Bright Eyes: that mop breaking moment
[reprinted from TheMagazine blog. Yes, I wrote this in case you're some nosey intern whose job it is to find things published in multiple places on the internet.]
So I am involved with my college radio station. Suffice to say it’s not very big (28 watts — if you’re not familiar with what a ‘watt’ is in terms of radio, let’s just say anything that compares unfavorably to your typical light bulb can’t be heard by many people.)
I am the music director and thus, I have the hookup. The radio industry is founded on the dual principles of fringe benefits and ass-kissing. While I like to think I’m above all of the name-dropping and favor-mongering, I’m not opposed to scoring the occasional free concert ticket.
Ok, ok. So the reason I bothered saying any of this is to set the stage: through my radio I was able to score free tickets to the Bright Eyes (and Gillian Weslch) concert.
I don’t really want to give a detailed rundown of the concert, because everyone’s been to a rock concert before and there’s no way I’m going to re-create the auditory experience for anyone, no mater how vivid and intoxicating my prose is. Suffice to say Mr. Oberst a mix of mostly new songs, a few old ones and a cover or two. (it is worth pointing out Ms. Welsch and her guitar player David Rawlings played at least four or five songs with the Bright Eyes band, which was awesome.)
Something that really captivated my attention was this mousy kid who eventually made his big move.
My associate and I got a couple seats on the right side of the theatre (we were in Ohio State’s Mershon Auditorium, which has reserved seats, classical music-style) — she sat on my left and to my right was one open seat and then the aisle.
Sometime before Gillian’s set started, some generic indie guy sat down to my right. Shortly after Gillian’s set stared, he pulled out his Sidekick or whatever and proceeded to text-message the night away. This would have been a pardonable offense had he not been left-handed and decided he needed to protrude his elbow at a 45 degree angle, jabbing it into my side while he did it.
After awhile I decided I’d gotten tired of nudging/glaring at him so I decided that we should slide over a seat — no one was sitting there after all. Well Sidekick guy probably sent out a text message to inform a friend of this development because before I knew it, I had someone else sitting next to me.
Now I never got a good look at dude’s face, but I could clearly see what color shirt he was wearing (black) his hairstyle, etc. Bespectacled and slight of stature.
Any time Connor would mess up a song he’d mutter something like “aww, he’s fu-he’s fucking it up. it’s all wrong.”
At some point during a mellow acoustic moment he yelled “I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”
Anyway, Mershon is a pretty conservative joint and usually shows things like dance recitals, chamber music, etc. The security staff is primarily composed of t-shirted octogenarians who are clearly labeled as “VOLUNTEERS.” So when the epic concluding rendition of “Road to Joy” kicked in, replete with two drum kits, Gillian playing hand drums/suspended cymbals, six-piece string section/trumpets/etc. the kids got really exctied. It was loud and it was proud. The kids all ran down the aisles and got close up to the stage. At some point during the period the two guys to my right vacated their seats and joined the hoard.
Well the song stretched on forever and got more and more noise-y. I was enjoying the wall of sound thoroughly and was into the song when I saw a kid force his way up on stage and start to make a move on Connor, who was lost in a cloud of reverb.
Some roadie or guitar tech promptly emerged from the back stage area, clocked him and gave him the old heave ho back on stage. To my knowledge, he suffered no further repercussions.
Even if dude was fidgety and sort of off, I have to respect the little guy for having the balls to make his big move.
So I am involved with my college radio station. Suffice to say it’s not very big (28 watts — if you’re not familiar with what a ‘watt’ is in terms of radio, let’s just say anything that compares unfavorably to your typical light bulb can’t be heard by many people.)
I am the music director and thus, I have the hookup. The radio industry is founded on the dual principles of fringe benefits and ass-kissing. While I like to think I’m above all of the name-dropping and favor-mongering, I’m not opposed to scoring the occasional free concert ticket.
Ok, ok. So the reason I bothered saying any of this is to set the stage: through my radio I was able to score free tickets to the Bright Eyes (and Gillian Weslch) concert.
I don’t really want to give a detailed rundown of the concert, because everyone’s been to a rock concert before and there’s no way I’m going to re-create the auditory experience for anyone, no mater how vivid and intoxicating my prose is. Suffice to say Mr. Oberst a mix of mostly new songs, a few old ones and a cover or two. (it is worth pointing out Ms. Welsch and her guitar player David Rawlings played at least four or five songs with the Bright Eyes band, which was awesome.)
Something that really captivated my attention was this mousy kid who eventually made his big move.
My associate and I got a couple seats on the right side of the theatre (we were in Ohio State’s Mershon Auditorium, which has reserved seats, classical music-style) — she sat on my left and to my right was one open seat and then the aisle.
Sometime before Gillian’s set started, some generic indie guy sat down to my right. Shortly after Gillian’s set stared, he pulled out his Sidekick or whatever and proceeded to text-message the night away. This would have been a pardonable offense had he not been left-handed and decided he needed to protrude his elbow at a 45 degree angle, jabbing it into my side while he did it.
After awhile I decided I’d gotten tired of nudging/glaring at him so I decided that we should slide over a seat — no one was sitting there after all. Well Sidekick guy probably sent out a text message to inform a friend of this development because before I knew it, I had someone else sitting next to me.
Now I never got a good look at dude’s face, but I could clearly see what color shirt he was wearing (black) his hairstyle, etc. Bespectacled and slight of stature.
Any time Connor would mess up a song he’d mutter something like “aww, he’s fu-he’s fucking it up. it’s all wrong.”
At some point during a mellow acoustic moment he yelled “I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”
Anyway, Mershon is a pretty conservative joint and usually shows things like dance recitals, chamber music, etc. The security staff is primarily composed of t-shirted octogenarians who are clearly labeled as “VOLUNTEERS.” So when the epic concluding rendition of “Road to Joy” kicked in, replete with two drum kits, Gillian playing hand drums/suspended cymbals, six-piece string section/trumpets/etc. the kids got really exctied. It was loud and it was proud. The kids all ran down the aisles and got close up to the stage. At some point during the period the two guys to my right vacated their seats and joined the hoard.
Well the song stretched on forever and got more and more noise-y. I was enjoying the wall of sound thoroughly and was into the song when I saw a kid force his way up on stage and start to make a move on Connor, who was lost in a cloud of reverb.
Some roadie or guitar tech promptly emerged from the back stage area, clocked him and gave him the old heave ho back on stage. To my knowledge, he suffered no further repercussions.
Even if dude was fidgety and sort of off, I have to respect the little guy for having the balls to make his big move.
posted by tobias at 8:23 PM
0 comments
