Sunday, January 02, 2005

Hole In The Wall

You know you're at a good concert when you literally get pushed through a wall...

I went to a punk show last night in the basement of a house in Southbury, Connecticut. Southbury: The crown jewel of Exit 15. The first thing I saw was that Ted Williams "Moxie" ad. Then I saw a Red Sox Number One Foam Finger. So I knew I was in a friendly household. The dad is a huge fan, and allows his son to have crazy punk bands play in his basement. So it was cool. A bunch of my friends from the old days were there. The old days meaning a few years ago, when my old band, The Pac-Men, used to play and make all the kids dance and go nuts. At the end of last night, these people were telling me how this show reminded them of the old Pac-Men shows. So that was good to hear. But more importantly, these bands last night just ruled, and the hundred or so people packed into this tiny basement turned into a mass of energy, just running amok as one the whole time.

Some of the bands were from Canada, and they had a little entourage with them. I noticed these Canadian kids doing these hand claps while watching these bands, along with this little hip shaking dance. It reminded me of when I went to SkyDome in Toronto, and wathced everyone do this choreographed dance to some special Blue Jays song that was played during the 7th inning stretch. There are plenty of "punk dances," but we Americans have just basically combined them all into one dance called "go nuts." So it was funny to see the more organized Canadian vs. chaotic USA style of Music-enjoying.

So I was standing against the wall, right up front, the whole night. Ceiling tiles were falling, people were flying through the air, and the dad didn't seem to mind, as he'd peer in to the basement with a blank stare every once in a while. At one point, the entire crowd surged into me, and I felt my entire midsection just go backwards...creating a two-foot high back/ass print in the sheet rock. Had I been standing in front of a stud, I might well have been crushed. But the wall just gave way, cushioning my body nicely. "I broke the wall," I bragged to my friends. This was the first wall I'd broken since my car slid on some ice and went right into the brick facade of a local record store. The guy who owns that very store was there last night, videotaping the bands. When the show finally came to a close (the last band played for an hour, we just refused to let them stop, because nobody wanted the night to end), I went over to this dude and told him to keep the camera rolling, so I could have him get on film the new "seat" I'd created in the wall.

What do you expect, though, when you go to see a band called "Fucked Up"?


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Location: Rhode Island, United States