browsing all posts in "menzingers"
On 24 March, I went to the Beat Kitchen to see the Menzingers, current Band Of My Soul. They put out this album, you see, On the Impossible Past, and it has been a very long time indeed since I loved a new album the way I love this one. It is their Epitaph debut, and those fucking punks quote Nabokov, against which I have approximately zero defenses, and then I had this conversation with a tattoo artist:
me: well, there are these lines of poetry in this book, where a bird slams into a window because it only sees the sky, and probably it dies. I think it’s about triumph.
artist: …maybe I’ll book you for TWO appointments.
me: yeah, that’s probably best.
So anyway, I went to the show. Openers were Captain We’re Sinking and The Sidekicks, both of whom I would go see again in a heartbeat; and Cheap Girls, whom I would not. I’ve tried with that band, I really have, because they are super nice guys and we have friends in common, but — I can’t. They drained the energy out of the room and I’m just not into it.
Then the Menzingers came on, and they opened with “Good Things” (which also opens the new record), and I let it have me.
There’s this [Tom Stoppard] quote: “we cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke and the presumption that once, our eyes watered.”
That’s how I feel about the best concerts. I have nothing to show for them. No photos, no words, just a visceral memory of the bodies around me, a ringing in my ears, a sore throat. Presumably, my eyes watered.
cause everything that’s happened has left me a total wreck
and everything that i do now is meaningless
so i’m off to wander around the world for a little bit
Go see the Menzingers, you guys. Do it for me.
Saturday was The Big Day of Riot Fest, 11 bands on the bill, doors at 1430. Let’s not talk about what time I arrived at the sidewalk. I’d hurt my shoulder at the Danzig show the night before, and I hadn’t gotten much sleep, and it was difficult to talk myself into leaving the house, but leave the house I did. And I’m so glad.
I went to see the Menzingers last night (also: Dead End Path, Touché Amoré and Title Fight) and I could talk about it for a long time, but instead I bring you these two low-quality pictures. The first is of a fan in a headscarf who decided she’d be singing that chorus, thanks very much, and the second is me, this morning. It’s not quite a black eye, but it’s close enough for government work. Together, they sum up my evening quite nicely, and this is exactly what I mean by “hardcore: my abusive punk rock boyfriend.” I wish I knew how to talk about it.
Mostly: I love the Menzingers, the end.