5.27.2005
Nostalgia
It's been two years since I've been to a concert. Now that I'm 30, I feel free to admit this fact: I rarely leave the house after 9pm, unless my dog has the runs. Last month, however, our Chicago friends visited, bringing with them indie-rock and a whiff of what we might be missing. Inspired, we bought tickets to the Decemberists, a clever concept band from Portland, OR.
Once we got to the show, however, I had some misgivings. Art school students make me especially squeamish, and the concert was swarming with them. I was feeling a little sensitive and sad (and not a little irritated) when up the stairs bounded a young performance art type wearing an Elliott Smith t-shirt (the one with the cover of Figure 8). Now, there are few things in this world that belong to me. Smith is one, and to see this Thing wearing that shirt (probably purchased post suicide) made me boil. I hated her for the shirt and felt even sadder at the thought that I won't get to see Smith play live again, as I did twice in the late '90s (once in New York, which is the coolest thing I've ever done).
Feeling sour, I never really let myself be seduced by the band, though they are cute and clever (but a little smug, so it seemed to me). It occured to me that I am too old to be a fan, and I understand why, for my dad, once the Beatles and the Beach Boys (late Beach Boys, that is) disappeared, everything went down hill for him.
Once we got to the show, however, I had some misgivings. Art school students make me especially squeamish, and the concert was swarming with them. I was feeling a little sensitive and sad (and not a little irritated) when up the stairs bounded a young performance art type wearing an Elliott Smith t-shirt (the one with the cover of Figure 8). Now, there are few things in this world that belong to me. Smith is one, and to see this Thing wearing that shirt (probably purchased post suicide) made me boil. I hated her for the shirt and felt even sadder at the thought that I won't get to see Smith play live again, as I did twice in the late '90s (once in New York, which is the coolest thing I've ever done).
Feeling sour, I never really let myself be seduced by the band, though they are cute and clever (but a little smug, so it seemed to me). It occured to me that I am too old to be a fan, and I understand why, for my dad, once the Beatles and the Beach Boys (late Beach Boys, that is) disappeared, everything went down hill for him.
