Everything Counts in Large Amounts

It's no joke leading a rock 'n' roll lifestyle-- or even that of a groupie. I'd even go so far as to say the latter occupation is more challenging in some ways. Sure, you don't have to spend hours perfecting a talent enough to display in front of (tens of) people, but at least as a performer you get the payoff of having people screaming your name and wearing "I Heart So-and-So" shirts and blogging about you. Hahaha.
I know I've said it before, but I thought my groupie days were long over after I graduated from the Brigham. I loved going to the Ed McBand concerts, but even those got a little old after a while. Not promoting Eddie, of course-- I'd do that forever, because he's my friend, and there's something so smart about a song with the hook, "You're the Garbage and I'm the Fly," but you know what I mean.
Well, from time to time, the music lover in me takes over. Sometimes this manifests itself in me playing the piano for hours on end. Or the harmonica. One night I sat with my hymnal and tried to see how well I could play things with just the diatonic I have in the key of C. Other times, I'm content to listen. Recent additions to my iPod have included Harry Belafonte, Shakira ("Estoy Aqui" and "Underneath Your Clothes" are my personal favorites), Paramore, Jack Johnson and Ben Harper, Johnny Cash and Buddy Holly, Better than Ezra, Marty Robbins, Green Day and Counting Crows, Melissa Ethridge, the Killers, Destiny's Child ("Bootylicious" is a great tune, even if the lyrics "I don't think you're ready for this jelly" aren't the best I've ever heard), Bob Dylan, Fugees, Madonna and Amy Winehouse. A lot of it is stuff I've already had, but I'm too lazy to rip all that music to the ol' PC (and, no, I still haven't taken my laptop out of the box-- I was too busy last night making felt flowers and watching "Mama's Boy"-- a movie you should only rent if you really are bored, though there's a lot of good Morrissey stuff on the soundtrack).
Of course, the fastest way to get my fix is to listen to live music. Jeff took me to a nice NMSO performance of Carmina Burana last Friday, and "Fortuna, Imperatrix Mundi" has been running through my head ever since (though it wasn't my favorite movement). My favorite local band, Le Chat Lunatique played last Saturday night, and I was sorely disappointed to have missed them. Fortunately, Lou and I have plans to see them at Scalo on the 28th. Y'all are welcome to join up for some "filthy, gypsy jazz."
But don't cry for me too much. The reason I couldn't see my favorite local band was because I was busy watching my second-favorite local/favorite regional band (is this a stretch? As W.J.D. was recently calling LC, NM home, I'm just sayin'...). And who would that be but Avenge Apollo? Honestly, I feel a little foolish every time I go to one of their shows. Because of my consistent appearances, I'm positive I look the part of some love-crazed woman ready to start a riot like a Jonas Brother's fan-girl. I'm not, I promise. And besides, I feel a little useful when I'm there. Someone has to yell, "Brennan's hot!" (though most of the other ladies who come consistently share the sentiment), and when the following band, "Free Beer, Naked Girls, No Cover" or whatever the crap they were called, was running late and my little pals needed a song to sing, I was there to shout out one I knew they could actually play because it's often on the set list. Mark Swapp couldn't do that.
Not that this is a totally one-sided relationship, though I think I've now paid out more combined money over the half year seeing them than I've spent on any other concert ticket (even Mr. Pricey Morrissey), and the birthday shout-out from Jacob appeared a little strained. But going to the shows provides me with all kinds of new experiences I'd never have were I to stay at home and listen to something on CD.
For example, the band playing before Avenge Apollo was a really rotten group called "Dead Mary." They were so bad, I had to take notes. Some of my better observances of the evening:
* The highlight and biggest distraction of their performance was the drummer's daughter, Shay. She kept running onstage and kissing her father while he was playing. It was an amazing feat-- the fact that he could still keep the beat, not the fact she rushed the stage. Given there were only 11 other people in the room, it wasn't too remarkable. The whole thing makes me wonder if I could pull a similar stunt.
* Another Shay moment: I realized she was wearing earplugs, I couldn't help envying her, and I honestly thought about stealing them. Her dad's band was awful-- just a lot of yelling cuss words against some pretty basic cord progressions. Mercifully, each song only lasted about 1:15. I'm sure I would have been more offended if I had understood the lyrics.
* Awkwardly at one point, they asked for a shout-out. "Who likes abortion?" yelled the particularly unattractive boy. Everyone in the room thought to themselves, "Wish your mother did!"
* At one point while I took notes, I missed the fact that Daddy Drummer had stripped out of his t-shirt. His daughter pranced around after learning they only had 8 more awful songs... 7... 6... "eating babies..." ... 4...3... something about pimps and naked something (which later Rudy was good enough to clarify was "Time to take off your pants")... "eff you, eff you, eff you"... 1... would it ever stop? At moments like these, I think to myself, "Jacob Divett, you owe me. BIG TIME."
* The ugliest man on the planet then said, "My butt is really sweaty."
* There is something really sad about one person moshing.
* I didn't really notice that Dead Mary's lead singer was tone deaf until they did a cover of "Eye of the Tiger."
* Shay capped off the night with her own performance on a toy guitar, accompanied by her mechanical dog. She held it up to the microphone and it said, in a very creepy voice, "Come closer... come closer. You Just got a BIG KISS!" Rudy later tried to use it as a line. He's charming enough that it might work for him.
I then tried to watch the handsome Divett brothers set up, but was quickly distracted by Shay with her face on the fake puppy's belly like she was nursing. It was a true Romulus moment.
Still, she wasn't so cute (or weird) that I was long distracted. Brennan wore a neon orange bandanna to match his orange girl pants. It made him look like a blacklight bandit. Jacob's bandanna reminded me of Johnny from "The Karate Kid." I kept waiting for Cole to yell, "Put him in a body bag!" but then I remembered I've never heard Cole utter a word. He even managed to sleep through "Dead Mary." How I envied him!
On the whole, though, it was worth my five bucks. I get most excited when I see Brennan's left arm launch in the air. A close second is Jacob's dancing. The way he shakes his head reminds me of one of those little toys where you push a button and the body moves but the feet stay planted in one place. And then there's the fact that I like their sound. That little Jacob makes me smile every time he gets political with his lyrics, or his really nice voice descends a scale a bit in a song. So I'm getting plenty out of being an adoring fan. After Dead Mary, though, I really think I deserve the Pattie Boyd muse treatment. Or maybe at least a free t-shirt.