a little confused
that i haven't written this post yet. but, here i go. how i found frisbie. this will all get edited at some point, so what if it is herky-jerky now. if i repeat myself like someone who has had too many rum and cokes. that's what it was at first, you know. rum and coke. preferably bacardi and coke, but i'd drink ronrico if i was short on cash. it was all about having enough. enough to get me to where i needed to go.
later, i switched to captain and coke; i guess it was jen and jack that turned me on to the delights of that particular pirate. the captain never really let me down, only i let me down in his presence. the captain was always sure and steady, always set me on a sure course. i've heard many alcoholics talk about liquor this way. how they always knew what they'd get for a certain price. how much, how drunk, how many shots out of a fifth. how strong, how many it would take. it didn't fluctuate like weed or coke or acid. there never was a doubt about what it was, maybe just how i'd drink it or what i'd do with it.
ah, this story really is going to be frisbie and my alcoholism interwined. as i realize, since i really did intend just to talk about the first time i saw frisbie...and ended up drenched in some alcohol analogy.
so.
may 6th, 1999. i'm going to see big star. finally. my friends, shawn and ryan, have told me all about this band. jen and jack and shawn and ryan and i worked at this radio station in naperville, il. they taught me about bands like the replacements who wrote songs about guys like alex chilton who, in bands like big star, influenced bands i actually knew about and grew up with like R.E.M.
but i am a quick study, and i learn about the replacements and i learn about big star and i grow up to learn about all the magical links of music inbetween. from the beatles to the beach boys to big star to the replacements to R.E.M to material issue to matthew sweet. i'm there. i'm sold. i'm hooked.
my friend, shawn, and i went to see our heroes, material issue at this very venue, once. at the (cabaret) metro. i've always wondered why they felt it necessary to ditch the cabaret. even though there were always plastic cups filled with draft beer and not so many fancy cigarette holders, it would have been nice if the name could have sustained the illusion of a nightlife of glamour, rather than a nightclub of moshing. this was the case the night we stood front and center to see jim ellison and maybe swoon a little, and ended up getting crushed by the testosterone energies swelling at us from all sides, realizing that although we loved the rock and roll, we couldn't see dying for this particular love.
we moved to the side, and watched the throng engulf the small space we had once occupied. when had power pop become so violent, so crazy? when had moshing gone from punk and thrash shows to something to be done to 'valerie loves me?'
we were standing at the same stage, the same metro with the painted black floors and the huge speaker stacks flanking each side of the stage, waiting for big star to be revealed. it was ryan, shawn, and shawn's friend, phil. i can't remember if my roommate ann marie or my friend, murph were there or not. so much of my memory is just lost. i don't know why. i could blame it on drugs, but i have sober blackouts today, so i just think it's some weird function of my memory (or lack thereof).
we were standing around, talking. shawn and i brought up the material issue show, and how we had seen this opening band, specula. (the name still hits a little too close to the word 'speculum,' the instrument used to peer into a woman's vagina during a cervical exam.) to this day, they were the worst opening band i have ever seen. the lead singer played some sort of electronic silver recorder/trumpet/plastic horn instrument. it was horrifying and excruciating (much like a bad gynelogical exam). besides the anticipation of wanting to see material issue, the anticipation of wanting them off stage was huge.
at one point, i said out loud, "i just hope the opening band doesn't suck."
that was my expectation. low to none. i was also hoping that alex chilton wasn't in a surly mood, as i had heard rumors that these gigs could be fraught with him being pouty and mad that he was stuck having to reprise the songs of his heyday, a heyday that really didn't go much beyond 'the letter,' when he was 16 years old and singing like he had chugged a bottle of jack and smoked too many marlboros.
a hit at 16, and then a tortured career that people recognized in some sort of cult status in whispers and bows after it was really too late to do anything about it. he had some sort of 50's stylings thing he did from time to time, and all in all, things with alex could be a little volatile, it seemed. the posies sang backup, and those guys were just something else. but, if i had to sit through something before i saw the master, i just hoped it wasn't too heinous.
and.... here... we.. .go.
out walks 5 guys... in matching outfits... and my first thought was: it's like the beatles.
and you know, then at one point there's these incredible harmonies. i start to think the lead vocalists look a little like john and paul.
and their keyboardist is playing a trumpet.
and i'm a horn whore, so that's an immediate smile generator.
and i'm definitely interested.
and by the end of their set, they are playing this crazy song. it's called "mourning machines." and the crescendo on this song is incredible. the waves of sound are surrounding me and taking me under and it's loud. real loud. too loud. but i like it.... and there's some counting thing. thing about 4 and 5, lucky 7 ....what?
i'm dialing in four fives to recognize
six little lies playing to play
sleeping away
to wake up on some lucky seven
cause all we've got here's a little promise
to hold a little piece of your heart
yeah all we've got here's a little promise
a little piece, huh? by the end of the song, the noise was physically assaulting. and i didn't know what to do. i just stood there, letting it surround me and win me over and wash around me and take me in.
and we're fucking machines, hell yeah
who were these guys? frisbie. right. frisbie. i was not going to forget that name. the next time i saw that name, i was going to be there.
later, i switched to captain and coke; i guess it was jen and jack that turned me on to the delights of that particular pirate. the captain never really let me down, only i let me down in his presence. the captain was always sure and steady, always set me on a sure course. i've heard many alcoholics talk about liquor this way. how they always knew what they'd get for a certain price. how much, how drunk, how many shots out of a fifth. how strong, how many it would take. it didn't fluctuate like weed or coke or acid. there never was a doubt about what it was, maybe just how i'd drink it or what i'd do with it.
ah, this story really is going to be frisbie and my alcoholism interwined. as i realize, since i really did intend just to talk about the first time i saw frisbie...and ended up drenched in some alcohol analogy.
so.
may 6th, 1999. i'm going to see big star. finally. my friends, shawn and ryan, have told me all about this band. jen and jack and shawn and ryan and i worked at this radio station in naperville, il. they taught me about bands like the replacements who wrote songs about guys like alex chilton who, in bands like big star, influenced bands i actually knew about and grew up with like R.E.M.
but i am a quick study, and i learn about the replacements and i learn about big star and i grow up to learn about all the magical links of music inbetween. from the beatles to the beach boys to big star to the replacements to R.E.M to material issue to matthew sweet. i'm there. i'm sold. i'm hooked.
my friend, shawn, and i went to see our heroes, material issue at this very venue, once. at the (cabaret) metro. i've always wondered why they felt it necessary to ditch the cabaret. even though there were always plastic cups filled with draft beer and not so many fancy cigarette holders, it would have been nice if the name could have sustained the illusion of a nightlife of glamour, rather than a nightclub of moshing. this was the case the night we stood front and center to see jim ellison and maybe swoon a little, and ended up getting crushed by the testosterone energies swelling at us from all sides, realizing that although we loved the rock and roll, we couldn't see dying for this particular love.
we moved to the side, and watched the throng engulf the small space we had once occupied. when had power pop become so violent, so crazy? when had moshing gone from punk and thrash shows to something to be done to 'valerie loves me?'
we were standing at the same stage, the same metro with the painted black floors and the huge speaker stacks flanking each side of the stage, waiting for big star to be revealed. it was ryan, shawn, and shawn's friend, phil. i can't remember if my roommate ann marie or my friend, murph were there or not. so much of my memory is just lost. i don't know why. i could blame it on drugs, but i have sober blackouts today, so i just think it's some weird function of my memory (or lack thereof).
we were standing around, talking. shawn and i brought up the material issue show, and how we had seen this opening band, specula. (the name still hits a little too close to the word 'speculum,' the instrument used to peer into a woman's vagina during a cervical exam.) to this day, they were the worst opening band i have ever seen. the lead singer played some sort of electronic silver recorder/trumpet/plastic horn instrument. it was horrifying and excruciating (much like a bad gynelogical exam). besides the anticipation of wanting to see material issue, the anticipation of wanting them off stage was huge.
at one point, i said out loud, "i just hope the opening band doesn't suck."
that was my expectation. low to none. i was also hoping that alex chilton wasn't in a surly mood, as i had heard rumors that these gigs could be fraught with him being pouty and mad that he was stuck having to reprise the songs of his heyday, a heyday that really didn't go much beyond 'the letter,' when he was 16 years old and singing like he had chugged a bottle of jack and smoked too many marlboros.
a hit at 16, and then a tortured career that people recognized in some sort of cult status in whispers and bows after it was really too late to do anything about it. he had some sort of 50's stylings thing he did from time to time, and all in all, things with alex could be a little volatile, it seemed. the posies sang backup, and those guys were just something else. but, if i had to sit through something before i saw the master, i just hoped it wasn't too heinous.
and.... here... we.. .go.
out walks 5 guys... in matching outfits... and my first thought was: it's like the beatles.
and you know, then at one point there's these incredible harmonies. i start to think the lead vocalists look a little like john and paul.
and their keyboardist is playing a trumpet.
and i'm a horn whore, so that's an immediate smile generator.
and i'm definitely interested.
and by the end of their set, they are playing this crazy song. it's called "mourning machines." and the crescendo on this song is incredible. the waves of sound are surrounding me and taking me under and it's loud. real loud. too loud. but i like it.... and there's some counting thing. thing about 4 and 5, lucky 7 ....what?
i'm dialing in four fives to recognize
six little lies playing to play
sleeping away
to wake up on some lucky seven
cause all we've got here's a little promise
to hold a little piece of your heart
yeah all we've got here's a little promise
a little piece, huh? by the end of the song, the noise was physically assaulting. and i didn't know what to do. i just stood there, letting it surround me and win me over and wash around me and take me in.
and we're fucking machines, hell yeah
who were these guys? frisbie. right. frisbie. i was not going to forget that name. the next time i saw that name, i was going to be there.
