And that's when I realized that cops need air freshener, too.
Yesterday I headed on down to Bloomington to see Modest Mouse. The club where they played was small - not tiny, but still pretty small - and about 7 million degrees fahrenheit, and very dark and smoky. I want to say that it was a good concert, but in all honesty it sounded like every band member was playing in a different key, with 200 people singing along in 200 more keys (how many keys are there?). I'm not positive that this actually was the case, but it was so ridiculously loud that to my ears, it could not possibly have been in the same key. You know how in clubs you can usually feel the vibration of the music up through your rib cage? Well, last night I was feeling each note of the base guitar in my arm-hair follicles. That was weird.
The songs were highly recognizable, though, and the part that made it a good experience was that 200 people were joyfully singing along, at the tops of their lungs, with all of it. And dancing, and pumping their fists in triumph. It's not too often that I can be in such a crowd and feel that this is a good thing, that the object of the fist-pumping is worthwhile. (I'm picturing here the idiotic crowds gathered around the TRL building, or, like, outside where they shoot Good Morning America.) Often such aroused crowds are cheering the words of some fascist dictator, ready to trounce the rest of the planet into submission. But these people were just earnestly enjoying their band. This one guy in particular kept just shaking his hand and thrusting his fist into the air, mouthing the words and swaying. I watched him for awhile, and it was really good to see someone enjoying something wholeheartedly and unironically. He wasn't making fun of people who like Modest Mouse - he was just liking Modest Mouse.
Yesterday I headed on down to Bloomington to see Modest Mouse. The club where they played was small - not tiny, but still pretty small - and about 7 million degrees fahrenheit, and very dark and smoky. I want to say that it was a good concert, but in all honesty it sounded like every band member was playing in a different key, with 200 people singing along in 200 more keys (how many keys are there?). I'm not positive that this actually was the case, but it was so ridiculously loud that to my ears, it could not possibly have been in the same key. You know how in clubs you can usually feel the vibration of the music up through your rib cage? Well, last night I was feeling each note of the base guitar in my arm-hair follicles. That was weird.
The songs were highly recognizable, though, and the part that made it a good experience was that 200 people were joyfully singing along, at the tops of their lungs, with all of it. And dancing, and pumping their fists in triumph. It's not too often that I can be in such a crowd and feel that this is a good thing, that the object of the fist-pumping is worthwhile. (I'm picturing here the idiotic crowds gathered around the TRL building, or, like, outside where they shoot Good Morning America.) Often such aroused crowds are cheering the words of some fascist dictator, ready to trounce the rest of the planet into submission. But these people were just earnestly enjoying their band. This one guy in particular kept just shaking his hand and thrusting his fist into the air, mouthing the words and swaying. I watched him for awhile, and it was really good to see someone enjoying something wholeheartedly and unironically. He wasn't making fun of people who like Modest Mouse - he was just liking Modest Mouse.
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