“How much longer are you going to
do this punk rock thing?”
That was a question I got from my
mom a few years ago when I told her I was going to the 3 day party known as
Awesome Fest in San Diego. This year I asked myself the same question. How much
longer do I have in me to go to a show on a Tuesday until 2 a.m. then go to
work at 6 a.m.? How many more out of state fests and concerts do I have left in
me? When do you go from person in the scene, to old creepy drunk dude? I can
feel it taking a toll on my body and mind.
Friday, August 28th
2015 I turned 30 years old. Everyone says that 30 is A) the best years of your
life and B) pretty much the last birthday you’ll give shit about until 40. Since that is the case, my plan was to go
big this year. I originally was trying to plan a house show, but the hood I
live in pretty much made that option impossible. Luckily, as I started
scrambling for a plan B, The Flatliners announced they were playing a
show at the Soda Bar on my birthday. Perfect. Then there was the announcement
that Success, Elway, and The mother fucking Lawrence
Arms were playing a Riot Fest after
show in Denver. I quickly did the math and found out that for a mere $250 I
could attend that show and the actual Saturday Riot Fest. I got even luckier as my lovely sister stepped up
and footed that bill as my birthday present. Best. Sister. Ever.
Seriously, the best
The plan is in motion, time to
party.
Every year my friends Dave and
Emily host my birthday party at their bar, The Pourhouse in Oceanside, but
since I was going to head out of town this year, I wasn’t going to be able to make it. I felt bad, they have put up with my
drunken ass for at least the past 6 years, so I decided to head in on Thursday
evening after having dinner with my friends Brendan and Julie and staying up
and doing the midnight celebration thing. The thing about that is, I had to
work the next morning at 6. I was fine until midnight, but the next thing I
know my sister is bursting into my room screaming at me “weren’t you supposed to be at work 4 hours ago?” Why yes,
yes I was. I immediately jumped up and still kind of drunk got dressed and ran
out of the house. The thing is, I didn’t have my
keys. Being the detective I am, I called my buddy Jess who was at the bar the
night before and she told me, “Kaylin took your keys so you wouldn’t drive home.”
I mean, I didn’t even drive to the bar, but good
looking out. So instead of going to work, Jess came and took me to get a
burrito.
Later that night, I met up with
some more friends, Kenny, Rich, Matt and Ricky, and we headed down to the Soda
Bar to catch The Flatliners, Spanish Love Songs, Western
Settings, and The Sheds. Unfortunately, we were
preoccupied with getting pizza and a few pregame drinks and missed The Sheds, but eventually we made it and as soon as I walked
into Soda Bar I was handed 2 whiskey drinks, and double fisting like the
village drunk, watched Western Settings kill it again playing songs off
their full length Yes It Is and a few off their upcoming EP Old Pain, which sounded amazing. Spanish Love Songs was next, and honestly
reminded of The Menzingers light, which I
normally would have liked but at the time wasn’t in the mood for, so I went out to smoke a cigarette, and on my way
out had a shot of whiskey literally poured down my throat by my buddy Jay.
Outside, I was smoking a cigarette with Kaylin, when Chris Cresswell just so happened to walk by. I told him it was my
birthday and if, as a present, he could play He Was A Jazzman for me
that would be awesome, but like all Canadians, he very politely declined saying
“they haven’t played that song in forever and didn’t want to ruin my birthday trying.” Fair enough. I was
drunk and The Flatliners went on and played for well over an hour
covering all their albums from Destroy to Create to their most recently
released b-side album Division of Spoils. They skipped the traditionally
lame encore as it was a billion degrees inside, and we were all desperately in
need of air that wasn’t damp with sweat. After the show Matt
Caskitt was kind enough to let me stay at his place in San Diego instead of
heading all the way back to North County AND offered to drive me to the
airport. What a sweetheart! But first we stopped by Ricky Schmidt’s house for
a post show drink, where he force fed me shots of whiskey until I was ready
take a nap.
Saturday morning I hopped on a
plane to Denver, and immediately after landing was taken straight to Riot Fest by my friend Jackie. I had a few hours to kill before
the first band I wanted to see play, so I wandered around a little, watched
some of the bands Meat Wave, Less Than Jake, Gwar and The Vandals, stopped by the For The Love Of
Punk booth, and just kind of familiarized myself with where everything was.
Eventually it was time to head inside to the Radicals stage to watch Direct
Hit! I finally got to meet fellow FtLP contributor Damon, who had a
nice cold can of a premixed Moscow Mule waiting for me (It was really good
surprisingly) and I had a hug for him. I also got to meet FtLP founder,
Johnny Wilson. Direct Hit! ripped through their disappointingly short set
time, playing mostly songs off their new/old record More of the Same
(Satanic Singles: 2010-2014) claiming they were fucking sick of playing
Brainless God for the past 2 years. At some point Devon Kay regaled us with a tale of a cursed toy horse, which
he immediately tossed into the crowd, and was caught by a young kid who was
then pulled up on stage and danced around and then stage dove away. Go youths!
Also there was a huge roided out buff dude trying to start a shitty mosh pit (i.e.
just pushing unsuspecting people watching the band) who eventually got kicked
out by security. His buddy in the crowd told me “oh, he’s just on meth no big deal” And then immediately offered me some, which
I turned down. Sorry bro, my teeth are shitty enough without fucking meth.
After Direct Hit! I ran off to go get some food, and was
internally torn between getting a giant turkey leg or garlic fries. Eventually,
I was convinced to get the fires and have more money for booze. Duh. Some
people just get this whole life thing. I wandered around a bit more, checking
out Thrice and Eagles of Death Metal, before heading back in to
watch Pears literally play one of the best sets I have ever seen. Zach Quinn owned that stage, tromping around looking like a man
possessed (the front stage lights were cast upon him like when you would hold a
flashlight to tell a scary story). Even Nick Woods and Devon Kay were
on the side stage enjoying them, air drumming and singing along. I also got to
meet Ross and Savvi, which it is always awesome to be able to put faces to
names. The last band I really wanted to check out played right before we had to
leave, Alkaline Trio. I don’t know if
it was being so far away, them playing what seemed like a lot of newer stuff,
or Matt Skiba being sober, but I was bored. They did play a few songs
that I knew and loved, but overall I was unimpressed and excited to leave and
get to the Marquis Theatre.
Direct Hit!
PEARS
The tickets said the show at the Marquis started at 10, but it turns out that was a bold face
lie. Success went on at 10:45, so I had enough time to order a few
whiskey dranks and take a mean shit (I’m not a
porta-potty guy for number 2’s). Eventually, Success
hit the stage and I downed my drink and ran up front. This was somehow the
first time I was seeing them play. It seemed like every time I was out of town,
they were playing in San Diego. They fucking sound great live though, and I was
stoked to hear I’ll be able to catch them again in San Diego on the 2nd with Millencolin.
Elway played next. I watched a few songs, but the length of the day
started to catch up to me. I went outside to get some fresh air and smoke a
cigarette, how Canadian ironic of me I know, and ended up chatting with Rev
and buying a Success shirt. I really wanted to buy their album Radio
Recovery on vinyl, but since my cheap ass flew Frontier, there was
no way I would have been able to fit it in my tiny backpack. After Elway
finished and the crowd dissipated a little, I walked right up to the very front
of the stage and stood there to wait. I came all the way from California to see
The Lawrence Arms and I’d be damned if I was going to stand back to
watch them. Sorry short people behind me, this is one of the very few times I
just didn’t give a shit. Then they came out and started in on Recovering the
Opposable Thumb and I realized my mistake. You see I’m roughly 6 feet tall,
and the front of the stage ended right at my knees. My knees suck. So I had
this giant of a man leaning on me, pushing my knees directly into the stage and
it was fucking terrible. But I stuck it out because I’m stubborn and my man
crush for Brendan Kelly. Eventually I noticed Ross and Savvi, who I met
earlier, and she motioned for me to hop the stage and run over to the side
area, where I saw Toby from Red Scare and Matt Skiba
sitting, so I obviously immediately did. The Lawrence Arms played
through a set mostly consisting of songs off Oh! Calcutta and Metropole,
and occasionally dipping into the Cocktails and Dreams and The
Greatest Story Ever Told. Eventually, during 100 Resolutions,
Brittany Strummer grabbed me by the arm and we ran up on stage and sang along.
This was probably the most fun I have ever had at a show ever. Completely
exhausted, I went back to Jackie’s and immediately passed the fuck out on her
purple couch.
Success
The Lawrence Arms
Sunday around 10 or 11 we headed
back out to grab some food. I didn’t have a ticket to Riot Fest that
day, and Jackie did, so I just had her leave me at the food place so I could
explore Denver. I had 8 hours to kill before Rancid played at the Summit
Music Hall 3 miles away. My first decision was to go get tattooed. I had
been wanting to get a bindle (a hobo suitcase basically) tattoo that said
“Ramble On” ever since my last road trip to Seattle, when driving through
Oregon at 4 a.m. the song Ramblin’ Revisted by Brendan Kelly and the
Wandering Birds came on my iPod, and the lines “this here bindle is all I
have, to show for the rambling I did in my past” stuck out to me. So I did
because I’m an adult and i make adult decisions. Next I met up with my friends
sister and had lunch and a few drinks with her and her family (Congrats on the
baby girl Kim and Jesse!). After they left I had about 4 hours left, so I started
wandering in the general direction of the venue, stopping at every bar and
brewery I came across, meeting some interesting people along the way. At one
pub, the bartender was from Madison, Wisconsin and was friends with Masked
Intruder. At about the 2 hour/1.5 miles left mark I ran into this group of
youths who stopped and asked if they could ask me a question, and then this one
dude got down on one knee and asked if I would marry him and handed me a
bouquet of flowers he clearly ripped out of some planter. Now, walking down the
street half drunk looking like I do, an sweaty angry piece of shit garbage
person, I’m sure I shocked them more when I answered “which one of you fuckers
is ordained, lets do this.” None of them were. Eventually I made it the venue, met up with everyone, and
went in to catch the last few songs of 7 Seconds. Rancid took the
stage, and the very packed crowd lost their shit. I needed to get a good
picture of Tim Armstrong for inside joke reasons, and being mostly
drunk, decided it was a good idea to go behind the barricade on the side of the
stage to get it. I was immediately grabbed by the tiniest security guard I have
ever seen, and as he slowly pushed me to the exit, tore off my wristband and
kicked me out the back. That was about 2 songs into their set. I smoked a
cigarette, and walked right back in the front with my same ticket, just in time
for them to start playing Ruby Soho. Rancid played for what
seemed like forever (At least 3 tall cans worth of songs), and they only got
better as I got even drunker. Eventually it got to the point where we were all
dancing and singing along to every song.
For a self proclaimed “not that big of a fan,” I sure know a lot of their
songs.
New Baby Tattoo
And just like that, my 4 day party
weekend was over. I hung around Jackie’s place most of Monday, reading
Bukowski, until it was time to fly home and rejoin reality.
Going big for my 30th birthday was
probably the best decision I ever made. I had more fun then I thought was
possible with old and new friends, got to see a ton of awesome music, and was
just able to shut off my stupid fucking brain and leave all the anxiety and
uncertainty and shitty problems at home and have some pure, unadulterated fun.
After this year the answer to the question “how much longer are you going to do
this punk rock thing” became clear, as long as their is air in my lungs and a
shitty band to see.
Check back in later for part 2 in which I continue to abuse my body and have an awesome time at Awesome Fest. Lol. :)
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