mewithoutYou

I suppose I should provide some kind of update:

at mewithoutYou I left my fuckin tickie in my fuckin jackie. I had to run in below Celsius plus wind chill weather across the worlds longest parking lot, cross parallel to another two parking lots, until I finally found the car, and yes, my jacket had the ticket, and golly, why not put it on while I'm here? And in answer to your probing questions, yes, I had to hug my jacket away from thieving scensters (it wasn't really that kind I was worried too much about, just the small minority groups) for the remainder of the concert.

their hand-dryers are freakin-somethin-else.

popcorn smelled great.

nobody else was dancing to Thrice but that's ok, I probably looked pretty funny swaying while I hugged my winter jacket and various luggages, which kept me from standing on my tiptoes in the "pit" with a bunch of tall sweaty guys with absolutely no inclination to mosh vertically, much less horizantally (I should not have to attach those descriptives afterwards. mosh in an unpure form....). As you've probably guesses, I'm going to lament that to the end of my days....

Aaron has the best way of singing.

deh neh neh neh neh.. "Whoo!"

let's here it for 'wock and roll.

As I sit here "studying" for my harmony exam (sonata-allegro form. And I thought I was finished with classical forms) this is possibly the only thing that keeps me from sanity (that and, Toots and the Maytals, mostly because they just came on my shuffle... on that note, I'm thinking of streamlining my music collection, taking off the albums that I already have hard-copies of ..the legal kind.. and therefor, maybe improve the performance of this lousy PC. Then again. How about the dozens of GBs of photos...)

The Refused.. their mission statement leaves you dumbfounded. But first, laughing. Is this band for real? (the refused are for freaking real) Music. And Life. "Art as a real threat". Imagine Atari Teenage Riot and politics on the dance floor. Even the gods of the classical era ceded that music is never pure- is art just paint and fabric? is life? thank God for the 90s, which churned out the cream of the underground.
and then it hits you, and not in the way that words sometimes hit you, but in the way that someone might hit you with a painted canvas and leave you stunned, but not in pain. the music, the politics, the crazy screaming that puts your spleen in a vice and makes you want to charge into a mob of angry people and beat the crap out of everything for nothing; it's not just another genre, sub-"culture", or object of study. This is their life.

No wonder they were so good at making you feel.