I hate it when I’m right
Welcome to the sporadic attempted documentation of the random acts of insanity by and around me that seem to permeate my life on pretty much every level. This time I have tales of “art” gone awry, some rather public humiliation, a panic attack or three, and…. um… well, fuck. Just stuff. I have no patience today.
So. The big (-sigh-) night was last night. Matt has joined a band of musicians who rarely use traditional instruments associated with popular bands. This is not popular music. And in the case of the one guy who was going to do ‘effects,’ and who took the stage first, few regard what that guy does as music at all. He thinks it’s music. But after ten minutes of horrendous feedback and distortion, the world’s most irritating old keyboard drum machine, and occasionally beating on a frying pan with drum sticks,among other things– few were inclined to let him think it was music, either.
I saw it coming like an out of control train down a steep mountain a mile away. You see, City Limits is a bar for the old- school partying crowd. Think 80’s music, blue eyeshadow and hair spray… Cheech & Chong fans and Alice Cooper groupies… folks with leather jackets, mixed drinks, and the occasional mullet who all know each other.
Enter the alternative 20- something crowd.
Sagging jeans hanging on to boxers for dear life. Rumpled t- shirts and gritty hairstyles to match gritty attitudes. There’s a protest going on here, and it’s debatable if they care if you know exactly what they’re protesting. Everything and anything, really. They like chaos and beer and whatever you don’t.
So this guy gets up there with a couple of drums, a skillet on a drum stand, some effects pedals (notably a loop) and a mic, and within five minutes there’s a palpable change in the atmosphere. He gets more and more annoying- the ear- bleeding feedback and brain- crushing distortion that drown out whatever the hell else he was trying to do are intentional. He holds up a child’s see- and- say toy that he’s pray painted and modified the circuitry in and plays with the buttons in front of the mic.
It doesn’t take a trained anthropologist to observe the moment when a bunch of barflies are about to kick someone’s ass, so I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed, even from the other side of the room. By then half the customers, hands over their ears, had fled the bar. I was tempted to join them but had obligations.
Pretty soon some tough- looking biker- ish types were standing front and center. “Fucking ignorant, man!” “What the hell are you doing?” etc. Finally a man who was taken to be an authority of some sort told him he had to shut down.
He said he thought it was “awesome,” and so did his fans, who I overheard saying that getting shut down makes him “even more awesomer to me, because he was too extreme.” But he also looked upset, and his fan base (all six of them) thought it was bullshit.
“Extreme” is not the most fitting word for what that was. Intentionally causing irreparable damage to my eardrums is supposed to be art? That’s “extreme,” but stupid. It’s symptomatic passive(ish) aggressive behavior and self- abasement. IMHO. I personally only admire extremism when it takes actual SKILL.
So he wasn’t able to “help” (and I’m personally SO grateful) with the effects on Matt’s didgeridoo and his own weird vocals, etc. I drummed for about three minutes with Matt and Tirsa and Glen, then Glen (as our cue to quit) picked up his banjo and proceeded to play it enthusiastically and- intentionally- badly. But, of course “badly” is a relative term, depending on your style and taste and all that politically correct horseshit.
So if you’re wondering why I wasn’t out there for the past couple of weeks telling everyone “Hey, I’m drumming in a show on Friday night, wanna come see me play?” Well, there’s your answer.
I hate to dis on my friend’s music, but you know what I hate even more? Pretending I’m someone I’m not. So I don’t. Matt likes weird music. He can’t wait to get a theremin. I hope he has fun with it, and I’ll support him, but I’m not going to pretend I enjoy extreme oddness in music. He said he didn’t care for the one guy’s style, so at least that’s something.
Am I being too judgmental? Maybe. But I’ve known most of these guys for years, and I gotta say, I just don’t care if I ain’t perfect all the damn time.
Aaaaanywhoo, despite some morning mayhem and not being able to make it to acupuncture for the second week in a row, I still had a good day. I stopped at a park with Ana and took a couple dozen pictures (that I’ve been scattering through this post):
I took about 155 pictures in all today. Not as much as a normal shoot, but it’s too cold out to really go nuts. We suffered for our art a bit as usual:
I wish I’d had more time for creativity, but sleep dep is getting to me and I still have a lot of reading to do…
February 06 2010 10:28 pm | culture and kids and life and mental health and photography and utah
February 7th, 2010 at 10:09 am
Loraine-is that Anna in the first picture?? At first glance I thought it was you and that you’d cut your hair! Everyone always says we become our parents, but I guess that also means our children become us lol
hope to see you at Springfest!
love
Kelly
February 7th, 2010 at 10:32 am
lol yes, that’s Ana- I think she’s the most like me of all my kids, only… you know, cooler.
I’m definitely planning on coming to Springfest!! Are you coming to the next Gypsy Tapestry? It’s in the Covey Center in Provo again, on the 26th of March.
February 7th, 2010 at 1:03 pm
Kinda like Roseanne Barr singing the National Anthem, you know? Intentionally irritating. What’s the point?