Sunday, June 19, 2011

Sumi's Guide to Being a Polite Concert-Goer While Still Rocking your Face off.





I remember my first concert.  It was 1990, and I was full on rocking the fucking house in my scrunchie socks, neon pink half shirt, and acid-washed tight rolled Z Cavariccis (did I mention what a mini-style maven I was?).  My hair was crimped (thank you, ConAir Geometrix) and I had a sign that said, "I LOVE YOU DONNIE" in honor of my favorite New Kid on the Block.  I had a handful of fan letters shoved into my back pocket, mostly pleas inviting the New Kids to come hang out at my house and letting them know that if their tour bus ever broke  down I would be more than willing to put them up during their time of need.  I was an uber fan, and this concert would be the apex of many months of scrounging my allowance for nosebleed tickets.  I don't remember much of the show other than I think I screamed until I lost my voice, I had the right stuff (oh oh oh oh oh), and at some point some girl gave me a death stare because my poster blocked her line of vision.

This would be the first in a line of many, many shows to come.

During my late teens/early 20s, live music kept me going.  Each week started out with a schedule in how to arrange studying time around shows.  I spent a lot of time in high school at Fireside Bowl in Chicago (for those of you who aren't familiar, it was this old bowling alley slash concert venue) huddled in a group of other teenage miscreants nodding my head along to some screaming punk beast while watching another guy windmilling in the center of the floor.  I spent a lot of time in college at the Bowery Ballroom, anxious to see and be seen by some of the best bands you have never heard of.  I dated a few musicians (some of whom,based on this blogs share of reader demographics, are probably on some of your ipods) and have seen concerts and shows from the back, front, above, below, all over.  And to date I still voraciously search out great live music, if not for the fact that I love music but also the concert experience.

Last night I attended a show headlined by Florence + The Machine, and her opener was a demon on the guitar, Hanni el Khattib.  The show of course, was amazing, but it got me thinking of how horrendously impolite some people can be at shows.  Okay, I get it.  You paid money for tickets.  Maybe your parents did.  Maybe your boyfriend/girlfriend/molester uncle did.  But that does not mean you can't have common decency, something that seems to be lacking around the music scene lately.  Below are a few bullet points(because  yes, Sumi K can indeed be organized!) of what you can do, to make yourself a person less likely to either get punched or get a total stinkeye from someone at a show.

  • Ladies, girls, people with horse appreciation and men with Goliath complexes.  Keep a hair tie with you.  There is nothing worse than jumping around and getting some stranger's hair in your mouth, eyes, or mucus membranes.  I get you want to do the whole bohemian thing, but THINK OF THE CHILDREN.  Anytime someone's hair whips me in the face (big ups, Willow Smith) I spend the next ten minutes in a state of total panic, wondering if the person has lice or earwigs or some other garden creature roaming in their mane.  If you need a hair tie, please find me at the show.  I always have a few on me.
  • Moshing.  My very first pit was a terrifying experience.  I was sidearmed into a Pantera pit while trying to squeeze my way up close to the front for some pictures from my disposable camera (remember those?).  I suddenly found myself surrounded by large burly skinheads who immediately saw my wide-eyed terror and pulled me out instantly.  You see? That's polite.  I get that girls want to be equal and all, but in the pit where the testosterone is full to bursting, there is no equality.  Unless you are an olympic female sumo wrestler in which case I say to you, mosh on my friend (and please look out for me should I ever get pushed into a pit again).  I've held my own in other pits, and everytime, the guys look out for the girls.  Chivalry at it's finest!  However you don't see that shit at all nowadays.  Now the pits are filled with raging jocks who want to show off their chests and perhaps bash some skulls.  Recently at a concert during a set by Seether I witnessed a pit open up near where I was standing.  I had some big dude next to me and I don't really care for Seether (okay, I can't stand them.. except for that new Country Song which is fabulous) so I was content to watch what transpired.  A bunch of 16-21 year old boys flailing into people, not caring who they hit.  Anytime a girl was pushed into the mix she was fair game to be punched and hit.  Seriously, dudes.  Look out for your fellow concert goers.  As much as -you- want to mosh, the person next to you does not want to get dragged into your melee because you are too fucking drunk to see where you are going.  Please and thanks.
  • Drinking. Okay, we all know that Sumi K loves her some white wine.  That being said, the worst thing to happen to a person at a show is to be forever pegged as, 'That person who threw up at the (insert band name here) show'.  Case in point, at a recent show (that I chronicled in an earlier entry) up in Wisconsin, I had to take a terrifying walk down a stairwell that was literally covered in vomit because some kid couldn't handle his beer.  I threw the shoes out as soon as I walked out of the venue.  Fucking gross.  Last night at the Florence show, as I was weaving my way out of the crowd there was a girl who was bombed out of her mind and ready to puke.  Her to friends were of no help as they were pretty far gone as well.  I had to laugh as a good looking guy standing in front of them turned around, grabbed the girl by the shoulders and gave her a little shake.  She smiled drunkily at him until he said, "If you or your friends puke on my shirt, I will fucking key your car, you bitch".  Hilarious, and a man after my own heart. Take into consideration the heat, the lack of air circulation, the proximity of bodies to yours, and you will really want to rethink that third or fifth cocktail.  
  • Ease up on the perfume/cologne.  But make sure to wear deodorant.  This is a really slippery slope, but it is something that needs to be addressed.  Girls- your perfume SUCKS.  While it might smell good to you in the privacy of your home, a single dab behind the ears works.  Other people around you think you smell like an old ladies handkerchief.  Likewise with cologne.  Do not bathe in Coolwater before you step your shirtless self into a pit area.  You will make people sick and they may vomit on you (and then you'd be known as 'the person who puked at so and so show'.. see how this goes full circle?).  With all that being said, PLEASE wear deodorant.  Not Axe, not body spray, but honest to god antiperspirant and deodorant.  Seriously people.  Especially if you plan to walk around shirtless.  No one needs your sweaty armpit hair dripping in vile odorous sweat hanging in their face.  The least you can do is take a few swipes of a speed stick under your arms (ladies, that goes for you, too.  Take the money you would spend on that last beer (because I'm pretty sure you'll be paying close to 8 dollars for it) and buy a deodorant or two.  Everyone around you will thank you later.
  • Have some respect for who is playing for you.  If you don't like the opener, cool.  That's your prerogative.  With that being said, some people do.  For you to stand there like a four year old with your hands over your ears (yes, this happened last night at the Florence show) and yelling "Boooooo" in a sickly monotone voice makes you an asshole.  
  • Have FUN. I know this advice seems like it goes without saying, but how many times do you see someone with a prime spot at a show, and they are disinterested in doing anything other than texting, or nudging their friend, or (gasp) yawning?  I can see this happening at, say, a Nickelback show (do they even tour? Do people even listen to them?) but some of the most recent shows I've been at, I've witnessed more texting action than ever before.  You could easily give up your spot to someone in the back, who is much more willing to rock their face off.  Better yet, disconnect.  Enjoy what's going on around you. Trust me, your Facebook friends will survive without you for an hour or two.  
I know this seems a little preachy, but let's be realistic.  All of these are simple little tips that really don't take that much effort!  However, don't get me started on festivals; because with those comes a whole slew of new rules to be chronicled at some point in the distant future (helpful hint: deodorant has a starring role).

The Godsmack crowd, from the balcony where all the cool guys sit.
Disturbed crowd from above, again, cool guy spot.
30 Seconds to Mars at Jamboree.  The only band for whom I will put up with  novices in a pit area for. <3
Hanni el Khattib.  He's fantastic; you should check him out.  Now.
The captivating Florence Welch.




Monday, June 13, 2011

A text message I received. And a succinct description of how it makes me feel.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're a beautiful monster.  Literally a gorgeous abomination of a human psyche. I want to taste your fragmented existence."



And you thought your comrades were eccentric.  Oddly enough, this is the first time this individual has ever said something so beautiful to me. I'm not quite sure how I feel about it.  Raw, mostly.  Recycled back into a time when I was a lot less jaded and a lot more willing to give a fuck.

Listen to this whole song.  It will eat away at your soul; it's just that beautiful.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Choking on dust

I never intended this to be a serious blog, and yet I find myself wanting to vent out shit that has really been weighing on my mind lately.  Sorry in advance to the people who expected the badly drawn pictures and hopeless insanity that seemed to litter the old blog, as well as entries within this one.  But if I'm planning to be perfectly honest, I'm really not feeling that type of vibe lately, you dig?

2010 was pretty rough.  To recap: life at Khan Castle was permeated with a sinister cloud of bad luck (for those of you who have read this for a while, you know the details) that included but didn't leave out death, illness, and a general sense of unease.  When 2011 came rolling through, there was a hopeful sense of optimism that maybe, just maybe, this year would be better.

And it has been.  I can't deny that.  Wounds slowly heal, regardless of how much you pick at a scab.  Eventually you learn to smile again.  You don't focus so much on what could have, should have been.  Things slowly fall back into a pattern of normalcy you are used to. And yet, it doesn't.

Does that make sense? I have a hard time verbalizing how I feel, and I think that writing it out has the same sense of confusion and dubiety.  Its an overall feeling of dissension simmering just beneath the surface skin, threatening to agitate the false normalcy into a frenzied state of cacophonous malaise.  What's the catalyst?  We're both standing face to face, neither of us willing to see what's transpired between us. It's not pretty, and I'm not quite sure either of us care enough any more do anything to rectify it.  We've gone too far, and seem to much and have both been left to lick our wounds in private.  It's the burden that we bear.

I think tragedy has a way of bringing far people closer, and close people further from one another.  It's the only way I can really justify why I sit here passively day by day, watching what we once had crumble into an ashen pile of regrets.  I can't stop it, and to be one thousand percent fair, I'm not even sure it could use a resurrection at this point.  It's blatant that our lives are headed in two separate directions with no sign of convergence on the path.

I'm really not sure what the near future brings.  You'll be all over the world.  I'll be living my own life, and we steadily distance ourselves from one another.  Maybe I'll see you next week or next month or next year.  Maybe we'll just both disappear.  This is all sounding so dark, and I'm sorry for that.  I honestly don't see it that way.  It could be a good thing, right?

I'm not a hero, and I don't like pain, but words express feelings and emotions, and they can't last forever.



Sorry.