Words and photos by JENZ
That’s it, dudes. I am officially old. At the tender age of 24, it’s occurred to me that I no longer can consume mass amounts of booze like I used to without wanting to crawl into my sweet bed and pass out. What’s happening to me?!
In an effort to try and be even more awesome during Noise Pop, we made grand plans to attend two happy hours before hitting up shows. In addition to Diesel’s free soiree, my own neighborhood was also hosting a treat over at Bender’s. Two happy hours, two shows, and ending the night dancing at one of the best indie clubs in the city. Sounds good, no?
More people were in attendance night two of the open bar hosted by Diesel and Budweiser, and our group squeezed by outfit displays and underwear to settle in and chat. Beer was not in fancy plastic buckets anymore, but snagging a slice of heavenly Little Star pizza sort of made my life for the moment. The local band torch was passed from Girls the previous night to San Francisco’s Birdmonster, who wedged into the compact “stage” set-up to deliver some nice folk buzz. After Birdmonster brought the twang, Live 105 Music Director Aaron Axelsen brought the mega indie mix to the crowd, who now were on their eighth cranberry and vodka and thinking about buying that $60 tank. My friends who accompanied me all proved why we are in love with each other: drunk apologizing to mannequins for stepping on their toes, tipsy dancing to Noah and the Whale, and being supportive about transitory periods in our lives. After all, that’s what your 20s are for, right? Drinking and traveling?
Nothing could have prepared me though for walking out of the bathroom later in the night into the small foray area, and accidentally watching one of the guys from Birdmonster strip before heading back into the party. “You’re like, 10 feet away from the bathroom, dude,” I said amusingly while he finished changing. “Privacy first?"
The second happy hour was never attended as we all needed to talk about booty call etiquette and other relationship advice over tacos, so Goblin Cock was stop one in our tour de force de musica for Thursday night. Three-piece ensemble Warship on once we arrived at the Rickshaw Stop, and I was immediately struck as to how different it felt: so emo, it hurt (pun intended). Drummer-at-the-same-time-singer-too Francis Mark was doing a pretty bad ass job in keeping rhythm as well as scringing (screaming/singing) words. It was actually a little refreshing to have someone hurdling some throaty yells at me instead of crooning. Is that weird?
Once I saw a gaggle of black cloaks saunter onto stage nonchalantly, I knew Goblin Cock was going to be ridiculous. I love Rob Crow because of Pinback, true, but Goblin Cock is metal. Fierce. Weird. And definitely something else (after all, Crow does by “Lord Phallus” in the band). “We’ve Got A Bleeder” was almost as good as the video I saw earlier that afternoon, all pure rock and roll and random and with green fields and some metal finger signs. Unfortunately, I began to float in between focusing and drifting off; drinking five beers and then trying to be productive is starting to not sound like a good idea anymore. Shortly after some last minute head-banging I managed to sneak in, I decided I wanted to actually see Josh Ritter sometime while not trying to sleep, so I elected to head home to comfy sheets and my stuffed fat cat Doc Holiday. I even bounced out of dancing -- my one true love -- for some Ritz crackers and wool socks. Who am I anymore? But getting a full night’s sleep is step one in surviving any festivals, so I begrudgingly became responsible and parked my ass at home. How I’m supposed to SxSW or CMJ at some point in my career is not even on the table right now. Clearly, I will die if I attend those festivals, either by extreme dehydration or exhaustion.
(And yeah: someone calling you three hours later from when you first gave him your number at the happy hour? Total booty call.)