Concert Advice (How to Rock Out Not Included)

My sister and I are the radest.
A stranger once told us that we were being "kinda loud" at a rock concert.
Was she joking? Was she lost?
At the time, we were astounded, and although she wasn't very rude, we were offended (and a little inebriated). I mean, we were at a rock concert! I didn't even think inhibitions were allowed in, but it got me thinking about manners and behavior in such an emotionally and creatively fueled space. My sister and I have been avid concert goers for many, many moons now and consider ourselves quite seasoned and experienced in the arena.

Since my sister and I are quite the concert connoisseurs, I thought I'd hit you with a little concert advice. 

Leave the heels at home.
I shouldn't have to explain this, but unless you'll be sitting in a seat the entire show, rock the Keds.
Also, don't wear bras that fasten in the front. A venue I frequent routinely administers frisks complete with a front bra pop. Learned that the hard way.

Ladies: Invest in a cute concert purse. Anything in your back pockets can and will take a nasty toilet dive. I don't care how drunk you are, sticking your hand in there is something you'll never fully recover from.
Cell phones, driver's licence, credit cards, debit cards, cash, cigarettes, lighters, ticket stubs...hell, I even lost two rings that way. Even if you don't have any of the ol' witch's brew, your chances of sacrificing something to the toilet gods are way too high for my liking.
 - And as always, flush with your shoe.

Guys: While I respect your display of freedom, it isn't always imperative for you to remove your shirt.

If you're worried about holding, don't. Someone else always is. Yay! New friend for you!

Buy two drinks at a time. Holding them both is a whole lot less annoying than missing half of the show because you're stuck in the never-ending line of people loudly recounting every other concert they've seen. If it's a Summer show at an outside venue, get ready for some stinky, sweat swappin'. Rubbing sweaty arms with people for 20 minutes at a time is less than appetizing to say the least.


Take napkins from the bar. You'll need these about halfway through the night when every stall has been raped of toilet paper. (Most of it's on the floor.)


The perfect time for crowd surfing is like planetary alignment. We're talking ideal conditions here; pay close attention to the crowd's behavior. People infused with alcohol and emotion can easily develop into a raging mosh pit-
and why not? I love a good pit, but I also know when I need to get the hell out of the way. They may not WANT to inflict pain upon you, but it still happens nonetheless.
It's like a hardcore hug. 'I'm happy to be here! I'm happy that you're happy to be here, too!' It's fucking liberating.
The point is to choose the correct social weather; blissful rage does not always equate to your safe surf.

I've seen legs and arms broken, bloody noses, and lots of kicks in the head....
which brings me to my next piece of advice:
If you're like me, you've gotta feel the pure energy of the pit. Always give in to this, but always guard your head like a mofo. If you hear "flyer!" or "surfer!" at any point, get those forearms up and ready to protect and assist.

Autographs and pictures are obviously more of a possibility at smaller venues; however, I saw Elton John once in a large arena, and he signed autographs for the entire first row. Again, it all depends on the atmosphere and conditions. If you see a window, go for it. Be polite, gracious, and understanding if they can't/won't.  At the very least, you had the balls to speak.

And of course, always be respectful of your fellow concert rats.

If you get beer spilled on you, don't lose your shit. It's no big deal.

If you get thrown up on, lose your shit. It's totally a big deal.

Puscifer Power

      

    Like many others with rad taste in music, I find myself in some kind of vortex of artistic awe
when it comes to Puscifer. In case you've been under a proverbial rock somewhere listening to Nickelback, Creed, or some other "band" that regurgitates the same generic, shitty sounds and 15 year old boy lyrics - let me fill you in. Puscifer is a rotating cavalry of musicians that centers around Maynard James Keenan. If you haven't heard of Tool or A Perfect Circle....we definitely need to talk. Let me know and I shall cover these in detail within later posts.  

  I've been a fan of Keenan's for many moons and have never been able to catch a Tool or APC show, so I'm ultra psyched to see Puscifer in December. From what I've digested through the albums, videos, interviews, internet info, etc, I'm expecting a cornucopia of art and performance mediums. Not only is Maynard not giving in to record companies, over-merchandising, and the all evil "mainstream"; but I feel like he's really ushering in a new style of collective artistic performance. Think vignettes,

comedy, cabaret, videos, costumes, thought
provoking ideas/suggestions....oh yeah, and some balls to the wall, kickass music from the desert wine country of Arizona.
The new album "Conditions of my Parole" is an experimental blend of Maynard's unmistakably unique voice (that is just as hauntingly beautiful as it was in 1990), and crashing, addictive percussion and guitar melodies.

        There's something nostalgic and simultaneously new about songs like "Telling Ghosts" and "Green Valley", and honestly, the whole fuckin' album. It's emotional, it's chaotic, it's gorgeous, it's creepy, it's fearful, and it's brave. There's grit and sweat in the songs, and they're infused with an intoxicating, audible elixir not unlike the effects of excellent wine.
Tracks like "Tiny Monsters" harbor trance-like industrial rhythms with hypnotic vocals lifting you up through the vortex I mentioned earlier.

        Self-expression is the ultimate high. Everybody wants to be unique, and yet almost everyone's the same due to pop culture, fads, and such. We are obviously much more complicated human beings than Facebook and Pinterest can showcase, and we all know that the majority of the time when people meet us, they meet our representatives -our general, public exterior that we perceive as what society deems "normal". We eventually reveal our true faces to a portion of people, but even then, there will always be a gap between what interchanges between the two of you, and what swims inside your head at 2AM, or 4PM, or every minute of every day.

So, well done, Puscifer. I can't wait for the experience in December!
Yay for artistic expression!

Vinyl Fiend

Once upon a time, in a possibly more artistically aware age, people filed into music stores to physically purchase whole albums. Albums in which musicians spent legions of blood, sweat, and Marlboros formulating and arranging into this black disc that once you touch the needle to, morphs into some transcendental sphere of euphoric senses taking you by the hand and telling you a story. 

As a member of Generation Y, I understand and appreciate the advantages of the digital age and am totally guilty of buying a few song downloads from an artist rather than their whole album; however, these were from more recent musicians and groups who came around well after vinyl was primarily used by record companies. I don't think they have the same creative process as musicians did in vinyl's heyday. It was more of a serious art form back then, wheras today it's all about having the hottest single. 

Anyway - I fucking love vinyl....the fuzz between songs. I'm a thrift-store rat. You have to pass through a lot of Anne Murray and Christmas music, but it's worth a good 50 cent find. I found my Jeff Beck Group album that way. I also bought a Hank Williams Jr.......why not?

 My point is that when I get home and put my "new" record on (that's another thing, I'm a vinyl purist. I am in no way interested in the new vinyl pressing of Nelly's "Country Grammar"...give me a fucking break), I can sit on the floor and listen to the entire album: from "Whole Lotta Love" all the way to side two's "Bring it on Home", and be completely immersed in another world that surpasses dimension. I can crawl inside it for an hour, forget the latest bullshit, and be transported to a well of creativity that I can bask in or drink from; or I can flip through my Ipod and experience a vast variety of emotions and images that fail to create any real meaning or pattern.  However, there is something delicious about chaos, so I get it. The download days are here for good.... (maybe), but I can't help it. I'm a progressive vintage girl.