That’s a lot of people. 

You know that feeling you get after you go to a really fucking amazing show, that sinking pit you fall into once the adrenaline and euphoria wears off? That emotionally-crippling post-show depression? If you give even a tiny turd about music, you know what I’m talking about.

This is the hardest and farthest I’ve fallen post-show. All three days of Riot Fest were like a fucking fairy tale for me; and I mean all of the good parts, no poison apples or trolls under bridges.  It hit me really hard this morning. I came into work and slammed my purse down, sighing heavily. Glenn asked me in his standard non-caring monotone, “What’s wrong.” I HAVE POST-SHOW DEPRESSION, I cried. “OK. You can still listen to their music, you know” was his dumb, non-helpful advice.

OMG THAT’S NOT THE POINT UGH. You don’t think I haven’t been obsessively YouTubing Riot Fest performances, GLENN?!

I have so much to write about. The bands, obviously. But just the whole atmosphere, the sketchy Uber rides, the FOOD OMG THE FUCKING FOOD — there is so much I want to tell you guys! I’ve been on the verge of exploding every day at work because I want to talktalktalk about it so much but no one carescarescares!

But before I even get started, there’s something totally painful that I need to do: I need to thank Henry on this space. Because aside from buying the tickets (literally the only thing I did), Henry took care of every last minutia to make this past weekend a reality for me. Even though he hates this shit and hates spending money and hates crowds of music fans and hates standing around all day, Henry did all of this for me and I am pretty overwhelmed by it all. I mean, not that Henry doesn’t normally do anything for me, but this was something that I honestly thought he was going to say “Fuck no!” to. I mean, when I asked him three months ago if we could go, I actually laughed a little bit because it didn’t seem like something he would ever say yes to.

It just meant so much to me. I’m a pretty lucky broad. And even though Henry frowned a lot (like in this picture, where he was frowning because we matched), we barely fought at all (and the few times we did, it was because I missed my last feeding), he admitted on the way home that he had “a little” fun. It’s going to be hard to top Riot Fest.

I mean, unless WE GO AGAIN NEXT YEAR?!?! HENRY?!!??!

“Thinking About How Bad My Day is Going to Suck” frown.

“Waiting For Uber to Take Me to Hell” frown.

“Didn’t We Just See Circa Survive in July?” frown.

“8 Minutes ’til Emarosa” frown.

“Don’t Take My Cheese Fries, It’s All I’ve Got” frown.

“Not Understanding How People Like Bands Like Pianos Become The Teeth” frown.

“I’m Cold & Wet & Standing with this Annoying Person & I Hope My Mustache Doesn’t Get Frizzy” frown.

“Still Hate of Mice & Men” frown.

“Just Started Day 2 & I’m Already Frowning Because Day 1 Taught Me How Much This Will Suck” frown.

“I Paid $7 For This Beer; The Numbing Sensation I Feel Is Priceless” half-frown.
“Waiting for Rx Bandits; They’re Going To Suck” frown.
***********
This is a collection of Henry-frowns from the first two days of Riot Fest. I’m sure many more will be inspired today!

Flashback Friday to when we went to Coachella in 2004 to see The Cure and it was 113 degrees all weekend (no joke), Henry put us up in a prostitute and feral cat-inhabited motel* in San Bernadino, and I had rage blackouts like you wouldn’t believe. But…I got to see The Cure.

Somehow, Henry and I are still together 10 years later and are about to see The Cure this Sunday in Chicago and I am absolutely bubbling over with giddiness!

*(I know, it’s amazing that I wasn’t down with this.)

Hands Like Houses redid a bunch of their songs for an upcoming album and I was super happy to find out that they included my favorite song of theirs! I’m all heart-eyes for days over this version.

<3

All day at work, I kept obsessively checking the tracking info for my Emarosa preorder bundle.

“Out for delivery.”

All day long.

Longest fucking delivery route of all time.

Henry picked me up from work at 5:30 and on the way home, I noticed that the status had FINALLY been changed to “delivered.”

I did an uncoordinated air-pump thing.

“Have you been home at all today? WAS IT THERE?!” I screamed at the side of Henry’s bristled cheek as he steered the car around potholes.

“I was home for a little bit but it wasn’t there,” Henry replied in the calm voice reserved for cloud-watching with kittens and lacking the URGENCY required when one is discussing the status of an Emarosa album delivery.

My heart began its nervous jig inside my chest. A parade of lost packages drove through my memory like a fucking funeral procession, my Emarosa bundle in the hearse.

I checked my email again.

“It says it was delivered at 2:06!” I cried, my wildly gesticulating heart inviting my cheeks to join the panic party by pumping warm blood into them.

“Well, it wasn’t there when I was home,” Henry mumbled.

He pulled into the driveway and I craned my neck to see the porch.

Empty.

He parked the car in the driveway and Chooch took his good old time getting out of the backseat so I ran around the front of the car, practically knocking Henry back into the drivers seat, and raced up the driveway. I yanked the screen door open to see if my package was laying in between the doors BUT IT WASN’T.

Henry had caught up with me by then and as he was unlocking the door, I was on the cusp of tears.

“PLEASE TELL ME YOU WERE JOKING AND IT’S IN THE HOUSE!” I screamed at him.

“It’s not here!” Henry insisted as I pushed my way into the house and ran around wildly.

He’s right, I thought as I looked at the package-less coffee table. It didn’t come. SOMEONE STOLE IT!!

I was eight, thirteen, nineteen, twenty-three, thirty-two all over again and not getting what I wanted for Christmas. I was just about to shriek, “THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER AND I WISH I WAS DEAD!!!!!” when I noticed the MerchNow package resting surreptitiously on a dining room stool.

I snatched it and caught Henry laughing at me. And I started to cry.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!” I screamed, and my whole body WAS SHAKING because that is how much this shit matters to us kids, ok?

And then I proceeded to rip the package open, smash the Versus beanie on my dumb head, hug the CD, kiss the vinyl, put on my Emarosa shirt, and string up the fox ring on the included chain.

Today is a good day.

I mentioned my love for the Game Show Network several times on this blog recently, but another thing I really loved about the invention of digital cable was all of the music channels! I’m not talking about MTV, et al, but the ones that are like radio stations for TV. You can listen to music while reading random facts about the music you’re listening to.

I mean, that’s how it works nowadays. But back then? It was literally a black screen. It didn’t even tell you the name of the song and the artist you were listening to! Shenanigans. (a/k/a Salem’s best bar.)

One day, this song came on the alternative channel and I was like, “EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND HEAR, I MEAN REALLY HEAR, THIS SONG.” And for once I wasn’t talking to my imaginary friends, because back then, I actually a ton of real life people who were always hanging around my loft. I had no idea who it was singing this haunting song; it didn’t sound like anything that was being played on the radio, which was odd because there was no real underground thing happening on these channels back then. It was seriously all bullshit you would hear on regular radio stations. But this song 100% was not being played on Pittsburgh’s alternative radio station.

I lunged over and hit “record” on my VCR, because this was pre-DVR days, my friends. I literally recorded a blank TV screen onto a VHS tape, just so I could later record that onto a cassette tape too. I was real tech-savvy in 1998.

Now that I had it recorded, I decided to call the local alternative station and do this: “If I play a song for you, can you tell me who sings it?” This worked once for me, when I first became transfixed and heart-eyed by Huffamoose’s hit single “Wait.” The DJ knew immediately who it was, flaunting his credentials and probably blowing on his finger tips as soon as he hung up the phone.

So I tried this tactic and the DJ was like, “I have no idea. Sorry.”

I waited for the next DJ’s shift and made the same call. Still no dice.

And I kept doing this for days until I exhausted all of my options. I was really big into videotaping every mundane thing I did back then, and I can tell you for a fact that I have legit video of my friends making these calls for me, too. One night, we just went around the room, taking turns calling the same DJ who fucking FLIPPED OUT finally and screamed, “I TOLD YOU I DON’T FUCKING KNOW WHO SINGS THIS STUPID SONG!”

You might say that this was the title track to Erin’s Summer of 1998.

I would play it over and over again in my car. I didn’t even care that the beginning was cut off. My friend Heather, who was basically living with me at the time, would subconsciously hum this song while half asleep on my couch. Some of my guy friends would threaten to pull the mix tape apart if I didn’t stop listening to it.

WE WERE ALL HAUNTED BY THIS FUCKING SONG. Friendships were ruined. Sanity was snapped. Local radio DJs were angered. That’s why I slept with so many guys that summer, Henry. It was the song making me do it. Really.

That fall, I met and began dating Jeff; even then I was still listening to The Song in the car, not as obsessively, but it was on several mix tapes. So this fucking song at some point had wormed its way into Jeff’s ears and set up camp in his brain, just as it had every sorry mother fucker that came to my apartment that summer. Flash forward to that spring, and we’re hanging out in my apartment (a different one at this point), and Jeff casually says, “Hey, that band you like was on [some late night show] last night.”

“Which band?” I asked, because hello. There are many.

“Guster,” he answered, and then looked confused when I said I didn’t know any band named Guster.

“Oh my god, are you fucking kidding me? You listen to that damn airport song all the fucking time!” he cried. And then it hit me. The airport song. The song I obsessed over that ended with the line “You’ll be selling books at the airport.”

Jeff unknowingly cracked the fucking code. And yet I still I fucking dumped him. Sorry, Jeff.

I went out and bought their CD immediately. But…I never actually became a Guster fan. I only just liked that one song. The fucking Airport Song. (That’s actually the name of it, too!”

So today, I am going to share this goddamn song with you, because it practically ruined my life and you should know that.

I recently posted this video on Heather’s Facebook wall and she was like, “Thanks. I hate you.”

Today I’m going to tell you about some things I’m currently obsessed with, because don’t you all give so many shits about what I like? Obviously.

1. This version of PVRIS’s “St. Patrick” makes me feel like I’m being emotionally cuddled. (There’s no screaming in it, if that usually deters you from clicking “play” when I post YouTube videos, haha.

2. Cantaloupe! I know, such a small thing to obsess over, but usually cantaloupe is that one fruit I pick out of fruit salads because it’s always so over-ripe (under-ripe?) and tasteless. But Henry has won the cantaloupe (and watermelon!) lottery this summer and has been bringing home some of the sweetest, juiciest melons this side of 1990s porn.

3. Emarosa. Big surprise. But I can’t remember the last time I felt this much anticipation brewing inside my gut for a new album. I thought this band was never coming back, and now here they are, with a singer who is a million times better than Jonny Craig, and every single song and snippet I’ve heard thus far has felt like dynamite in my heart. I get to see them again in 2 weeks at Riot Fest and I’m so excited that I could just fucking SCREAM. They just released another single yesterday, and this is the one I’ve been craving ever since they played an acoustic version of it last May when I saw them on the Devils Dance tour. It is amazing. It is brilliant. It is so Emarosa and I must have listened to it 87 times last night after we came home from an ice cream date with Chris and Monica (or, Chronica). Here is Henry’s face during the Emarosa marathon:

Here’s the album version of “People Like Me…” even though I posted the live version last week. YOU SHOULD STILL LISTEN TO THIS ONE BECAUSE IT’S BOMB AND WHEN BRADLEY INTERRUPTS HIMSELF AND SAYS, “NAH, FUCK IT” I GET SO STOKED.

I fucking love you, Bradley Scott Walden. I’m ready for this fresh start, in so many fucking ways. #Goodbye2008

 4. Halloween Desk Planning! I came up with this year’s theme a few weeks ago and have already started collecting some key elements. I’m pretty excited for it, but also worried that it will be a huge failure because taking last year off kind of makes me feel like I’m off my game. Barb even said that I’ll never be able to out-do my Murder Desk from 2011 and believe me, don’t I know it. This year’s theme will be subtle (kind of) but also requires a lot of work and searching for things. (Luckily, these are all things that I have been wanting to add to my collection anyway, so acquiring them won’t be superfluous.) I can’t wait to tell you what I’m doing! Secrets are not  my strong-suit.

5. Painting faces. Actually, just painting in general. These last several months have not been the greatest for me (just inside my head; not anything serious, like job-related or with my home life). I feel like slowly, things are starting to come back to me, even after years of not practicing, even though some people still call my art “paint-by-numbers” and kind of roll their eyes when I try to show them things I’m working on, because they’d like me better if my “talents” were more of the culinary variety, I guess. So sorry. Juvenile art is the best you’ll get!

(ALERT! Jeannie was just over here and she said that she likes my art and that I have a very distinct style, so suck it, haters. Jeannie is hard to please!)

(OMG you guys, my family gave me such a complex, I apologize, lol.)

Anyway, I painted this one of Jesus yesterday, because why not:

Also, this beast that’s still in progress:

6. Henry In a Suit. OK, I haven’t written about Kaitlin’s wedding yet because I need to do that at home and not sporadically at work like most of my blog posts come into fruition, but can I just post this picture of Henry here and chirp about how much of a crush I have on him when he wears a suit? Heart-eyes for days.

A quick list of things I’m currently NOT obsessed with:

• CHRIS LEAVING THE LAW FIRM, BOOOO.
• Summer basically being over.
• Volatile mornings (a/k/a “Getting The Kid Ready For School”).
• Being strung along; luckily, strings can be cut.
• The neighbors.
• Not having all of the time in the world.

Henry’s mom has been staying over a lot this summer to help out with watching Chooch since my schedule changed and Henry’s work is constantly jerking him around. Now, don’t get it twisted, I like Judy a lot. BUT if I have to hear one more second of the Family Feud music, Ruby might make a comeback.

(Ruby is my bi-polar psycho personality, for those who haven’t been graced with her presence.)

Try to imagine how you felt when you were 16 and too many grown ups were around. That’s how I feel. It’s bad enough when it’s just Henry!! Now I’m surrounded!!

Last night, I pouted in my bedroom and listened to Touché Amore REALLY LOUDLY and waited for Henry to come in and ask me what’s wrong so I could cry NOTHING!!! UGH!!!

Judy’s downstairs watching the Bachelor now I think. Sigh.

You guys? My life. This is it. What a fantastic summer this has been.

Tonight, I’ve been replaying the same Emarosa song over and over and crying because I am the ultimate emo song personified these days. Ever since I heard them play this song on the Devil’s Dance tour in May, it has haunted to me. It makes me feel like my heart has been carved and sculpted into a wigwam and I’m curled up inside it. YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I MEAN DON’T LIE, FUCKER.

^ That song title is wrong, FYI.

I salivate every time I think of this upcoming album. Less than a month until it’s released (I preordered it of course)! And then a week later I’ll be seeing them in Chicago at Riot Fest and that will make up for my lame summer.

(Oh boy, now Henry’s here to completely not listen when I try to talk about my FEELINGS.)

When I was offered the new gig at work, the first thing that I thought of was, “I’LL GET TO GO TO ALL OF THE CONCERTS!!” Working a regular daylight shift has been FANTASTIC, I can’t even stress enough how stoked I am to not have to pick and choose and then request days off at work. (If you know me, you know that I HATE USING PTO. I’m a hoarder. Barb gives me quarterly lectures about this.)

Anyway. A few weeks ago, I happened to see that United Nations was coming to Smiling Moose. But, let me back up. Perhaps you’ve heard of a little now-defunct band called Thursday? Fucking sick post-hardcore band that blew through the scene and, in my opinion, really shook shit up. I remember hearing “Understanding in a Car Crash” on our city’s alternative/hardrock radio station and thinking, “Holy shit, they’re actually playing Thursday on the radio?” I thought that was going to change things, like maybe next I’d start hearing Thrice and Glassjaw on the radio too, like maybe post-hardcore was going to become The Next Big Thing.

But, no. And that’s probably for the best.

Thursday did go on to become a pretty big deal though. I remember being really excited to see them in Coachella and Henry was just like, “Oh great. This fucking band.” And I remember like it was yesterday, Geoff Rickly passing out on the stage because it was 113 degrees in that fucking desert, and for some reason thinking “Now Henry will like them!” and he was like, “Why, because their singer passed out? I mean, I feel bad, but no. I still don’t like them.”

That was in 2004. I saw them again later that summer at The Cure’s Curiosa festival. Robert Smith had met them when they played Coachella that spring and really liked them, so he personally invited them to be a part of Curiosa. Can you imagine being a young band like that, and oh hello, Robert Smith wants us to join his exclusive summer music festival, no big deal.

So, I got to see them twice in 2004 and then….not ever again. They called it quits in 2011 and I kicked myself. There have been so many times over the years where self-kicking over missed music opportunities have happened, and you know what? I’m not missing things anymore.

And that is why even though Henry was like, “I am 100% for certain not going to this show with you,” I still bought my fucking ticket for this “little” screamo super-group called United Nations that just so happens to be fronted by Geoff Rickly.

Henry dropped me off at the Smiling Moose after work on Thursday, where I sat at the bar like a girl who had been stood up, chugging two Redd’s Apple Ales and then going upstairs for a night of screamo/post-hardcore.

Worn Colors, a local Pittsburgh band, had already started by the time I walked in, but it was still early and I was one of 8 people in the room. The singer spent most of the set coming out onto the floor to sing, which was great but also made me nervous because he kept standing next to me and I wasn’t trying to have any interaction because, you know, I’m Erin. I’m stand-offish. Don’t look at me.

At first, I was like, oh this band is going to be dumb, because: Pittsburgh. But they were fantastic and really hurt my heart. They were kind of Touche Amore-ish, if you’re into that type of music. Which I am. I teared up a few times during their set.

I sent Henry a video of them and his reply was “glad I’m not there.” Henry just doesn’t get it, you guys.

The next band was Kid Durango and I thought I was going to hate them too because they were sitting at the bar when I got there and the singer reminded me of that douche from Puddle of Mudd. (Also, my eyes are bad, so who knows for sure.)

“We’re going to play a song right now, but just so you know, the set hasn’t started yet. We’ll let you know when it starts,” the singer said, and I was like, “What? I hate you.” But then they started playing Toto’s “Africa” and I was like, “FUCK YOU I LOVE YOU!!!!” They played the whole song and then the singer was all, “OK now our real set is starting.” And they launched into 30 minutes of some kind of neo-grunge and I surprisingly was OK with it. Also, I think I’m in love with the singer now, but you expected that.

Meanwhile, some kid coerced me into buying a copy of his Socialism magazine and then wouldn’t stop talking to me about it and I was like, “Kid. There’s a band. I’m trying to listen.” He kept asking me to come to some socialist revolt this weekend at Pitt and finally I gave him my fucking email address just so he would go away.

Two minutes, he sent me an email with details for this weekend’s couch-burning rally and then 30 second after that he was at my side again, asking me if I got his email. Fuuuck. Still, I texted Henry and said, “I’m a socialists now. Bye.”

The third band was Frameworks from Gainesville, FL. I don’t have any pictures of them (there’s a video though, down below there) but man. They were beautiful and touched my soul with their perfect, melodic hardcore. I love this genre of music so much, because how else can I cater to my polarizing sadness and anger all at once? It is the perfect drug for people with personality disorders.

(Henry just walked by and said this band is not melodic to him at all. Haha.)

It was still pretty empty there during Frameworks. I was standing next to a wall about 10 feet back from the stage and the whole middle of the floor was empty. So, all this room, right? Yet some guy still decided to stand right next to me. Like, so very next to me that people probably thought he was my boyfriend. Henry doesn’t even stand that “next to me” at shows. (Big surprise.) First, he kept “accidentally” nudging my foot with his. So I would cross my right leg over my left to create more space. Then his fingertips kept grazing my arm and I was like “WHAT, BECAUSE I’M HERE ALONE AND I’M A BROAD, RIGHT?!” God, fuck off!

It’s not often that I go to a show where I feel that the entire line-up is solid, but this was one of those times. There wasn’t a single moment where I was like, “OK, please be done now.” Although, I’m a little sad that the fucking DC show got a special guest as the opener and it turned out it was motherfucking Will Butler from Arcade Fire. (Just found out a few days later BOTH Butler brothers played!)

BUT THEN IT WAS TIME FOR UNITED NATIONS~!! Oh you guys, it’s been a minute since I got to enjoy some real, authentic screamo and since Henry wasn’t there worrying about getting his hair mussed and his non-descript shirt ripped, I got to enjoy it from the front of the stage. And that is absolutely what I needed after these last few weeks of manic, nervous energy keeping me awake at night and making me feel like I’ve lost control of everything I’ve worked so hard to keep contained.

You guys, I have been wading through some kind of emotional turmoil recently and now I was five feet away from Geoff Rickly, having his screams cauterize the pain in my heart and just feeling sheer AGGRESSION.

FUCK.

OMG being directly on the receiving end of these vocals is literally the equivalent of a day at a spa for someone like me:

The only sad part for me about that night is not having any glorious pictures of Henry’s frowns, because I can only imagine how chiseled they would have been during this particular show. Oh well, maybe I’ll get some good ones of him during Pianos Become the Teeth’s set next month at Riot Fest. RIGHT HENRY?

Here’s a compilation of the short clips I recorded during the night. I am awful at recording shit at shows because I just want to be in the moment, but I still try to get a few seconds of each band as a memento. Also, I’m usually never holding my phone properly, haha.

The next morning at work, Glenn asked me in his typical dry monotone how my “screaming show” was.

“Oh my god, it was so good!! Geoff Rickly spit on me!” I cried.

“That’s great. I bet Henry wishes he could spit on you every night.” GOOD ONE GLENN.

**********

Even if this isn’t your thing, I do recommend reading about their history, because it’s exciting. Geoff Rickly gives zero fucks. More bands should be like this.

Listening to these two songs over and over is not going to snap me out of my melancholic funk. BUT I CAN’T STOP.

Let’s keep telling ourselves that.

The new Emarosa album is coming out on September 9.

I already pre-ordered it (the bundle I got comes with a fox ring!!

), I get to see them play at Riot Fest a week later, and then two weeks after that, Icarus the Owl is playing here at Smiling Moose. September is going to murder my heart.

Sometime back in May, my friend Kristy needed someone to go see Jenny Lewis with her on July 27th. I volunteered right away, not because I particularly love Jenny Lewis, but because sometimes it’s nice to go to a show as a casual fan and experience things from a different perspective.

That makes sense to me.

My familiarity with Jenny Lewis is definitely way more than the average person, but I haven’t really followed her solo career much after the first album. There was a time in my life (early 20s) when I REALLY liked her band, Rilo Kiley. The Execution of All Things got a lot of rotation in my house, but that was also back when I was really into indie rock, hipster folk, twee, and basically anything that Barsuk, Saddle Creek, Kill Rock Stars and Matador Records was releasing. If it was something that the Pitchfork critics splooged onto their polyester shirts over, I would listen to it. It was a sonically confusing and cold time in my life where I wasn’t really listening to music that I was emotionally connecting with. But Rilo Kiley was the exception because they made me feel happy, and I will always associate good things with them because this was back when I still had a decent relationship with my family, I hadn’t met Christina yet, and my job at the Meat Place hadn’t yet fractured my psyche. OMG, 2002, I miss you. Sometimes.

I’d never gotten the chance to see them though, so seeing Jenny Lewis was the obvious next best thing.

Jenny is to Kristy what Jonny Craig was to me. Jenny is her ginger crush, the one who makes her swoon and fan-girl and I REALLY WANTED TO SEE THIS HAPPEN.

We started off the night at Grist House Brewing down the street from Mr. Small’s. Luckily, I am starting to be OK with some beers, so I was able to order a wheat beer thing without looking like frightened lamb. I think. Kristy likes to drink those really dark beers. I don’t think I will ever be on her level. It doesn’t matter how many times she says, “Bitch, get on my level.” I’m on Basic Beer Bitch levels forever, I think.

Finally, it was time to get in line at Mr. Small’s, where this majestic moment happened:

ADORABLE.

There were lots of older people in line with us, so I made sure to take pictures of them to text to Henry, who was probably like, “Figures. The one show I don’t go to, my People are there.”

Once we got inside, there was a really scary, tense moment where Kristy thought she lost her ticket, which would have been pretty crazy considering I actually DID lose my ticket. (Luckily, I realized this the night before, and Kristy had an extra one for me.)

We were one of the first people inside, so we got a good spot right in front of the stage, which almost never happens because the shows I typically go to are too dangerous for little old ladies like me. But mostly because Henry is always with me and he is like FUCK TO THE NO when it comes to getting up close. I remember one of the first festivals I went to with Henry, I pulled him up really close to the stage for Sugarcult and he tried to assault some teenage boy.

“What?!” Henry shouted in defense. “He pushed me!”

“Because that’s what people do near the stage! You can’t push him back, he’s a kid!” I yelled. Fuck, it was hilarious. Now I feel like Henry would let a body drop on my neck just out of spite.

“What? This is just what people do near the stage,” I can hear him saying smugly.

Anyway, I’m much less afraid of the stage at outdoor shows than ones in small venues.

The opening band was the Apache Relay. I was really into half of their set, but the other half had my mind drifting off into the ethers. This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy them! I liked the heavier songs. The singer reminded me of my friend Wonka and I appreciated that he punctuated certain words with hand motions. And the guitarist in front of me reminded me of Janna with a beard, so that was entertaining in and of itself.

After their set, Kristy and I were entertained by two guys behind us who embroiled in some heavy MIT-caliber discourse which evolved into the possibility of attaching babies to remote-controlled helicopters and how they’re surprised it hasn’t already happened yet and maybe I’m just really that dumb, but I was like WTF would be the scientific purpose of that?! Maybe I missed a key component of the conversation because you know me and the drifting off into aforementioned ethers.

Shortly after 9:20, Jenny came out with a glass of red wine in her hand, and how can you not love that!?

FUN FACT: When Chooch was born, I gave him Henry’s last name instead of mine because I thought Riley Kelly sounded too much like Rilo Kiley and I’ve always kind of had a hard time saying it because my tongue turns lame, so I couldn’t imagine a lifetime of having to announce “Here is my son, Riley Kelly!” I just said it in my head and it took me two tries because I kept wanting to say Riley Kiley.

Literally no one has ever understood this except for Kristy and my other Jenny Lewis-loving friend, Gina (WHO WAS THERE THAT NIGHT BUT I DIDN’T SEE HER!!). Because I almost always have to say, “You know. The band. Rilo Kiley. RILO KILEY? The girl from Troop Beverly Hills? Her band? Also, one of the kids from Salute Your Shorts? HAVE YOU BEEN IN A COMA!?”

Friends, this is what happens when you only listen to the radio. You don’t understand 85% of my dumb music references. (Maybe that’s a good thing?)

This crowd was calm as FUCK. Aside from the one lesbian to my right who would periodically hemorrhage “JENNY, YOU’RE HAAAAAWT!” and then resume swing-dancing with her girlfriend, there was no pushing, shoving, no circle pits, no walls of death. It was a nice change of pace for me! And even standing three heads back from the stage, I wasn’t sweating because people were actually giving each other personal space, and this was unfathomable to me. It has clearly been a LONG time since I’d gone to an “adult” concert.

Even from just a casual fan’s perspective, Jenny Lewis killed it. How refreshing to see a female performer who doesn’t have to rely on twerking, costume changes or being suspended in the air to hold people’s attention. Jenny kept everyone captivated with just her presence and flawless voice.

Literally, this drunk couple was the only bad part of the whole night. Thankfully, they waited until the last two songs before shoving and trampling their way to the front, where they proceeded to chug their cans of cheap beer, block everyone’s view with their Wall of Douche, and CHAT LOUDLY. That is my BIGGEST PET PEEVE at shows. OK, I get that everyone wants to be close, everyone wants the best view, everyone is the #1 fan. Whatever. That’s normal. I get it. But if you’re just at a show to get drunk and talk with your friends, stay the fuck at the bar. Everyone around us was visibly annoyed and bristled at these assholes, who honest-to-god kept looking around and smirking at everyone. Like, “Oh, are we in the way? HAHAHAHAHA.”

Fucking assholes.

But, they didn’t deter Kristy from having her heart pumped full of ginger beauty. These are important moments in life, and I was so honored to get to be there while Kristy experienced pure music nirvana. And Jenny played some songs that I knew in spite of me not following her solo career, so it was a win for all!

Now I’m going to make her see Emarosa with me. <3

******

Did I mention that Kristy made me a motivational poster with adjustable lips for Henry? SHE IS AWESOME.

For your consideration: a 5×7 acrylic homage to the therapeutic role music plays in our lives. (If you don’t relate to this, then I’m sorry.)

This series of mixtape paintings has been really fun. Get one before my attention drifts and I go back to painting ugly things.

“Music Heals” listing on Etsy. I can also make you a custom one if you hate the colors.

Now go! Enjoy your Sunday!

I’ve written the words a million times on here, but Alternative Press is my favorite magazine in the entire world and I attribute SO MUCH of the breadth of my music tastes to it. They saved me from a stagnant wasteland of 90s R&B (which I still have room in my heart for, but thank god I branched out, you know?).

I even became friends with one of my music critic idols and was fortunate enough to get to visit the AP office twice. It was just as magnificent for me the second time! And through AP, I became friends with Terri and Christian, who are visiting me next week and we’re going to talk and talk and talk about music until Henry is like CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT TED NUGENT NOW, OMG.

Anyway. Monday night, Alt Press hosted their very first ever music awards show at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I wanted to go in the worst way, but couldn’t make it out. Luckily, it was televised. But we don’t get the channel airing it! I was just about to admit defeat when, FIVE MINUTES before it started, I happened to find some random Panic! At the Disco fan site on Twitter who tweeted a link to a livestream they had set up. Literally, it was a webcam propped up across from their TV, and I laid in my bedroom on my stomach watching the entire four hours on my fucking iPhone, because that is how much it meant to me. This is what it looked like:

But it didn’t matter to me, because I was just so stoked that MY SCENE was getting red carpet treatment for once. MY BANDS were nominated for awards. THE FANS got to vote. And it was legit! Like a beautiful marriage between Alt Press and Warped Tour (Kevin Lyman was one of the producers, even) and then Ice T came out and taught all the kids that if they talk shit, they get shot. It was glorious.

There were so many moments when I cheered and wept openly (Pierce the Veil won Best Live Band, you guys) and the only low-lights for me was the fact that Falling In Reverse* and Attila got to show their disgusting pig-faces on TV at all.

*(Ronnie Radke makes Jonny Craig look like a wholesome potato farmer.)

But the best moment for me, and the entire reason for this post, was when Billy Corgan accepted the Vanguard Award with this speech:

“I know you’ve been out here a long time because you’ve been out here a long time and you want to hear the bands play, as you should. The kids rule, the kids always rule, the kids win, and they should. The kids should always kick motherfuckers like me out of the way, and I mean that. I’m no legend, your favorite song is legend, your favorite band is legend, your favorite concert is legend. That’s what makes it work, you make it work. Every generation deserves its dream, its bands, its artists, its voices, and I’m glad to see you have those bands here tonight, that’s awesome. Let me say one last thing, if you don’t mind, if you’ll indulge me. And by the way let me thank Miss Joan Jett for being here. Incredible artist, incredible career, and yes it’s a career, it’s called a career, it’s okay. It’s okay to make money, it’s okay to sell things, it’s okay to sell t-shirts, nobody gets hurts. Let me say this last thing to you. There’s two paths you take when you first put on that guitar or sing that song: do I want to please this audience, or do I want to push this audience’s buttons?”

“In alternative music, which Alternative Press has been putting across for how many years now, you have to be able to push those buttons. You understand what pushing those buttons means, but most of the world doesn’t, they just see angry people screaming about God knows what. So over 25 years ago I made the decision that I was going to push your buttons, or the people that came before you, or the people that came before you. I like to think that I’m receiving this in humility because I’m willing to push your buttons, because I’m willing to tell you to go fuck yourself. I didn’t start a band to be anybody’s bitch, I started a band to kick your fucking head in. What I love about the bands that are coming up here tonight, is that they’re trying to kick your head in, and they should. You deserve it, you deserve your bands, you deserve your bands to push you, to make you question everything about you, because if they don’t do it, nobody else will, and you do understand that. So God bless you, thank you very much.”

(Thanks to the fine people at Alternative Nation for the transcript!)

Billy fucking Corgan, you guys. Such truth. I know a lot of you can relate to this, and that is why we’re friends.

I am so ridiculously proud of Alternative Press and my friend Jason and every last person involved in putting together such an epic production for a scene that is so often shat upon. I really, really hope this was the first of many more AP Awards. Because if there’s one next year, I’m fucking going.

You know how sometimes things just feel wrong from the moment you wake up? That’s how I felt Tuesday morning when I sprung (seriously) out of bed and did my IT’S WARPED TOUR, MOTHERFUCKAS feet-stomp on my bedroom floor. I felt so excited but also kind of disjointed, like something just wasn’t right. And on paper, it had all of the components of being the perfect day, because for the first time in years, the temperature was only going to be 79 degrees! Usually it’s almost 100 and we have sweat rolling down our backs before we even get through the gates.

My plan was to be out of the house by 8am so we could stop somewhere and have a real breakfast along the way, something better than the McDonald’s shit Henry usually plies me with on Warped Tour morn. I wanted pancakes or something, I don’t know. Something that would get me through the day.

But Henry ruined my plans as usual by being woefully unprepared so it was 9 by the time we pulled away from the house. Chooch was so tired that he brought a pillow from the couch and slept on it the whole way to First Niagra Pavilion, which is about 40 minutes outside of Pittsburgh, I guess. We hit all kinds of construction and had dumb Subway for breakfast which I didn’t want and then Henry got me HOT COFFEE from Starbucks instead of ICED COFFEE and the day was ALREADY RUINED, I COULD JUST TELL.

AND THEN, AFTER WAITING IN TRAFFIC FOR UNLIMITED MINUTES, HE PASSED UP THE ENTRANCE TO THE VENUE AND HAD TO TURN AROUND AND WAIT IN MORE TRAFFIC COMING FROM THE OTHER DIRECTION AND I WAS CRYING BY THEN.

But we finally parked, and gates still hadn’t opened yet so I was starting to calm down. Then Henry and Chooch had to go to guest services so Henry could get his complimentary Parent Ticket, so I stayed back and saved their spot in line. But then they never came back! They got in a different line! And Henry was texting me about how they walked past a camera crew that was potentially filming the next season of Warped Roadies and then he sent me a picture of Warped founder KEVIN LYMAN who happened to be standing near them and I was like “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MURDER MY FEELINGS!?”

But standing in that line alone for 40 minutes was about to prepare me for the rest of the day….so, thanks?

The best part, though, was that my line moved faster and I got inside way before they did. If you’ve never been to Warped Tour, the one thing you need to know is that the very first thing you’re going to want to do is run to the Inflatable, which has the day’s schedule on display. You can also buy a paper schedule for $2, which we always do, but the Inflatable will tell me much faster which bands are playing like RIGHTNOW which is important because shit starts as soon as those gates open. The one band I was looking for, The Marmozets, wasn’t listed on either the Inflatable or the paper schedule and I was like WHAT. #WarpedTourProblems.

I met up with Chooch and Henry in time to take Chooch’s picture with the Chunk! No, Captain Chunk! panda. (Pretty good band, too, if you’re into French pop punk and Goonies references.)

(Which I am, so…)

(And true to form, this was the second time in a row that I missed their goddamn set because of scheduling conflicts. #WARPEDTOURPROBLEMS.)

One of the smartest things bands do before the gates open is send someone around all of the lines with a sign that has what stage they’re playing on and when. That’s how I knew without even needing to consult with the Inflatable that To the Wind was playing at 11:15. I excitedly texted my friend Terri to tell her, because she likes them too and I told her I would report back.

I mean, if my WRONG COFFEE hadn’t already woken me up, I could have for sure counted on To the Wind’s set to have me thoroughly caffeinated. Nothing better some gritty hardcore for breakfast.

This was around the time that we started to realize Chooch wasn’t just tired, but possibly ill. He started out standing during To the Wind’s set, but then ended up sitting down Indian-style, right next to a bunch of guys who were hardcore dancing so I had to be Chooch’s human barricade. I thought he was just being a lazy jerk at first, but then as we were walking to another stage, he was like, “My head, throat and stomach hurt really bad” and I’m no nurse, but I was able to piece those clues together and hypothesize that perhaps my son was sick.

Weird, hunched-over gait. Not asking for every single shirt he saw in Merch Alley. Only taking a few timid licks of an ice cream cone and refusing pizza, chicken strips and a cheeseburger. Yep, my kid was sick.

I at least got him to take one selfie with me, but this was during the first hour and he hadn’t yet reached the pinnacle of his plague. Henry was actually going to just take him home and then come back that night to get me, but then we saw that the Summer Set was doing a meet and greet later than afternoon and asked Chooch if he wanted to do it. That sprung him to life a little bit, so we bought a Summer Set shirt and got a skip the line ticket. Then Henry took Chooch to the hillside and let him sleep under the shade of the trees while I ran off and did my own shit.

This was Henry’s view while he sat next to Sleeping Chooch:

I really wish Henry would take some fashion risks like that. But NO: non-descript t-shirts until the motherfucking day he dies.

Obligatory Warped Tour photo of me being blissed-out and Henry hating his life.

I miss this scene already.

A lot of the bands I follow on Instagram were like SERIOUSLY, CHECK OUT K. FLAY AT WARPED TOUR! so I did and she was alright. Kind of like if God changed his mind and made it possible for two men to conceive a child together and Mike Posner and Bizzie Bone decided to give it a whirl and next thing you know, we’re welcoming K. Flay into the world. She had a very laid-back California hip hop vibe going on and it was mildly entertaining, but not enough that I was like, “HOLY SHIT I MUST BUY HER SHIT RIGHT NOW.” Still, it’s always cool to see a girl killing it on any stage at Warped Tour.

Speaking of, some low-tier music journalist wrote a piece about how Kevin Lyman hates women because he doesn’t have enough female bands at Warped Tour and usually I’m all for girl power, but I had to strongly disagree with her in this case. I don’t go to shows based on the gender of bands. I go based on if they sound good or not. Kevin Lyman should definitely NOT pick female bands just for the sake of meeting some imaginary, unspoken quota. Um, remember when he had Katy Perry there in 2008? God, that was just terrible.

The bottom-line is that this is just a male-dominated scene. Not on purpose. I just think that there aren’t a ton of girls who get into playing music and decide that they want to be in a hardcore or metalcore band, and that’s the genre that makes up most of Warped Tour. I think Kevin does a good job seeking out girl bands that he feels sound good and fit the criteria. It’s not his fault that there aren’t a ton to choose from.

In all the years I’ve been going to Warped Tour, the lack of girl bands has never crossed my mind.

THAT BEING SAID, I was really looking forward to seeing the Marmozets, which my pal Jason described to me as “Hayley Williams fronting Dillinger Escape Plan.” I’ve had hearts in my eyes ever since. Anyway, Jason told me yesterday that the Marmozets missed two weeks of Warped Tour because of goddamn Visa issues, so it wasn’t that they were playing on some invisible stage that I couldn’t find; they just weren’t there at all. Super sigh. Another day, Marmozets. #WarpedTourProblems

At one point, I came back from my rounds (which included having one of the YOUNG boys at the Clean Water refill station flirt with me, yessss) to find Henry and Chooch in this state:

That’s how we knew Chooch was definitely sick-sick: he kept saying he couldn’t feel the heat of the sun even though it was beating down on him. He had goosebumps, even. But every time he saw me, he would murmur, “Where’s my Summer Set shirt!?” and I would say, “In my bag” and then he would go back to sleep. He really did get a lot of rest there. I didn’t drag him around and make him do shit.

Surprisingly.

Soon, it was almost 2pm and I was faced with a terribly difficult decision: SAVES THE DAY OR BEARTOOTH?!?! UGHHH! In the end, I went with Beartooth only because I’ve seen Saves the Day before (god, I love them so much though, and it would have been nice to hear some stuff from their most recent album, UGH #WarpedTourProblems). Turns out though choosing Beartooth was life-changing. No, I’m not being melodramatic. Their set honestly breathed life into me.

Typically, I will stand off to the side because I’m “old,” scared of getting hurt, and Henry is usually with me and we all know Henry ain’t going in no motherfucking pit y’all. But this time I was alone. So I pushed my way further into the crowd, forgetting for the moment that I absolutely hate touching other people, and next thing I knew, I was getting pushed further and further into the pit and it was just what I fucking needed. Not that I generally feel like an old person, but something clicked during Beartooth and I felt like myself. Like the person I used to be a really long time ago before shitty Real Life changed me. I didn’t care what I looked like or who was looking at me or if I looked like a mom or if I was going to get hurt or if I was going to hurt someone. I just went in there and raged and even fought the urge to apologize when I jumped on someone’s foot and then I got to shove someone in a hammerhead shark costume and it was like a fucking awakening, like my own personal version of Cocoon and Caleb Shomo was my Steve Guttenberg. When he screamed, “You guys paid to come to Warped Tour, and it’s up to you to make the most of it, so get the fuck up!” I screamed myself hoarse, because FUCK YES I WANT THIS TO STILL BE THE BEST DAY EVER! Yes, there were some roadblocks, poor Chooch was sick, there weren’t any of my favorite bands there, but goddammit: IT WAS STILL WARPED TOUR. And that was all I needed to have my day saved.

It also didn’t hurt when Davey from Vanna come out to guest-scream. God, he’s fucking hot. Basically, I walked away from that stage wanting 57 different Beartooth tattoos and a membership to their fan club. Do bands still have fan clubs, or am I REALLY being a 35-year-old right now?

Soon after, it was time for me to collect Henry and Chooch so we could get in line for the Summer Set meet and greet, which was a huge cluster and Henry was having a hard time holding himself back from assaulting the throng of fangirls who kept encroaching on us.

I missed Every Time I Die while waiting in this never-ending line with Chooch, so next time he tries to say I’m a horrible mom, I’ll be sure to throw this back in his face. I DID THIS FOR YOU, SON. #WarpedTourProblems

Chooch was able to muster enough energy to stand up and smile with the Summer Set. He adores them so much and knows all the words to their songs. They’re not really my cup of tea, but at the same time, I don’t mind when he puts them on. It could be way worse, you guys. They really pushed people through as fast as possible: you’d get to the front, give some dude your phone, pose, then split. It was like a factory line, but trust me: I’ve seen how long these lines get and they have to do what they can to keep things in control, so it wasn’t like it was overtly rude or anything. However, when it was Chooch’s turn, he went to walk away after the picture was taken, but they called him back over and each one gave him a high-five. I thought that was super sweet, so it made me like them a lot more and I didn’t groan or act put-out when we had to watch their set later. (It was actually pretty fun.)

But first I had to go see my favorites in Of Mice & Men! They were a last minute addition to the Warped roster and I was really happy because they’re always so good.

Here’s an accidental video I took of some dude’s underwear, which I found on my phone the day after and couldn’t stop laughing, so I showed Chooch and he was like “I MISSED OF MICE & MEN?! UGH!” :(

They have played my favorite song by them—“Second & Sebring”—every single time I’ve seen them, but not this time. I was like, “WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING THAT’S IT YOU’RE DONE!?” when they played their last song and said goodbye. *WarpedTourProblems

Chooch was able to hang on long enough to watch The Summer Set, but the poor kid had to sit down in the parking lot through the whole thing.

The struggle is real. #WarpedTourProblems

Here are two different angles of Henry hating his life:

Even though he was feeling like shit, his little lips still moved along to all of the words, and at the beginning of each song, he would look up at me and tell me what song it was. He was especially rejuvenated when they played “Fuck You Over” because OMG a song that enables him to swear freely. We left after their set, around 6:00, which sucked but he wasn’t getting any better. I was torn between Mom and Teenager: I wanted to leave so my kid could get better rest, but the spoiled teenaged brat side of me was like, “I’M NOT DONE HERE!” In all honesty, there was really only one more band that I really wanted to see, so it wasn’t that big of a sacrifice.

The next day, Chooch (feeling much better) was looking at the schedule and lamenting over all the bands we missed. “We missed Crown the Empire!” he cried. If he wasn’t my precious kid, I would have been like, “YEAH AND IT’S YOUR FAULT!” like when Christina’s sister made us leave early in 2007 and I wasn’t done yet and I still complain it 7 years later, clearly. But instead I just felt super bad for him because he really honestly wanted to see some of the bands there. Of all days to get sick.

“I felt so much better during Summer Set,” Chooch said with melancholy. “My throat stopped hurting and everything. But then when they were done, my throat started to hurt again and I wanted to leave.”

And then he asked, “What was that first band we saw?”

“To the Wind,” I replied. “You hated them, didn’t you?”

“No!” Chooch yelled incredulously. “I was really enjoying them! I just had to sit down because my legs were hurting. BECAUSE I WAS SICK.” We’re going to be hearing about that for quite some time, I think. But then we started talking about how one of the guys in To the Wind has a prosthetic leg, so that distracted him from filing his emancipation paperwork.

Chooch wore his Summer Set shirt for the next two days until I finally made him change because have you seen how heavily my kid sweats? Also, I love that he’s not deterred by a shirt with flowers on it.

I still have post-Warped Tour sadness, even though it didn’t go off without a hitch, it was still my Christmas in July and I made sure it was a beautiful day. Like Beartooth preached: Warped Tour is all in what you make of it. I could have sat around and pouted, but I didn’t. I waited all year for that day and fucking hell, I was going to make the most of it. Besides, I know that next year will be better. So let the countdown begin!

(This was probably the best Warped Tour Henry has ever been to because he literally got to sit the whole time and not have his dumb beard bristled by banshee-like bands.)

On July 12th, 2005, I was in the car with Henry on the way home from Cleveland, crying because I had just met Anthony Green of Circa Survive. I didn’t know how to tell him how much his band meant to me, and how it had helped to calm down the madness in my head, so instead I mumbled, “You guys were great tonight, will you sign my CD.” So goddamn lame.

I still remember that I was wearing my brother Ryan’s old blue soccer t-shirt that had the name of my Pappap’s drywall company on it. It’s weird what we remember during moments of emotional agony. Oh, haha.

I met a guy at that night at the Grog Shop who told me that Anthony actually gave him his phone number after the guy told him he was suicidal. “I called him one night and he talked me through it,” he told me. “He saved my life.” And if it weren’t for that guy taking me over to meet Anthony after the show that night, I probably would be telling you the story about how I’ve loved Circa Survive since 2005 but have never met Anthony Green.

2005 was a shit year for me: mentally, emotionally, and financially. That May, I experienced what I still to this day believe was a nervous breakdown. Things were just bad. I had nagging thoughts of driving my car off the road. I would go so psycho on Henry that I wouldn’t be surprised if he considered calling in a priest at some point. I actually called a church at one point to seek help, because I didn’t have health insurance and had no idea where else to turn. Janna even had to come and babysit one day after I bit myself, so be thankful if we weren’t friends in 2005, I guess.

But one of the shining points for me, as always, was music. Circa Survive’s debut album, Juturna, came out that June. I had been eagerly awaiting it, after having already been a fan of Saosin, the band that Anthony left to start Circa Survive.

Something about Anthony’s unconventional voice over top the most beautiful music that I had heard in quite some time just really did it for me. It sounded different from everything else that I was listening to back then. It was obsession, and I drove Henry crazy with it, making mix CDs of every single bootleg demo, live recording, B-side I could find of Saosin, Circa Survive, and Anthony’s solo work. It was the Year of Anthony Green and Henry wanted to slit his throat.

That music calmed me down. It helped me think straight. I would take it to the cemetery with me and cry, but they were good tears. And, after three months of not writing due to my nervous breakdown thing, I decided to start writing again.

Juturna reminds me of the beginning of my pregnancy. (Because, yes, let’s cap off one of the most tumultuous, bipolar summers of my life by having a planned pregnancy. Good old inpulsives.) Being so excited to have this child and play “Great Golden Baby” for him. That was my favorite Circa song for a really long time. There are still times when, out of the blue, I hear the line “This changes everything” in my head. If I’ve ever made you a mix CD anytime after 2005, there is a really good chance that there is at least one Circa Survive song on it. I wanted everyone to know them and to love them.

I know, I seem so melodramatic when it comes to this stuff, but this is Truth. This is honestly how I experience music. And I cry every time I write these blog posts, haha!

When Henry and I went to see The Sound of Animals Fighting last March in Philly, that was the first time I had seen Anthony since 2008. I still liked Circa Survive, and I kept up with all their subsequent releases, but if I’m being honest, none of their other albums ever fisted my heart the way Juturna had. But when I saw they were coming to Pittsburgh in July, something inside me said, “You need to go see them again.” So I bought a ticket without hesitating. This show was announced back when I still had my old evening shift at work, and normally I would always ask to work half-day or just take the whole day off before even buying the ticket, but this time, I was like, “I don’t care, I’ll deal with that part later.” Because this was important to me. I’ve been trying to find ways to let go of my 20s, because that was a really bad decade for me, for the most part. And I thought, maybe seeing them again after all this time will help me heal.

It just felt like more than just going to a show. It was something I needed.

Originally, I was going to go alone, but then Henry ended up going with me too because I panicked and didn’t want to be alone. I knew that I was going to cry and I didn’t want to be That Person standing alone and sobbing. So Henry went too and held my hand through most of it. And thank god for that because I felt like my heart was exploding from the moment Circa walked on stage all the way up to when we were in the car leaving.

The opening band was Ume, by the way, and if you love female-fronted bands that are actually fantastic, I suggest that you check them out. It was like the 90s all over again, in a good way. And then while we were waiting for Circa, I noticed a guy standing in front of me, and because I’m obsessed with the Dupree family (please see: Eisley), I thought to myself, “That looks like the back of Garron Dupree’s head.” And then I looked to the left and thought, “Huh.

That looks like Reed Murray. And that looks like Fred Maraschino.” And it turned out it WAS all of them, because they’re all currently in the band Say Anything, who was actually in town the night before, playing at the same venue. So I had a total fangirl moment and thank god Henry was there because he actually knows all of these names by default so I was able to squeal about it and have him understand what was going on.

Interestingly, Say Anything was supposed to be the headliner when I saw Circa Survive for the first time in 2005, but they dropped off the tour after their singer Max Bemis had a mental breakdown. (I can relate.) So it was kind of like this surreal full circle moment for me, knowing that Say Anything was there at Mr. Small’s that night, watching. It’s so awesome when bands support each other.

Then Henry pointed out that Anthony Green had walked right past me during Ume’s set but as usual, I had no idea. This happened like 57 times in Philly too. It’s hilarious to me that Henry, Mr.

I Don’t Give a Shit About These Bands, is always the first one to spot band members.

I don’t really know what words can do justice to the show itself, other than saying it was like a religious experience for me. Anthony Green is one of the great voices of my generation, and it always feels like an honor to be in his presence. And unlike Jonny Craig, he is a NICE GUY. Here’s a singer who kicked an addition, married a great girl and made two beautiful sons. He’s an inspiration, and an example that some singers can be charismatic without also having God complexes.

(Ahem, Craig Owens.)

All Anthony has to do is whisper “Come” into the mic while making a beckoning motion with his hands, and the room literally lurches toward the stage like a horde of Palestinians throwing themselves at Jesus’s feet.

I used to try to hold back tears at concerts, but then I finally realized that it feels so much better to just let it go. So…my face was pretty wet that night.

^^^This song. Me = gutted. The “Don’t stop talking to me, I haven’t been listening” part used to be what I used for my mom’s ringtone. You know, back when I had her number in my phone. When they played that part last week, my legs turned to Jello.

They played for about 2 hours and totally satisfied my Juturna cravings.

It was the perfect set list, the perfect night, and the perfect way to say goodbye to the ghosts of 2005.

I love this fucking band so much.