right. I've gotten through my whole cup of coffee - my second, which reads as: my second quad, mind you - and it's been dripping on me the entire time, and I didn't notice. mostly because my olive colored (!!!) skirt has been hiding the damage, and I thought it was just water from the outside, from washing it before I used it. awesome. this is somehow akin to waking up in the middle of drinking with a steady, dotted line of wine stain down the middle of my shirt, looking down, and wondering who had had the gall to spill wine on me and not tell me.
hi.
last night was most excellent. I kind of feel like william miller right now, all about to tell the truth, but that's okay - and besides, this isn't rolling stone, so... yeah. anyways. I got to the showbox last night, after loops and loops and loops of blocks I would up finding parking at the bottom of seneca, so like, a couple of blocks at best - sweet. and when I went in, just like I was reading about back on my blog from going to see the wrens at wesleyan, those magical words got to fall from my lips and pile up all pretty on the counter in front of the girl with the Clipboard:
Hi. I'm on the guest list for Okkervil River.
and not only was I on said list, I had a pass. a photo pass. a sticky one I got to adhere to my clothing, all gawking at myself in the women's room mirror (hopes pinned to poses) and I wandered around the venue for a little, just kind of sitting in it. grinning. I texted patrick, you know, 'cause I like, have his number and stuff. they had said only do shots for the first three songs, so I wanted to make sure that was legit, where I could go, what I could do - about twenty minutes later there was a hand on my back. you made it, he said, or something, and I was like, cripes this guy is tall, which I think was my response. I'm such a dork. so I shifted into Band Photographess mode, wherein I explain the thing about the three songs, how the security won't let me go side-stage, and how he would like me to adjust - and this guy, who has gone from the Hottest Band Guy In America to like, the Nicest Band Guy In America (like, Ever, not kidding) spends the next twenty minutes talking to the security chick, bringing me backstage, showing me where I can put my bag down, and I'm hesitating at the doorway to the Back Room of the Back Stage Area, not quite sure my legs are going to keep working. and in this moment, it's me and him, and he's just so tuned in to my debilitated state - I mean, I'm totally derailed from the whole thing, as you can well imagine - and he takes me by the shoulders and looks me in the eye and tells me it's going to be alright. cut to me stashing my stuff. in the green room, this Back Room. Back Stage. cut to me getting stripped of my photo pass and being handed an All Access / PHOTO pass. I look at her (the security chick) and then back at patrick.
I ask him what this means.
he says it means I can do anything.
I put one hand on his arm, like kristin and I do, the Purposeful Touch, laughing to myself. I think I managed to say "yes" or "okay" out loud. I proceed to Set Up, taking test shots of sea wolf (awesome, btw, you know them, old gypsy woman said to me-e-e-e, you're a wolf, boy, get out of this town) and hanging out side stage, waiting for the set.
I took about 400 pictures. literally. I had 600 between - have 600, sorry - the triple door and the showbox. and I've got to get them off the camera tonight, because I've got to shoot ra ra riot for my lunchbreak tomorrow, and then clean that out so I can get some at the national too, but that I figure might just be viewer friendly.
I forsee myself having to upgrade my flickr account sooner than later, kids. really.
so, the part I feel bad about, would I have not noticed had I not been so close, or maybe it's just the illusion of the epic and sweeping show fading out into mechanicals and how it's a job for these boys (and ladies, sometimes) - I could see all the mistakes. I could see broken moments between the drummer and the rest of the band, I could see the frustrations with the sound guy - and as I snapped away, it became very very clear that we were - well, we were at a Show. this is a Performance. a thing that is put on, because you sold out the venue, because you making aching, epic, sweeping records and you write until your fingers fall off and we all pick up what you put down and we gladly fork over our fifteen dollars for your album and again for a ticket to see you do it live. and somewhere, somehow, either we are back a few rows and we don't see the distractions, and if we do, we forgive you, because we're all in love with it on some level the same way you are. but side stage... the transparencies were much more intimate. the look from one side of the stage to the other, all the signals to the sound guy (who I don't think was very good, btw, I mean, I couldn't do his job, but still), the yelling in the middle of epic large guitars - and it all got transcended by the times when everything was just On. on like a giant synchronized swim, complete with aching eyebrows and laughing and the whole thing becomes one fluid movement, and you're in it, and we're in it, and everything just Is. that makes up for every beat the drummer dropped, and all the moments where stuff was a smidge off key.
on the whole - the show was good. when they're nice guys, the show's always better. that being said, you could be a total fuckface if your entire show is On, because if you're that good, who gives a shit what you say when you're off stage. well, I don't believe that completely, but like, I heard ryan adams is kind of a dick, but he's got good lines, so he gets a pass. just for the show. all access, but only for like, four hours. but yeah - like I texted with patrick this morning - you were awesome, and the set was good - promise. because he was. and it was.
oh, and one more thing, since there is actually a little work to do this morning. I mean, it involves typing, and making gift bags, and it's not very work-y to me, but still. so when harvey danger played at lufest (because, you know, I saw them a couple of weeks ago and stuff, 'cause I like, live here now) and they played little round mirrors, he introduced it as something to the effect of "this is a song about liking music too much", or something. and last night, there were a couple of girls in the front row, one in particular, who was like, spun, as we put it on tour. like, wrecked out, aching, screaming every nuance, every moment, every facial contortion, every beat, every everything. it was a little unsettling. how much faith she, and these couple of older women front row (who might have been someone's mom, though, for all I know) put so much faith into the lead singer, so much of their ache into his show-ache, and maybe it's because I saw all the little frayed parts side-stage, but - I don't want to be that girl. there were girls during sea wolf, who danced their asses off, and sang up at the rafters, to each other, and jumped all about - and they were having fun, and leaving, and drinking, and coming back, and just enjoying themselves - but these other girls, that one especially - had like, crazy eyes. I'm not kidding. I don't ever want to be that girl. and I don't think I am, but still. I took a picture of her, just so I'd remember.
and speaking of remembering, before I forget, grainy, newspapery pictures of jeff hanson's in-studio here. which is where all new photos will be headed, as we overhaul le gallery fantastique over here at hot avocados.
kiss kiss, bang bang -
VVB
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