26 January 2010

Dinosaur Jr. Destroyed My Eardrums (And I Liked It)


This picture is from the Dinosaur Jr. website. I love it, and I'm borrowing it for creative purposes. This piece is by Marq Spusta.


On January 15, Krissy and I, excited, tweaky, and totally psyched, climbed into my Toyota Solara at 4:30 p.m. and drove more than an hour to Milford freakin' Connecticut to see Dinosaur Jr at the Daniel Street Café. Kurt Vile and the Violators were opening. We were so excited we we squirming like 12 year old girls on the way to see *NSync circa 1999 (yes, I'm dating myself there, but I don't care). But then again, Justin Timberlake is no J. Mascis.

We got to Milford a bit early... doors weren't until 8 and we rocked up just shy of 6 p.m. Thinking we were clever, and dodging crazy rush hour traffic in an unfamiliar and one-way-street-happy town. I dropped Krissy off at the club and drove around the block, hoping she'd grab tickets ($20 ahead, $22 at the door. Yeah, I donno) and we'd find food. They weren't selling till doors, so we parked under a nearby rail overpass, hoped my car would still be there when we got back. Seriously, that cave of municipal construction we parked in looked like it was a prime Chester the Molester hang-out. On the other hand, it was about three and a half seconds' walk from the club and free. Pros outweighed the cons by a million. (okay, or one.)

We walked past the club to a small chain restaurant called SBC (I think) Brewery. It was... disappointing to say the least. Granted, I think someone could have probably served us horseshit on a bed of three-week old iceberg lettuce with white gravy and we would have not been too bothered. First of all, DINOSAUR JR., second of all, I'm pretty happy if there's decent beer. Unfortunately, the beer wasn't all that decent, and the service was even worse. My burger went down fine, but Krissy found a hair in her food and was (not surprisingly) completely grossed out. At least the manager comped her meal. I was then rather suspicious as to what the hell I ingested, but that's usually my fault. Truth be told, I eat like I'd just gotten out from doing a five-year stretch in a maximum security prison and then spent six months on a deserted island, without Wilson. Ray once asked me if I even taste my food. I have no idea why I eat like this, I'm thinking it's one part gluttony, two parts I-could-enjoy-this-but-I'm-hungry-and-want-to-be-on-to-my-next-activity. At any rate, it was a disappointing meal, but really not a problem. We were going to see Dinosaur Jr.

We walked back to the club and joined others in line. We ended up behind some really nice guys, Keenan, Austin, and Juan, whom we bummed a smoke off of and got to chatting with. They were funny, loved music, and were so earnest in who they are the two of us really enjoyed their company. Once inside, the lot of us hung out over a few beers while the rest of the crowd filtered in. I swear Keenan almost pooped out of sheer appreciation when I mentioned how much I loathe Chuck Palahniuk. But I digress. They were good guys. We're all friends on the Facebook now, so they're like officially friendships. In real life. Actually, it really would be great to see them again at another show. RX Bandits in March at Toad's Place, perhaps?

Krissy and I got separated from those guys during Kurt Vile and the Violators. They had a bit of a rocky start, but the set turned out to be amazing. Because Dinosaur Jr. were the headliners, the crowd was still thin and we ended up right up front. It was fantastic. I'd never heard The Violators before, but was familiar with The War on Drugs, Vile's other band. Either way, they were killer. I was really happy I got to see them.

In between sets, more and more people flooded in. The show eventually sold out, which is absolutely great for both bands. I know their show at the Brooklyn Ballroom the following night was also sold out. Maybe 25 years on, Dinosaur Jr is finally garnering the attention they deserve, which would be additionally kickass. Perhaps the overwhelming amount of shitty music (I'm looking at you, Sarah Bareilles, Taylor Swift, and whatever Disney regurgitates) has finally reached critical mass and we're on a swing toward quality music once again. I feel this happened in the early to mid-'90s, too, and isn't the world a better place for it? Purge the crap music, keep the musicians, and ditch the lip-synching performers. Anyone with me?

Dinosaur Jr came on and everyone was in awe. J. Mascis plays so incredibly that he honestly looks like his hands have more than five fingers apiece. Lou Barlow and Murph round out the sound... so that your ears are left happily ringing for days. They played a delightfully long set, including older stuff like Thumb, Imagination Blind, Forget the Swan, The Lung, Feel the Pain, etc. I almost popped out of my skin when their encore was Just Like Heaven, a cover of one of my favorite Cure songs.

The only crap part of the night was the douchebag in the leather jacket and his hobbit-ish friend. First, let me say that the male to female ratio at the show was about 4 guys to every one girl. This tipped the free drinks possibility in our favor considerably, but also upped the potential and actual Creeper Attacks. (Remember where we parked? Our guards were up. Spidey-senses and all that.) So this dick in the leather jacket bought us each a PBR draft. He and his pal from the Shire handed them to us while in the crowd in front of the stage. Now, neither Krissy nor I are ones to turn up free beer. Even if we didn't exactly watch it go from tap to our lips. Incidentally, we didn't end up drinking any of it.

This asshat who brought us beer apparently assumed that giving beer to spectators immediately meant he could stand in front of us through most of Dinosaur Jr.'s set. He was, not unexpectedly, taller than we are. He was an asshole. I returned the suspect beer, bought Krissy and myself some Newcastle (PBR, god bless it, gives me a hangover immediately after it touches my lips), and the two of us tried to continue to enjoy the show. We succeeded. My god, it was amazing.

We left the club with ears ringing and skin tingling, said good-bye to the guys we met, and hit the road. I can't remember what time I walked in, but I do know that my ears were ringing so badly that every word out of my father's voice was muted. When he said "S" it sounded like "Shhhst," which was fairly amusing. My ears rang progressively less until Monday, when apparently those nerves finally kicked the bucket completely. They were merely sacrifices on the altar of Worthy Music.

2 comments:

  1. Where the hell did you pick up the term "rocked up"?

    ReplyDelete
  2. I don't know. But I'm annoying even me with my frequency of use.

    ReplyDelete