On July 30, 2006 I headed down to the Pageant, sans J, to watch A.F.I.
I did not expect to love Nightmare of You as much as I did. One of my coworkers, R, considered tagging along that night only because of them.
Next was Dillinger Escape Plan. Very raucous and the crowd ate them up.
A.F.I. sound like every other band in that genre, really, but they put on a great show for their fans who returned their love and admiration with their screams and pumping fists.
In a recent article in the Dispatch, lead singer Davey Havok was described as being “rail thin”. Eh? I have seen rail thin and rail thin he ain’t! But I’m getting ahead of myself.
While Nightmare of You, who sounded very nicely like a punk version of Morrissey, played their set, I stood on the top floor and found a wall to lean against as I drank my gin. I had a great vantage point from where I was because I could see the stage, the audience, and people around me. I hadn’t smoked in a week and wanted to smoke one a mile long. Well, that’s what I did. I went up to the bar and purchased a pack. Not having a lighter (which is unheard of for me) I asked the guy next to me who looked a little drunk to hand me a book of matches, located to his left. As soon as I lit up and took the first drag I felt alive again. I’m not religious at all, but that moment makes me want to drop to my knees and thank someone, anyone. Earlier that day I had purchased a pair of sexy black open-toed platform wedges and that night was their inaugural outing. So, I was feeling fine.
Anyway, once J and I observed that it seemed perfectly acceptable nowadays to wear the band’s t-shirt at the concert. Among the black t-shirt brigade were a lot of A.F.I. shirts. I also saw a lot of parents hanging out in their jean shorts.
As the crew started to fix up the very white A.F.I. stage, I ordered another drink and fumbled to try and light my cig. I had been noticing a group of non-goth kids standing to my left that kept looking over at me. I recognized one of them as being the one that handed me the book of matches. I was uncomfortable. Without wanting to show my insecurity by looking down to see if I had made some incredibly bad fashion decision, I just acted like I didn’t notice and tried to light my cig. The group walked away, but out of the blue comes this hand with a lit match. He was tall, cute, and very much out of place. I looked at him and said “thanks” and he said, “You know you’ve made it when even your crew is color coordinated with the band and the stage”. I looked down at the stage and sure enough, the crew was all in white. He said that with great sarcasm and I appreciated that.
While there was no music and the atmosphere was conducive to talking we got to know each other a little bit. The perfunctory, “so are you from here?” type questions we got out of the way early. I was surprised that the small talk didn’t seem boring at all. He seemed young, but was an old soul. At some point I unintentionally impressed him with my knowledge of history. I told him I grew up in Germany and he said “Ah, my ancestors came from there about 200 years ago. Valerius”. I looked at him and said “Romans”. At hearing this one word, he jumped up and yelled “OH MY GOD-YOU KNOW ABOUT THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE!!! HOW THEY MADE EVERYONE LATINIZE THEIR NAMES!” I was taken aback by the reaction and then said “bridges”. What I meant to say was “yes, the long arm of the Holy Roman Empire stretched out and influenced many aspects of life in Europe- look at the architecture, for example.” When I’ve been drinking I can’t always articulate, but this guy knew exactly what I meant to say. In fact, he said “Yes, the architecture, absolutely! MAN! I can’t believe I can talk to you about this. Can I buy you another drink?”
You know, for once I’d like to really impress a guy with looks rather than my knowledge of history, comics, or argue that Queen may possibly be the greatest band that ever was.
When we started discussing what we do for a living, we both realized that we were perpetual fixers. He was a Democrat who maintained a database for a local Republican politician. He would be in charge of sending messages or activating a dozen Blackberries at once, for example. He told me that the Republicans were thanking god when the storm hit. He said “they’re all about distraction right now”. When I asked him how he could take it, he said “this is why I’m a drunk at 23”.
So, then A.F.I comes on. The crowd screamed so loudly we looked at each other and grinned. He said “Wow. They’re here for A.F.I., it seems”. Finally, I turned to him and said, “What the hell are you doing here?” He said he was a friend of a friend of one of A.F.I.’s roadies and tagged along for the night. Oh good- another non-fan!
Back to A.F.I. The cd is called DecemberUnderground and how appropriate that the stage and the band were all in white. As I watched Davey run around in his white suspenders, asymmetrical haircut and glittery eye make-up, I looked at my new friend and asked “do you think he’s gay?” He said, “Maybe. Or, maybe he gets so much poon that he doesn’t have to pretend to be straight.”
When the crowd’s singing overwhelmed the band’s voices and Davey simply turned it over to them, my friend looked at me and said “ you know, if I were the artist I’d be like ‘People your job is to buy the album. My job is to sing’”.
In regards to the show, I wasn’t won over, but I also didn’t walk away hating them. I can respect them now, just because they knew their job is to put on a show for their audience and by god they did.
At the end of the night, I said goodbye to my new friend. I didn’t get digits- too young and a drunk at that age! No thanks. I’ve had an alcoholic boyfriend before, and although he was a wonderful man, I will never knowingly walk into that again.
As I drove home, I reflected on what a fun evening it was. When I looked at the time, I realized I would be home in time to tape a FUSE F*** Ups episode that was going to have Ville Valo getting slightly shitty with a tv producer who kept interrupting him. Say it with a flower pot, baby! I opened a cold beer, taped/watched the show, went to bed happy, and woke up the next day feeling like ass. Life is good. -K
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