Thursday of last week started rather well: I woke up early; I realized my flight left later than I thought; and I realized something else, which was fortuitous, but at this point, it escapes me. All I know is, Thursday started well, and the whole weekend followed suite. I got the papers I needed, I taught that class that I had to, and I skedaddled home right when I should have.
I hailed a cab, and we hit the Circuito Interior for the Aeropuerto. In the cab, I was struggling to identify a nervous feeling in my stomach. Initially I confused my excitement for that dreaded suspense of forgetting something. I checked my papers twice and I settled in for the ride.
Terminal 2 greeted me with open arms. My entrance, in all honesty, went as easy as this: ticket, metal detector, immigration, stamp, smile, candy and gum, sit, smile, board, seat, sleep, chicken sandwich, ginger ale, TV, land, customs, coffee, American Slang, and Danny (with dogs). It was around 8 pm or so, and we had a three hour drive in front of us. I bought Danny and myself a mocha. It was a great idea, until I stepped outside into the 80 degree humidity. I slammed my beverage, and sweated it up. Danny arrived and the journey began.
Some friends never get old, or awkward, or misaligned with the person you have become; some friends strike a chord, to a rhythm, to a song you will always sing, and you can't help but to harmonize. We settled into the car, I greeted his dogs, and we hit the road. Houston is about 2-3 hours from Austin, and we were on a mission. As the Texas landscape slipped into darkness, we caught up on each others lives--two months ago I had stopped in Bryan and seen a bit of the life Shaggy was leading there. Currently his fiance, Thanksgiving Tina, is in New York, working on an externship, while finishing her DVM. Danny is bleeding pigs 4-5 days a week for Texas A&M. We chatted, made jokes, shared music, and hurled through space.
The south holds many fastfood chains, the pinacle being Whataburger--essentially, a down and dirty In-N-Out. It is heads and tails above all other burger joints around, and especially over the prolific poop pedaling franchise known as Sonic--crap! We passed two Whataburgers, and decided Jack in the Box would have to do. We both endulged in the mini-sirloin burgers--yippie kai-yay! As we stood in the middle of a nowhere Texas heat, Danny enjoyed the stinging bite of a passing beetle. Shags lets out a trademark gravely squeal, accompanied by a series expletives. As we got back in the car he announced, "Oh fuck man! That thing is really lightin' me up. It's throbbing!" At this point I enjoyed my first bit of hysterical laughter--this would be the tone for the weekend--gut busting hilarity. We pressed on into the night.
We arrived in Austin somewhere around 10 or 11. Marissa greeted us, and we unloaded the wagon of love. The dogs found their new home in Marissa's room, we met Jess her roomie, and we settled into a night at home. Two things: One, Texans like a beer called Lone Star. Two, every beer must be put in a koozy or cozy--one of those foam things that keeps your beer cold. We played Dominoes, drank beer, and I realized that being mildly mentally impaired, negates my ability to learn something new, like a game, and to utilize mathematics effectively. Apparently, the same is true for Danny, because we were slaughtered by the ladies. So it went and we trickled on to 4 in the morning. I had no idea we were up that late. I made my home on the couch, Danny took a futon, and we crashed.
At some point in the night, Cheryl, came trapsing back home with a few male suiters. Danny is a light sleeper. I am not a light sleeper. Danny was awake for all the conversations that came with the mystery people's late night enterence. They were drunk and horny, and negotiating what action to take--according to Danny, they took a long time to discuss this. Somewhere in their conversations, they made this comment about me: "Man that guy snores really fucking loud." I did not wake up to respond. In fact, the following morning, I was completely unaware of their late night return. In any event, we arose at 8 am, because Danny's dogs needed to pee. I reluctantly joined Marissa and Danny on their early morning awakening. We stumbled down the street to Mi Madre's, and hunkered down for a little coffee and breakfast. The coffee flowed rich and dark, and the breakfast tacos were thick and juicy (that's what she said). We ate, talked, and mapped out our day. Our waitress had just bought a scalped ticket, and would be high tailing it to the concert after her shift. We settled up on the check, and we took a stroll back home.
After some short mid morning lounging, we geared up for a long day in the son. I brought along my Maggie Kline designer jean shorts, which feature a plush green khaki patch and several journey worn rips, heart shaped sunglasses donated by Gloria's forgetfulness, a Teotihuacan wide-brimmed bucket hat, Sean Rudolph designer New Balances, and a shirt from an organization named Los Ninos. We layered on the SPF, packed up the essentials, and went outside to prepare our steeds: borrowed weather beaten bikes. Both bikes needed some tire love, and we collectively made quick work of the dilapidated machines. Within the hour of 12, we hopped on bikes and headed to the fair grounds.
Our ride through downtown Austin was beautiful. UT (University of Texas) is brilliantly woven into the architectual and social fabric of downtown. We stopped at Marissa's lab and printed our tickets for the show. We then made another pit stop and bought some water and gum. Although hilly at points, the ride was absolutely beautiful--we were sun soaked music warriors, drifting into the beauty of melodic battle.
We passed the sea of black folks buying and selling tickets. We passed the sea of burnt out hippies, hocking jewelry, pipes, and substances. We passed the cops, and those walking. We also passed pedi-cabs---nostalgia for Marissa and I ran deep (perhaps a future in part-time pedi, exists for us both). We locked our bikes up on racks that held well over several hundred other bikes---most likely a thousand or so. We entered, we smiled, we arrived.
Zilker park, is insanely huge. It sits on the water front, and as far as you can see, there are rolling hills of Zilker grass--a beautiful genetically resiliant strain of grass, that is both spongey and hardy. It was beautiful to look at the long fairways leading concert goers like meandering buffalo on the prairies of the past. Sonrisas, sonrisas, sonrisas.
Danny and I will be beautiful pervy old men. When we are around one another, the male sport of oogling, day dreaming, whistling, skeeming, and generally just degenerating into cavemen, occurs. We had a blast, and Marissa tolerated us pleasantly.
Show One: Blitzen Trapper. I would describe them as an atmospheric folk group. They jammed with a lot of distortion and layered effects. The lead singer looked like a short Jewish boy, but he had practiced his Rock N'Roll panther growl, and he made the crowd come along with him. The drummer had a beard to match the gurth of his gut, and the rest of the members were forgettable--but, the music was good. We swayed and jibbed out. It was a nice beginning.
Show Two: We skiddadled from Blitzen Trapper, over to The Avett Brothers. On the way we snagged a Lone Star, and stopped for a picture. Side note: The prices at this event were respectful to the captive audience. A 24oz of beer was $8. All food was locally provided, and reasonable: fried pickles $4, bratwurst with the works, $5...it put a good taste in your mouth, to not be screwed while eating (that's what she said). The Avetts are real brothers. Their band was simple down home rock it out folk. The gyrated and animated their songs, and their old stuff rocked. Their new album, was as Marissa and Danny put it, "Too Campy!". Rick Rubin produced their last album, and I think he is tainting them with a caricature of who they are. In any event, they were damn good.
Break: Food. As mentioned Bratwurst, fried dills, and beverages were consumed. We took a break, and then went to the bathrooms. We found a secret stash of potties, and made quick relief.
Show Three: Daniel Johnston is a small town legend, who lives it in a big way. He splashed onto the scene in the 80's with a quirky tape entitled, "Hi, How Are You?". He land
ed on MTV's spring break coverage of Austin, TX back in the early 90's, and he sort of road the wave. Bands like Nirvana and Wilco have all covered his songs. His work is this genuinely honest and hopelessly tragic menagerie of squealing vocals and rough guitar licks. Daniel Johnston has struggled with mental illness for years. Once a scrawny curley haird crooner, he now stands as a portly middle aged grey haired man, who trembles from the meds they pump through him. The crowd was huge, and he proclaimed it, "There sure are a lot people out there," Daniel stammered into the microphone. The crowd cheered in support. He launched into his set, and began rifling through tragic lyrics of never ending sadness, and constant loneliness--his truth superceded his musical shortcomings. We stayed, wtinessed, and moved on after a few songs.Show Four: Phoenix is fronted by a dweeby looking fruit tart with a campy voice---but I like them. Phoneix is one of Gorlick's favorite bands, but as we struggled to move up, Danny and I began to fade. After a few yards of fighting the crowd, we told Gors that we were heading for shade. Danny and I found a large tented sandbox, affectionately known as, Austin Kiddie Limits. Moms and babies plundered the sand behind a fenced off region. Danny and I leaned up against the fence and sighed in relief. As we do, we talked about the passing beauties, the debauchery of yester year, and highlighted enthusiasm for this and that, with ruthless and vulgar vocabulary. I then slightly shifted and noticed the three year old who was sitting not 12 inches from us, on the otherside of the fence. As she happily dug a new world into the sand with each joyous shovel scoop, I reflected on the fact, that indeed this small gate was keeping these kids safe...if for nothing else, it was keeping foul mouthed bastards such as ourself, away from that little girl. I smiled at the effectiveness of a seemingly useless fence.
Show Five: It took Marissa a while to find us; her iphone was failing to do what it should. Eventually we met up and watched a little bit of Raphael Sadiq, former front man for Tony Toni Tone. He had a very stylized show, with all members dressed in matching black and white suits. He busted oldies, covered the Stooges, and brought the afternoon funk. We was damn good.
Show Six: Thievery Corporation is not just two DJ's. Thievery Corporation is a live band with a host of lead singers--it was mind blowing. Ambient insturmental came to life with soaring female melodies, ripping drones from the sitar, and rumbling waves from the bass and drums. Magical. Marissa, Danny, and I sat and enjoyed the scene--small clouds fell from the sky.
Show Seven: Lucky number seven. We meandered towards the XBOX 360 stage, and snuck up to the amassing hordes. People were buzzing, and we all opted to hold our pee in favor of pushing to the front. We got there a half hour early and we waited with spasmodic glee. A super group has been formed and they go by the name of Them Crooked Vultures (or as we like call them, Dem Dirty Vultures or simply Dem Dirty). The Vultures are: Josh Homme on lead vocals/guitar (formerly of Queens of the Stone Age); John Paul Jones on bass (formerly of Led Zepplin), and Dave Grohl on Drums (formerly of Nirvana and Foo Fighters). Homme's accompanying guitar player from Queens of the Stone Age, Alain Johannes, who mirrors Homme's guitar sound, and offers a nice depth to the group, plays with the band for live shows. This band was 100% rock n' roll, and they came out swinging. Homme's first words were, "I feel tipsy", and then they launched into a fucking flury of hard riffs and ripping solos. They pounded and masses gyrated, and it was a ball of energy. I was inspired by not just the musicianship, but the moment they embraced and created. With live music of that caliber and ferocity, the artist themselves truly commit to tapping into the universe and giving it a taste of their perspective. It was dark, ha
unting, bluesy, and rough. It was an amalgamation of Zepplin, Queens, and Nirvana. Individual sounds and ideas came to the top, like the frothy overflow of a shaken microbrew. The three of us were soldiers in the fight, and we pushed our way to nearly 10 rows back. In a see of several thousands (possibly tens of) we were in the front. I am changed by that moment. I am going to buy an electric guitar. I am going to play and sing at the same time. I am going to practice. I am going to study. I am going to taste what it is to be on the other side of the stage.We exited that show drained and overjoyed; ears ringing and hearts poundi
ng; spirits lifeted and souls ignited. On our way out we caught the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Karen O, creating a spectacle in a larger than life costume and a beautiful mix of theater and music. It was so good that from a couple of 100 yards off, we decided to stop and watch. She is quite the showman (woman?). We stopped for a moment and then pressed on.Snagged the bikes and hit the road for a dark night ride. The ride back was hilly and we had to stop for Danny to pee. He peed under a bat filled bridge. Marissa did a phenomenal job of taking us around. She really lead a great tour.
When we made it home, we realized the state of our exhaustion. We grabbed the dogs, stumbled to an amazing pizza place, and stumbled home. We rapidly knixed our plans to go out to the various after parties in town. Instead, the five of us (Marissa, Danny, Myself, and the two dogs), bunked up in Gors' room and passed out promptly--it was a beautiful thing.
This is Day One of Two...I will get there soon.
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