Notes From A Walkman Junkie: “I Was Dressed For Suc….”
So, I went to see a Pavement show last week. Sorry, let me rephrase that–I WENT TO A FUCKING PAVEMENT SHOW LAST WEEK!! I realize this may not be exciting news for you–but I had been waiting in utter piss-your-pants anticipation to see this awesome band that had previously been broken up now for over a decade. I had missed the chance to see them play live when they were intact years ago and was overjoyed to learn that they were currently embarking on a reunion tour.
The show did not disappoint. They sounded better than ever, played many of the kick-ass songs that I was hoping to hear, Stephen Malkmus (lead vocalist/guitarist/generally easy on the eyes) played his guitar behind his head for a spell and mumbled a few stories to us between songs. It was wonderful and my only complaint would be that I wish they had played longer (and that we had gotten there two hours earlier and that the man directly in front of us had showered before the show or even sometime that week– and that I had worn pants.)
Now–all of that being said—things would be just a touch wack with the (my weirdo) universe if there were not a few little (panicked/neurotic/idiotically unnecessary) hitches along the way before seeing the show. I knew that the opening band was starting at seven and I like (NEED TO THE POINT OF POSSIBLE HEAD IMPLOSION) to be early to events such as these (and every place I ever go-ranging from fun things like concerts and movies to not fun things like the gynecologist and musicals.)
Had it only been myself attending the show, I most likely would have shown up around maybe five (you know–just to make sure I had a good parking place and seat and did not get lost on the way to the concert and end up wandering the streets, grabbing random strangers and begging them, “Will someone please take me to my room.”) But, due to the fact that I was going with a few friends, I decided to play it smooth and breezy with a–”Yeah, whenever you guys want to go is cool with me”– type of thing. While we were all hanging out before the show (for what seemed like days), I was making a valiant effort (a bit internal chanting and caressing something soft) to hide the fact that I was quietly dying inside.
However, as the time rapidly melted away, my falsely perceived “smoothness and breeziness” steadily started to wane and I was desperately hoping that someone would read the overwhelming agony in my silently staring eyes and know it was time to go. Eventually, I think people started to take my subtle clues (rocking back and forth, sweating, eye brow twitching, all the softness was rubbed off of my soft thing) and we headed off to the show. Once en route, I pulled out my ticket and noticed something disturbing. It read, “Must present the entire printed page at the event.” Well, I had cut the ticket portion off and left the rest of the page at home (leaving early also allows extra time for my tendency to blatantly ignore large bold instructional print.) I immediately started to freak out and spout out something like, “NOOOOOOOOO– I cut off the tickets and it says we need to show the whole page–fuck me–there were dotted lines–clearly for fucking cutting–this is just like in grade school when I never read directions–now they will yell at me and write, ’Anne never follows directions’ in red on my ticket and we won’t get in.”
Of course, we did get in without even a suspicious glance and I promptly broke into a trot toward the stage as the first Pavement song was playing. I will say that the fact that I missed even a few (twenty-four) seconds of the first song bothers me, but the show was incredible and I would relive it all again in a heartbeat (even the unfortunate dream that I had the following night in which Stephen Malkmus slept on my floor–then threw-up in my bed and told me that I was too flat-chested and not very pretty. I woke up yelling, “I DOOOOO HAVE BIG BOOOOBS!”)
I am attaching one of my favorite live performances of Pavement playing “Here”