More Unpredictable Music, Less Unpredictable Skies

New night, new mood, same crew. Once again, here’s a bit of the skinny on what went down in the venue.

Getting out of SPAC isn’t more of a shitshow than any other venue, but it ain’t pretty either. The weather report looked clear, so we parked on the far side of the venue for free and walked our way in after some mild lot shenanigans. No idea where Shakedown’s been set up, as it wasn’t where it was last year. But we didn’t need Shakedown to find a party favor…

Just before the odd collection of buildings outside the main entrance to the venue, we found a full, unopened box of blue surgical gloves. Needless to say, this had to come in with us. We get to the ticket gate, and the patter-downer person asks us why we have a box of surgical gloves. “Have you seen the men’s room here,” I ask. She looks at me non-plused. “I have… um… diabetes?” Says my friend. To his credit, he pronounced it like Wilford Brimley, which apparently got us the pass and in we went.

If it’s even possible, tonight feels more packed than last night, tho we got to the venue considerably later. After staking out a semi-decent section of lawn on Rage Side, we hunker down with our surgical gloves and get ready for the show.

My crew and I feel slightly taunted at the Crowd Control opener. We’re out on the sloped lawn of SPAC, after all, so I guess we felt like the fools staying on the hill. Our only retaliation was to blow up our surgical gloves, tie knots in the hand, and send ‘em off into the crowd. We were laughing ourselves silly at the reaction we were getting. Around us it was a mix of anger and confusion. Come on. We were surrounded by 20-year olds. We’re nearly twice their age, and having more fun without the aid of a vaporizer…

The show feels a little like a Phish playlist left on random. CDT (um, again?) didn’t really rip, but oddly enough, Heavy Things and Bug were both really fun. It’s finally dark, and we started loading the gloves with glow sticks and sending them bounding into the crowd. Tube catches fire, and my attention. It stretched, strained, found it footing, and kept on keepin’ on. I think one more outing like that and it’ll go full Type II and it’ll be in our playlists for a good long while. Julius is up next, and I’m thinking we’re getting an hour-long set. Apparently, so did CK5. White lights came on for a split second before the stage went dark. The music went dark, too, with SOAMelt. Sloppy-ish intro led to a way far out there exploration.

I don’t get the complaints about this version. Jam is another word for improvisation. It’s not a scripted thing. It shouldn’t always be clean and beautiful and flowing. It should be scary and unpredictable. And I’m glad they tried something different. For me, this was the highlight of the show.

Set two starts with the gigantic wet fart also known as number line, which felt like eating leftovers every night for a week. Tweezer’s next, but I can’t even tell you if it was any good. Glow stick wars was in severely full and fun effect where I stood, with some guys on the balcony showering us with them. A guy next to me started breaking them open, spraying everyone with glow stick juice. This really ticked off a bunch of people, and I felt bad that their show was affected by it. My crew laughed it off. This dude was practically christening people with glow sticks.

Carini kicks off with its red-light darkness, and this guy is yelling, “the power of carini compels you,” while spraying glow stick juice. This version was a stopper tho. Packed with ideas, everyone fell to a dull head-nod. We were watching some special music, albeit covered in weird glow-y juice that probably will take a few years off our lives.

Then… I dunno. It’s like the band lost the thread. Wilson was sort-a fun, Boogie On was packed with MikeBombs, and then a Possum ender? Hm. People literally started packing up when Show of Life’s first chords rang out. I had to remind one of my pals that Tweprise is the best three minutes of rock music ever, so he stayed.

Guess what? It was. Trey stomped about the stage like he was hunting big game, but the night was over. Erratic night? Sure. Special show? Maybe not all the way to ‘special,’ but fucking hell, it definitely had its moments. I can’t wait for tomorrow.