girls via social media. Several of them finally spoke out about it via Tumblr, complete with screen shots of text messages and gross pictures he was sending them. I had never heard of him until we took Chooch to see Never Shout Never in Cleveland in 2013. We were hanging out by his merch table most of the night and he gave Chooch a free poster, which I thought was so nice, but also — we were there with the editor in chief of Alternative Press, so I’m not stupid. If I wanted my music to be acknowledged by the biggest publication supporting my scene, I’d give out free shit to a kid, too.

Now I just feel gross about it.

FPS ultimately was removed from Warped Tour; literally no one wanted to see his face after all of this. But then he made a surprise one-off appearance at the Nashville date which inspired massive outcry and widespread disappointment from those who had the misfortune of stumbling across him that day and everyone following along from home. This really put Warped Tour and its founder, Kevin Lyman, under a lot of fire and public scrutiny. Kevin defended his choice to allow Jake play in the Acoustic Basement that day by stating that he was working with Jake’s counselors and that this was part of his recovery process. While I have mad respect for Kevin Lyman for organizing my favorite music festival year after year, I will be the first to admit that this guy just shouldn’t even give statements to the media and he definitely should think harder before tweeting his opinions, because he is a master word-mincer. Every time he opens his mouth, he makes it worse! So he basically made himself look like a misogynist (and I truly don’t believe that he actually is) while essentially minimizing the issue at hand. Jake Mcelfresh is not the victim in this situation and he should not have been given a platform, even if it was only for one Warped Tour date.

That shouldn’t have even been an option. I will hand it to Kevin though, he made himself available every morning and invited any concerned fan to come and speak to him directly about this before the show.

So that was one big issue, and it was enough to start the #boycottwarped hashtag.

The second involved my old buddy, Jonny Craig! It’s never a dull moment with him. Quick backstory: the last time he played Warped Tour was in 2010, back when he was still in Emarosa. He caused a lot of drama and Kevin Lyman had to get Jonny’s mom to come out so they could attempt an intervention. Ultimately, he was told he’d never be allowed to play Warped again. But for whatever reason, Kevin decided to give Jonny a second chance, so five years later his new band Slaves was invited to play the second leg of Warped. (Emarosa played the first half.) Of course, Jonny started off by being super cocky about it, because everything Emarosa does, he thinks his idiot band can do better.

They managed to play…three dates, I think? Then people started commented on Jonny’s Instagram asking things like, “Hey, why didn’t you guys play today?” and of course, no one would respond. Well, Jonny sexually harassed their merch girl; it’s believed that he shoved his crotch in her face and made her touch him. I know, so uncharacteristic of him! He never even denied it, but still managed to make it worse by choosing douchey ways to express that what he did wasn’t “wrong.” He flat out replied “lol” to the merch girl’s vague tweet about how upsetting it is when alcohol turns decent people into monsters, which turned out to be her discreet way of alluding to what happened to her. Girl was traumatized, and rightfully so — she had only just met the band days earlier.

Some girl named Shelby who has known Jonny for some time and has also worked as his merch girl in the past, posted this ridiculous defense of Slaves online, about how women need to have thick skins to work in the music industry and that you have to expect things like this to happen, and how she can attest, without even being there, that Jonny was just joking around and that if you can’t “be one of the guys,” you should find a different job.

WHAT A WONDERFUL WOMAN! Teaching all these girls out there that they should just expect to be groped and humiliated by men, and if they can’t handle it, they’re clearly weak Lesser-Thans, right? So fucking sickening. Way to leave your own dirty finger print on rape culture, lady! The last line — really? So this girl should just go home and then Slaves can just carry on the rest of the tour like nothing happened? She should be punished but not them? I just…I can’t.

The bottom line is that being a merch person is still a job. Do you go to work expecting to be sexually harassed? Me either. So why should Slaves’ merch girl? She was just trying to make a living like everyone else.

All of this culminated into a huge divide behind the scenes at Warped Tour. First, Kevin kicked them off the tour, but then decided, for whatever reason, to let everyone involved in Warped Tour decide the fate of Slaves. They had a town hall meeting one Saturday night after all the fans were gone, where everyone was invited to say their piece, and then vote on whether Slaves should be kicked off or not. I have become Twitter friends with Jonny’s ex-fiancee, Amanda, over the last year, and she had a friend who was at the town hall meeting that night. She and I DM’d each other for hours that evening, on pins and needles waiting for the outcome.

Can I just pause for a second to say that this is a band full of dickhead members who tweet things like this?

Alex Lyman is the Slaves guitarist, and I honestly think he’s worse than Jonny Craig. People get fired from their jobs for saying things much less bad than this on the Internet. But it’s OK because he’s in band, right guys?

According to Amanda’s friend, about 300 people showed up that night to vote. It started with Kevin telling Jonny that he’s done with him, and he’s done with his band, but now it’s up to his peers to decide his fate. It was, obviously, a landslide vote to have them removed from the tour. Jonny was incredulous, and during all of it, he still wasn’t owning up to what he did to tip over that first domino. He kept accusing everyone of judging him based on his past, when sadly, it sounds like a lot of the bands that voted him off were doing so because they were worried that the Warped Tour environment was reversing his recovery process, while also trying to reason with him that getting drunk every night was not something that he should be doing. The rest of his band got real defensive about that and kept saying things like, “he’s an adult, he can handle it” which is hilarious because Jonny Craig is one of the most emotionally-stunted people I have ever encountered. He is the true definition of Man Child, which is why deep down, I honestly feel really sorry for him.

Billboard interviewed Kevin Lyman about the decision to remove Slaves from Warped Tour; yay — more face/palm Warped Tour media spotlights.

My favorite part of this latest Jonny Blows It Again episode is that a bunch of bands started wearing “Bring Back Emarosa” shirts. <3

Meanwhile, Fronz from Attila was having a major feud with The Wonder Years and Buddy from Senses Fail, who went on to tweet a virtual manifest of the state of the scene and how shit needs to change and Kevin Lyman needs to quit giving stages to these immature brat-bands. And Coop from Hands Like Houses posted a picture of himself flipping off the YouTubers tent and saying that he wishes the kids at Warped Tour would stop paying so much attention to the people who have nothing beneficial to say (truth), which incited an Instagram riot with all the teenage girls who are obsessed with the Warped YouTubers.

I know shit like this happens every year, but it seemed especially bad this time around, resulting in Kevin Lyman to give another cringe-worthy interview in which he seemingly chose his words in haste, leaving them open to easy misinterpretation. (Warped Tour will never be a 21+ event, guys. That’s not what he meant. Kevin knows his Warped Tour bread-and-butter demographic is the teen girls!)

It’s depressing to see that most of the people defending Jonny Craig are GIRLS. The victim-shaming on Twitter alone is enough to make me want to cry for all womankind and scream at them to get off Twitter and go burn a fucking bra. And then I read comments about how bands have been doing shit like this forever and how come it was OK back then, it was brushed off as “Oh, that’s so rock n’ roll,” but now all of these bands suddenly are expected to be held accountable, and the scene is becoming so “pussified” and “sensitive.” How about, no—it wasn’t OK back then. But I think it was easier for bands to get away with bad behavior in past decades because their lives were more secretive and more protected. With social media, everything is out there. It’s easier for smarmy musicians to bait underage girls, and it’s also easier for them to get exposed for doing so. It’s better, and it’s worse.

This is why I’m relieved that Robert Smith of the Cure has barely any Internet presence at all. He still ensconced in beautiful mystery. And how rare!

The one silver-lining I took from all this drama is seeing how many bands I respect speak up about the state of Warped Tour, offering solutions, begging the ones who are giving the scene a bad name to hear them out, trying to resolve beef without violence, and just ultimately coming together in an effort to make this community stronger. Also? There are a lot of men out there in this scene who give a fuck about women’s rights and are willing to go to bat for us. Misogyny and rape culture is rampant at most music festivals—not just Warped—and in many music scenes, but it is refreshing to see that this is something that my scene is being vocal about and recognizing that shit needs to change. The discussions that have been going on all summer long over at Absolute Punk have been smart, intelligent, and a sign that there are people out there who are open to change and willing to fight to make this scene good again. Also? Asshole behavior and sexual misconduct will not be tolerated or brushed off as “it’s just rock n’ roll, bruh.”

It’s a lot to think about, and something that we’ve been talking about a lot in my house, Chooch included. As a music-lover, I don’t want to ever stop going to Warped Tour. But as a self-respecting woman? Things need to change, and soon.

There comes a point where it’s not actually just about the music anymore.