Arma virumque cano…I found myself at the Bowery Ballroom in a rush last night.
Ant and I had been doing the potential place surveying, weighing the pros and cons at a homey would-be neighborhood restaurant. One had space that we both envisioned as a bar room yet the other had the potential to keep more money in our pocket by gaining a 3rd and was the more comfy of the two. Alas, we leave it to fate and money.
I ran as fast I could up the steps of the Bowery stop, hearing Benzos as I almost reached the sidewalk. I showed my receipt and ID and got my wristband and ran downstairs and waited to get checked off with my credit card (yet got no ticket. Just because I buy online, I can’t get a real ticket?) and hurried through the lounge and ran upstairs and hurried through the crowd and there they were on stage. “We’ve got two songs left,” one said. I unzipped my parka and tried to catch my breath. I people-watched as the music sweeped over. Weezer meets Radiohead? I only think Weezer because the player keeps playing “Across The Sea.” And because the singer who does the glitchy stuff is very Riversesque looking to me. Then again, you seen one skinny floppy haired singing like that, you would mix them up too. They rocked and the crowd murmured appreciatively and I wandered back downstairs to the bathroom.
“I just got here. Did Phoenix play yet?” said some girl.
“No,” someone responded.
“Oh good…cause I’m only here to see them.”
“Yeah, me too!”
“Who just played?”
“Umm…Benzos. They were alright. I’m waiting for Phoenix.”
“Do you know them?”
“Well I know that song, you know, the one in Lost In Translation.”
“Yeah, that’s a great song. Me too.”
“Yeah, I came cause I thought it’d be cool.”
“Yeah…”
My first instinct was to sneer. My first instinct is always to sneer. I imagine most of the crowd is like these girls in their distressed vintage casual threads from Urban Outfitters or thereabouts. Phoenix is like such a cool band, man. They’re like French and stuff. Air with, like, guitars or something. When I think of Phoenix, I think of my semester in Paris…or when I went to visit last year…or like how cool Paris is, they say.
Instead, I tune them out and focus on the girl holding the water bottle above the door of a stall and murmuring to the girl on the other end. “I’m ready for the water now,” said the wan figure opening the door a crack. Vomit. At the second act. I really sneer and head off into my stall.
I get a drink and wander the crowd. All look same, but I’m fascinated by the hipster boy hair. It’s so fluffy and mop-top like. It shakes when they move! It’s so shaggy! My hair even when it’s bone straight defying gravity and nature can never be so shaggy like that. It’s the only thing I occasionally covet. I don’t want to be tall or thin, just have some shaggy hair ever once in a while. Maybe I can buy a wig.
I wander over to the merch table. “Let me know if you need any help,” she says. I give her a glance and a faint sneer/smile, “I think I’ll be okay.” Plenty of shit, but nothing for Benzos. A band with no merch? The fuck? Can a girl get a fucking sticker or something please?
I chat with Alex on the cell. I lounge on the wall. I observe the mating and relating habits of the young urban youth. Shit, these 18+ shows make all the difference. I might be one of like 100 above 21 in this piece. Except for the old guys. There’s always some random old guys. Spidey sense says journos. They look even more jaded than I do.
I think of how the Bowery Ballroom is one of my hands down favorite venues. Shows are always amazing there. Too bad the next to headliner had to semi-ruin that. Sheesh…they suck. What is that? Like hootenanny brit-pop? Can it. I’m amazed at how one of the guitarist/singer guys’ hair is defying gravity though. He must’ve pulled at it for a good 10 mins to get that perfect, “just stuck my finger in a socket” look.
Wander some more. Mind drifts. Don’t look at me sideways like that, hipster boy. I’m not checking you out. I wonder how a person can have bones that small. Eat a meal. You look like a walking corpse.
Phoenix takes the stage. They play something and I’m blah. It’s a French Travis! Eh. Oh okay…I’m into it. Look at little him with his little rock star attitude and band freeze until the crowd goes wild. That was cute. Okay, they rock. I might even tap a foot. Ugh, drunkies…give me some breathing room. Woo…this band is great! Fine, you’re all so hot, even if you are all so shaggy and weigh 300 pounds collectively. Oh nice, they played my song. I still like the Todd Edwards mix better. And with that, I’m out. I’m not in the mood for a late night. I’ll beat the kids’ rush.
ETA: Matthew was there too and he’s got a helpful set list — for Phoenix at least.