The Walkmen and The Sun at Detroit's Magic Stick

The first time I saw The Walkmen was in Detroit. My sister and her then-boyfriend convinced me to take a road trip with them to see a band with which I was only mildly familiar. I had one half of the band's debut, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone, in the black LP sleeve. I'd later buy the other half that night and the entire CD a few days later.

We listened to The Walkmen and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs on the way up to Detroit Rock City. I fell in love with both bands. It also occurred to me that The Walkmen were responsible for that song on the Saturn ad.

The Magic Stick is attached to a theater by the name of Majestic and above a bowling alley/diner. The Stick contained billiard tables, a large dance floor, and a wide-yet-short stage.

The opening band was interesting. They fancied themselves rather dynamic, but their best song was a cover of that same Saturn ad song, "We've Been Had".

The second band was The Sun (or "Sun" according to a flier). This is only remarkable because The Sun are from Columbus. I had always managed to miss their sets while opening for nearly every major act that had passed through Columbus over the past year. They were considered to be the first major rock band to come out of Columbus since, well, ever. It was ironic that the first time I saw them was by accident and four hours away. The Sun were good. It's too bad that their full-length, major-label debut was released as a DVD of videos.

The Walkmen then came on and blew us away. They were all over the stage, swaggering and smiling their songs of break-ups, too much drinking, and fading hipster identities. The guitar work was acidic and the percussion rattled our bones. It amazed me that Hamilton could even speak, let alone sing after screaming every song.

An interest in a band was born out of that night that has not yet subsided. I always like shows that win my admiration for a band. This was one such night.

Chavez, Blonde Redhead, and the dude my girlfriend left me for

I once saw Blonde Redhead at Stache's in Columbus. They were really great. It was way more punk rock-like than their most recent release, 23.

The best part was that they opened up for incredible Chavez. The drummer for Chavez was maybe the most amazing being behind I kit I've ever seen.

The worst part is that the guy my girlfriend left me for was there. He actually picked up our tickets. She hung out with him while I stood up front.

Man, that guy could smack that shit out of those skins.

My Dad at the Pavement Show

The first time I saw Pavement live was in Cleveland with my sister...and my dad. Since my sister was 15 and we were heading to the big, scary city, Dad thought he'd accompany us to the show.

He enjoyed Dirty Three and their stories about the local pharmacist providing all the medication a junkie could need. They also played a stirring set of violin-based instrumentals that rocked as much as they moaned.

Fuck played next. He didn't care for them. I don't remember much more than that they didn't stick out like their name did.

The headliners finally made it to the cramped stage in the Agora Theater's ballroom. One of the members, I think Kannenberg, wore a fan-made t-shirt with ironed on letters. A few mooks stood up front with their shirts removed. The crowd moshed, but the band brought that on themselves.

While we saw a memorable set, my dad found a spot at the bar. He ordered a drink. The bartender made a joke about IDing him. Then she reached below the bar to reveal a Mason jar of clear liquid and offered him some. Wisely, Dad turned down the drink.

The Breeders and Some Annoying Opener

As a freshman in college, The Breeders were a big part of my music listening. This fan-dom was caused by a combination of MTV buzz, Nirvana praise, Pixies connections, an awakening to home-grown talent, and, most importantly, a great record. Last Splash is easily one of the best records of the 90's. This was the height of the Deal sisters' success, and I was there.

Sadly, I missed The Breeders' triumphant return to Dayton a month prior to seeing them myself. It was my sister's first concert. As they rode with her friend's worrisome parent, the girls assured their driver that it wasn't like there were going to be guns and knives at the show. Just then, they pulled up to Hara Arena, right beside the "Gun and Knife Show" banners advertising the venue's other event for the evening. They were allowed to enter anyway. For a first concert, my sister couldn't do much better than The Breeders with The Afghan Whigs, Guided by Voices, and The New Bomb Turks. Not bad.

Flash forward a few weeks in Columbus at the Newport Music Hall. I got my first chance to see The Breeders and gaze upon Kim and Kelley Deal, full of a school-boy crush on both.

Th' Faith Healers opened with a rousing set of noise and feedback. To this day, their record, Imaginary Friend, is a guilty pleasure of mine.

Then, this awful band played. It was a basic set-up of drums, bass, and guitar with exuberant front man...and a theremin. The singer pranced around and seemed to emulate Elvis as he shook his hips and shook his voice. It was wild, but annoying. The worst was when he chanted over and over "Blues Explosion, Blues Explosion". It was exhausting.

Funny thing is, that opener became one of my favorite bands of the 90's indie rock era, The John Spencer Blues Explosion. Oh well. You can't always be right.

The Breeders put on a great, great show. I moshed and rode the crowd. It was fun.

All Ages with a Curfew

Bright Eyes played what was advertised as an "all ages" show at Columbus' Newport Music Hall. I can't quite recall the year, but I know it was during the summer and it was hot.

Opener Tilly and the Wall sounded awful, but I equate this to the Newport's infamously bad sound system. Later, better sounding performances would support this assertion. The tap dancer just sounded like your upstairs neighbor stomping around his apartment.

Bright Eyes came on to thirteen-year-old screams and calls for all various ballads of teen angst and loss and whatever else Oberst laments. The set was not particularly inspired, but it cost us enough to get in that we weren't going to leave.

Then, suddenly, without warning, the lights came on and the crummy sound system was turned off. Oberst played on, eventually opting for an acoustic guitar while sitting on the monitors.

Bouncers and the management started pushing us out of the venue. I believe my brother shouted some not-so-appreciative words at the Newport folk. They ignored and sent us walking.

We ventured to several other rock shows that night, not ever feeling like we got our money's worth. It was later revealed on a Bright Eyes discussion board that the show was only scheduled to go until 10, since it was "all ages". I have since avoided "all ages" shows. However, I may reconsider once the kid is keeping me awake all night.

Beating Them with a Yardstick

I saw Archers of Loaf a couple of times at Stache's in Columbus. The second time was a letdown.

My friend's band, Monster Zero, opened the show. These jerks in front of me kept screaming for MZ to play a cool cover. MZ had played "Gold Star for Robot Boy" once while opening for Mercury Rev and Hum, but chose not to play any covers on this night.

The second band, Tuscadero, was an all-grrrl group from DC on Teen Beat. They were peppy, punky, and fresh. However, the band soon became very agitated with the same group of jerks up front. This time, instead of hollering for "cool covers", these mooks were smoking up a storm and blowing it right at the band. Normally, this is not a big deal, except for the fact that the band asked the audience before their set to hold off on smoking until they were done. The band even stopped at one point until the cigarettes were put out.

Finally, Archers of Loaf hopped on stage. I figured that there was no way that this crew of jackasses could ruin their set. I was wrong.

Loaf started off with a band, rocking through their first few songs. The crowd was rocking. I found myself in almost the same post I held a year before, right in front, just behind front man Eric Bachman's monitor.

Then it began.

The same guys who heckled my friend and blew smoke at Tuscadero were actually moshing. Sure, moshing was a regular feature of rock shows in the 1990's, but this was 1996 and it was a small, indie rock show. It wasn't the Warped Tour and that wasn't Rancid on stage.

The pushing and shoving got so bad that Bachman started cutting off songs to yell at the audience to quit. They didn't quit and the band became more and more agitated. Finally, they walked off with Bachman saying, "That's it. We're done." There was no encore.

I saw Archers of Loaf again about a year later in Cleveland at the Euclid. I was able to talk to Loaf bassist Matt Gentling about the Stache's show. He replied, "Yeah, that was bad. We needed yardsticks to beat them down."

Since that Loaf show at Stache's, I have bumped into the heckling-smoking-moshing idiots' leader at several shows. He's obnoxious. He's that guy who yells for the same song throughout a band's set and never stops. (Wait, I've done that.) The worst was the time his band opened for Guided by Voices.