#i barely even drank at riot fest

[bo0zey]

I hope you're doing ok, I only read about what happened at riot fest through someone who saw some of the people who fainted and had to be taken out, but to be in the situation that you were is so terrifying. I really wish I could whisk you to another concert of theirs, it breaks my heart that arseholes who have no regard to others' wellbeing ruined your experience. (And reading your post about how gerard was trying to control the crowd, I couldn't stop thinking about how disturbing it must have been to watch people fainting left and right and having to be surfed out of the crowd, and people still continuing to push.)

i'm okay!<3 i went home and hit the Hay afterwards lol. my abdominal cavity was still rlly sore tho lol like i couldn't eat my burrito once i got home :( which i shouldve expected cuz i couldnt even drink water without sharp stabbing pangs from my diaphragm n intestines still on bad terms with each other skjskjng . but i was better the next day :) . and i was so sad for the band you're 100% correct i can't imagine what they must've been thinking up there having to perform while so many people were getting hurt :/ . like gerard handled everything so well, better than the event organizers ffs, and i was so mad because then the tabloids were released ranking the 13 most "dangerous bands/crowds" at riot fest & MCR was right up there and it's like!!!!!! the band was doing everything they could to keep the crowd safe, pausing between every damn song, literally ZERO bantering from gee in between because he was too busy counting the steps he wanted the crowd to take back.

that's why i'm still kinda annoyed abt me almost fainting bc i know it's not my fault but i still feel so stupid n weak bc i feel like everyone thinks it's my fault too and i 'couldn't hang' but i was literally being crushed from all four sides of my body and my nose was in this stinky bitch's armpit like:((( it's not fair. and like i tried not to let the fact that i was almost barrier, ~1hr away from seeing the band whose music was literally the only thing i listened to from 12-16yrs old when my mom was sick and dying and i deadass had nothing left that resonated with me aside from mcr & the boys' side projects for 4 years straight. it sounds corny as fuck but it honestly felt like a dream come true to be able to see them live and so up close like??

but i'm not gonna lie i couldn't stay positive lol. i was in a fog and dissociated for their entire set. n like the fact that i was 1000000s of feet away from my original spot so i couldn't even see them on stage, just the big screen, it just made the dissociation worse because everything had already looked and felt unreal and now mcr felt unreal too but like in the worst way possible, like they actually WERE NOT real and i was watching a youtube video at home lol. and i've literally never tried so hard in my LIFE to re-ground myself because i wanted to be at least somewhat present for this once in a lifetime chance u know?? so i tried singing along but i couldn't because it made the shooting pains so much worse. then i tried just mouthing the words but the pain kept getting worse and i literally had to leave during the middle of TKFY because i was getting nauseous and lightheaded again. aside from the pain i truly couldn't feel anything while watching them perform i was just so numb from everything and i couldn't stop crying because i deadass felt zero happiness, and that realization made me cry more because they weren't even happy tears, they weren't the ones i'd expected to cry. it was honestly one of the worst feelings i've ever experienced, feeling nothing, just numb as fuck inside despite being live and present at the concert of the band that had at one point made me feel everything, every emotion, tenfold all at once. and there i was 10 years later, feeling nothing. tis a veerrrryyyyyy hard pill for me to swallow lol n im still tryna choke it down. i haven't been able to listen to any mcr songs since bc i'm afraid i'm going to experience the same empty feelings again orrrrr worse break down and cry like a little bitch n feel sorry for myself bc i was so.close. to having this 1 thing i always wanted but never thought i'd be able to have and then *poof* IT'S GONE. like i can't have shit in this world lol i jsut wanted to give my inner child some peace and remember happier days before mom was gone and what happpens instead??? god yanks mcr away from her too lmaoooo. it's like funny and ironic tbh idk. and then ofc for their last song gerard played cancer and i was 10000000000000 of feet away in pain while my stepmom tried 2 find me water n im just sobbing next to some trashcans bc suddenly im 12 years old realizing i just lost the last piece of my childhood n mcr can't soothe me anymore and mom isn't there either and now i truly have nothing left inside or outside myself that makes me happy:-). like i don't think i've EVER even cried to cancer bc i didnt think it was /that/ sad and my mom literally died of cancer and i still never cried??? But idk that was another weird sad thing that jabbed the knife in deeper lol.

but also ik why gee played it, they were supposed to close with TKFY but played cancer bc it's their slowest 'saddest' song which would hopefully make everyone chill the fuck out & leave without trampling each other. which, AGAIN, gerard is literally an amazing fucking frontman for once AGAIN going out of his way to try and mellow ppl out n keep everyone safe aND FOR TABLOIDS TO ATTACK THEM calling them the most dangerous band like!!!!!!!! it literally wasn't their fault ppl are just fucking idiots and don't understand BASIC PHYSICS/HUMAN ANTOMY DKDFNSKD. ngl the only reason i'm not wrathful abt the article is bc it's validating 2 me n my experience that Yes that crowd was actualyl fucking awful and what happened to me was OUT of my control n therefore it wasnt>:(my>:(fault>:(((

#anon i am so sorry for leaving what shouldve been a diary entry in my own personal journal at home in the answer to ur ask #i just have a lot of feelings i guess and i feel like no 1 understands how sad i am and it wasnt my fault ok like im literally #going into emergency nursing i THINK i know what a fuckign crush injury is and how the human anatomy works like !!!!!! #i've been to GA concerts with 0 food in my stomach 0 water 0 sleep and hella alcohol and I WAS FINE #i barely even drank at riot fest #also i remained dissociated until i got home n went to bed and it was probably one of the worst episodes i was so out of body out of touch #i think every1 who wants 2 invalidate me should come 2 my house and let me crush their abdominal organs and lungs :) come see for urself!!! #im not even gonna get into how upset i am w myself for feeling alienated from mcr #maybe i sound dramatic idk but they meant Everything to me so it was jsut so devstating to feel nothing from them anymore #riot fest #ask #ramblings

[katiebruce]

adieu, 2019.

Here we are at the beginning of not only a new year, but a new decade. This past year went by so quickly (why are they always going by so much faster? Is this the true curse of aging?) that sometimes I had to hold my breath in an attempt to secure a quick moment for myself amidst it all. That is, I’m not trying to complain, nor say that 2019 wasn’t so incredibly fantastic to me; I digress. It’s just that I’m finding that the older that I get, the more challenging it becomes to live the life I want to live and still have time for myself at the close of the day, let alone to sit down and write about it. I am still deep in the throes of my Saturn Return, and so I know this is to be expected—and again, I don’t wish to complain about how bountiful my life was the past year. I simply state this in a moment of honest reflection, in hopes that in recapping my year, I can learn from it and make the new year ahead of me adopt a pace that isn’t so exhausting and altogether overwhelming. (It’s ironic that I wrote this pledge to myself a full week ago and have just now found the time to sit down and finish this silly, old little tradition I have for myself).

So, here it is, 2019. A final dance for you and I:

It started in the dark, with very loud soul music. My first NYE with a guaranteed kiss—my sweet prince Taylor. A New Year’s Day hangover dinner with some of the greatest at Parson’s, aka negroni slushies and fried chicken heaven.

My sister and Mom visited; the annual trip. Except this year something was different—Kelly’s hand was adorned with a newly acquired diamond weight. The engagement excitement had officially begun, and our usual visit of shopping, eating, drinking and comedy was suddenly buzzing with the anticipation of a wedding lurking somewhere around the new year’s corner.

I braced for the transition into my thirties—and the week it came couldn’t have been any sweeter. I’d just begun my seventh year as a flight attendant and was ready for a celebration of my twenties, and the journey they had taken me on. Taylor took me out for sushi and Shakespeare and we ended up sitting by the fire at a bar near my apartment when the clock struck midnight, and my twenties officially ended. The next day brought with it the promise of my best friend, Kris, and to my surprise, my best friend Nicole—a surprise trip that Lauren, Taylor, Kris and she had been in cahoots about without my knowledge. I returned home from target (of course) to a decorated apartment, loads of tears, and a hug so loving only your best friend could be the one giving it to you.

We played games, drank, ate, and stressed (something somewhat new to me, at least on my birthday) about the weekend’s plans ahead of us.

What was supposed to be a big night out, ended with me too drunk to finish a single drink at the bar. An impromptu house party and some drugs of choice (as well as the now famous Mom’s Whiteclaw—a combination of vodka and whiteclaw) saw me panicking in the bar bathroom and pulling an Irish exit. Feeling overwhelmed by social obligations, as well as celebrations where I am the center of attention, was new to me—I’d always loved it. But with the start of a new decade of my life, and the new chapter that came along with it, I realized that perhaps this wasn’t the person I was anymore, and instead of making myself feel guilty about it, I should perhaps try and embrace it, and learn from my experience instead.

This was the first of many changes within me that occurred in 2019.

Like, for example, when I fell out of love with eyeliner. Silly as it may sound, my densely winged look had become my signature style for so many years and suddenly it had started to feel more like a costume than a form of honest self-expression. Then it was my hair, my style—an identity crisis in the finest of forms—and still, at the close of this year I find myself uncertain of where I define myself stylistically—a minor problem, all things considered—but the uncertainty that comes along with it makes me lack my sense of direction, my sense of self, and my sense of expression. How can I still not know who I am, and who I want to be? How can it be possible to wake up one day, and suddenly feel so entirely disconnected to yourself, and the life you have so carefully curated for yourself—so separate from your desires, aspirations, and goals? What happens to a person that causes this change to occur so seamlessly? And do we all experience it? How are we supposed to find the time to cope?

I felt plagued by this question and still do. Just because a year ends, doesn’t mean everything has a specific ending. Correct punctation. Symmetrical narrative. Cohesive closure.

So it goes.

Spring came and along with it, Taylor’s first trip to Europe: Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic. We drank beer, ate sweets, and visited some of the finest bars Europe has to offer (seriously—Prague has the best nightlife ever. I cannot wait to return and be haunted again by a glorious bartender who changes into the get up of a tarot card-bearing alchemist when a certain drink is ordered).

Our feet hurt and our jetlagged worsened but we were both eager with wanderlust, drunk on the idea that the interview Taylor had had the day before we left might just be the final one he went on, the ending to our nearly year-length long-distance woes, and the start of a new future together residing in the same city again, the stress of visitation no longer so troubling.

Turns out, it was.

A few weeks later, I took a trip to Maui on a whim. I spent the weekend at the beach, eating pineapples and drinking craft beer. I saw the oldest tree in the nation and felt deeply rooted in this new person I was becoming—am becoming—and felt inspired by her many offspring and how they’d all taken root themselves, baring their own identities, spawning off of one nucleus, off one single stump. I felt I was beginning to spawn, myself, and felt comforted in the seemingless infinite possibilities I would have to re-root, myself, in my own lifetime.

May came and I watched as my Kristopher turned thirty, his own new journey beginning, and celebrated sweetly amongst friends in his new apartment in Denver.

Taylor and I flew to Sweden on a whim—through London, of course—and spent an entire week with the flu falling in love with Stockholm… even though over-the-counter cold medicines are illegal country-wide. Taurus season being what it is, we argued, didn’t sleep, and flew home feeling worse than we had when we arrived. But, despite all that it didn’t spoil our trip. Instead it made us both realize that there are things worth fighting for in life, and that our relationship was one of them—we truly fought for it on that trip, and we both threw punches only to immediately tend to each others wounds, embarrassed we’d been so bold as to injure one another in the first place. I felt a sense of peace in this discovery; a sense of honesty that isn’t always pleasant but is, regardless, helpful.

It’s also worth noting that I ate the best veggie lasagna ever created and drank loads of loads of Meade—seriously—Sweden is the fucking coolest.

Summer came and went, and with the temperature hardly rising above eighty degrees in the city, I felt relieved. I helped Taylor move cross-country over the weekend of the Fourth of July and felt both excited and scared about our new adventure in the same city—hoping he’d love it but allowing him room to adjust and make his own judgements, without my influence.

We decorated his apartment, dealt with a lot of issues that come along with settling into a new city, and still we managed to grow stronger.

And then the wedding chaos began.

I planned a bachelorette trip for my sister in Nashville, and as her maid of honor, the stress was real. We planned surprises, arranged flights and travel plans, and found an Airbnb large enough to play home for all of us. I was dreading the trip until it actually came. We spent four days having fun, celebrating love, and listening to lots of emo music. I was incredibly proud of my sister, and excited for her marital bliss to final arrive that she has waited so long for.

Before I could even process it all, the wedding weekend came, and I watched as my sister took the hand of the man who is now my brother. I have never seen a bride more beautiful or had a celebration more perfect. But windy. Oh boy, was it windy.

Riot fest approached, and with it, Taylor and I’s one-year anniversary. In many ways, it was our year and a half anniversary, but that’s a story for another time. We started a tradition of finding gifts for each other at the Renegade craft fair and then ate our weight in Indian food on what was a particularly cool day in September.

October came, and with it the promise of a long-awaited trip to South Korea. What I initially called “Taylor’s pick” (as a form of explanation, when people asked why we were going there) quickly became one of my favorite places I’ve ever been to. We spent eight days learning the culture, seeing the immensely large city, revisiting the tragic history and eating the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten, day in and day out. I seriously cannot express how much I loved Seoul so simply; it was an experience I will cherish for the rest of my life. We visited the border of North Korea and felt the tragedy of a country at war firsthand and then visited the beautiful rural island of Nami and reveled in the fiery, changing, vibrant fall leaves. We played with meerkats and cooked our own barbeque and visited the birth site of the infamous Gangnam style. I drank a sweet potato latte and ate snow cheese. I cried as we spent our final morning walking Namdemoon market, feeling that a great change had come along with that experience, and that I’d never quite get that specific feeling back again.

My birthday was revisited again, in the form of receiving my present: two tickets to see Harry Potter and the Cursed Child on Broadway in NYC. Taylor had got us first row balcony seats for the two-part play, and we spent an entire weekend running around (picture me showing him all of the settings of scenes from Catcher in the Rye—it was his first time in the city!) and crying during what was a breathtaking, phenomenal stage production. We ate chocolate frogs and drank wine and I felt truly in love with man sitting beside me, who was generous enough to make one of my dreams come true just to see me smile.

In November, we traveled to Brussels (I know—so many trips this year—I’m tired just typing about them all) to see Vampire Weekend and explore. We ended up drinking our way through the city, eating chocolate, meatballs and waffles everywhere we went. We discovered our new favorite beer—a kriek—and drank more of it than we did water for an entire weekend. I felt young on this trip, and though tired, excited for the busy weeks that lay just ahead of us.

Thanksgiving came so fast, it hardly felt real. And then, like clockwork, Christmas arrived. Time at home is always so relaxing, but also so stressful—old toxicities arise and are hard to combat in the moment. I guess part of growing is also realizing that facing these problems head on may not be pleasant, but is ultimately best for both your mental health and the experience of those around you, and that some demons never go away but instead just become tamed in the back of our minds, and we need to accept that.

I watched as Nicole, my Nicole, turned thirty and simultaneously dealt with some particularly hard times. It can be so hard to want to keep our friends safe in our arms, away from the rest of the world and its harms, without realizing that we each have to face certain things alone and experience the growth that that process allows. Adulthood really is tragic, and I want to be—you guessed it—the catcher in the rye, saving all my friends from succumbing to it, falling of the ledge of adolescence, and all the woes adulthood brings along with it.

So here we are, on January 8th, and I’ve finally found the time to draw this to a close. At the end of this particular year, it’s hard not to only reflect on the 365 days passed, but at the decade as a whole. In 2009, I was a horribly depressed twenty-year-old who suffered from terrible insomnia and a heartache I wasn’t sure I’d ever recover from. The past decade has seen me both drop out of and return to college and then get into grad school. I have watched so many around me fall in love, get married and even have children, and even more break up, fall apart and divide themselves. I moved to Chicago and began flying, and though I’m tired of it now, I can truly say the experience of it all changed my life and who I am entirely. I traveled to over twenty countries, some even by myself. I fell in love—three times, to be exact. One is now married, one lives over 4,000 miles away, and one is sleeping next to me, forever snoring his way into my heart and wherever the future may take it. I struggled to deal with who I was, who I had been, and who I was becoming. I grew. I grew so much, sometimes I’m not sure I would even recognize the former version of myself, though I’ve left her pressed between the pages of certain books, in certain countries, to be forever immortalized in her own glory over time—even if that specific glory is no longer my own.

2020 has started rough—a long week of work, and six days in, a mental break down that took a fistful of medication and a bucket full of tears to properly silence. In twelve days, the first chunk of my novel has to be written, and in all honesty, I’m struggling. By the end of March, half of it will be complete, and come August, I will not only have my MFA, but the manuscript to a novel in my possession. If this doesn’t produce anxiety in you than I’m not sure what will—we’re talking 80k+ words in eight short months... but I’m trying to focus on a daily word count, and see what I can accomplish on a smaller scale, rather than get swept away by the big, looming picture as I did just a few days ago.

This year I will visit Israel and Egypt—and who knows where even else—I haven’t had the time to think about it. I will fly my eighth year, and hopefully be able to hang my wings in retirement at the close of it.

In a few short weeks, I will be 31 and I will struggle to accept that fact. Where does time go? Why does it seem to go by so fast anymore—and will it ever slow down? I’m looking forward to a more relaxing year but know that I’m lying to myself in even simply hoping for it. I will feel lost, defeated, and at times, hopeless. And I need to be okay with that.

I know one thing for sure, and it is this: I will write. This year, I will write so much, it actually terrifies me. But that’s what life is all about, and what I want to conquer more of in my thirties: my fears. I will cry, and sing, and fight, and fuck and be tired as I do it all, surely. I will explore, I will stay in, and I may even get a taste of some of that sweet, sweet, legal marijuana Chicago now offers.

I look forward to a year full of uncertainties, and I look forward to looking back on it in a short amount of time and seeing how much I’ve grown from where I currently am now.

Happy New Year, friends—and remember—just because a year has a specific expiration, we don’t have to align our hopes and aspirations along with it. Grow for yourself, and bloom when you can. Who cares if it’s in the middle of winter, or the first week of June. Symmetry isn’t natures strong suit, and we should stop forcing our expectations to line up with a silly calendar. Live how you want to live for you, and the rest is just decoration. This is my resolution for the new year—not to set expectations—and to instead let each chapter unfold naturally, to let each page feel crisp and unread under my eager, oily fingertips. Cheers.

[theycallmekidcancer]

Riot Fest 2017

Feel free to scroll on by this post. This is mostly for me since I have a terrible memory and would like to remember this weekend. I actually wrote about a Warped Tour in my Xanga ages ago (oh god just typing that makes me feel old) and when I read it a few years later, I was surprised by how little I remembered. 

Friday

I actually had work early Friday morning. After work I took an anxiety nap and got ready for the aftershow. I was super nervous about navigating the city late at night since I’m just a sheltered suburban child, but Lyft made it easier. Even though taking Lyft eased my anxiety a little bit, I was REALLY anxious during Radar State. I tried to focus, and they were pretty good. I’m definitely gonna have to check out more of their stuff. I already wrote a little about Bayside on Friday night, but I’ll add a little more. They just always put on a really solid live show. The setlist was great, and even though I was a little confused by the fact that they played so many from The Walking Wounded, I was happy they did because it kept the energy up and it meant less from Shudder lol. You can always find me near the front during Bayside singing along with a big ass grin on my face.

The train ride home was super entertaining as there was a drunk wedding party who lost the bride. I guess she drunkenly got on the wrong train. Hope she made it home okay.

Saturday (My birthday!)

I barely wanted to get out of bed Saturday lol, and I didn’t even do much the day before! Got up, drank coffee (not enough), did birthday cake for breakfast and presents. I started getting ready a little too late and almost missed the train. Thankfully it was also running a few minutes late. I already don’t really remember much from early Saturday. I do remember thinking that The Smith Street Band was Knuckle Puck and being REALLY confused by dude’s accent (since I was pretty sure Knuckle Puck is from IL). I made my way as close as possible during Knuckle Puck, and when all their fans left I was able to get right on the barrier for Bayside. There were two younger security guards who were super nice, and seemed to actually enjoy the music. They did a little dance to the music The Lawrence Arms came out to (the rocky song? I liked how they came out to Salt & Pepa two years ago), it was cute.

There were some diehard Bayside fans near me, who I think I remember from 350 Fest last year. They were super outgoing (and maybe a little drunk) and got everyone near us talking which helped pass the time between sets. One of them was really nice and she vowed to protect my glasses / me during Bayside’s set lol. I’m still so happy they were near me because there was a group of a few girls that were talking and one was a doctor, one was working on her phd, and one was a fellow biologist. It just made me super happy and a little bit inspired to see some fellow lady STEM Bayside fans. Not surprised that Bayside has so many brilliant fans tbh :P.

Bayside’s set was amazing and I was really glad they ended with two songs not from The Walking Wounded. If I remember correctly, they ended their self titled set two years ago with the last song from the album, and it didn’t feel right. Next was The Lawrence Arms which was also amazing. I felt a little bad being right on the barrier though because I’m not 100% familiar with all their songs. But it was a great time and yes, I still think Chris is creepy cute. Something about seeing The Lawrence Arms WHILE being in Chicago makes me feel all tingly inside.

After The Lawrence Arms I was starving so I got some food (taco in a bag), got water, hit the bathroom and changed my shirt (I was very sweaty and glad I brought an extra shirt), and caught the end of Mike D’s set, which was super cool. Then I sat and watched a little of At the Drive in. I left after only a few songs because my anxiety was getting crazy. I’m a little bummed that I missed Queens of the Stone Age because of it, but it’s not too big a deal. 

Train home was uneventful. When I got home I stuffed my face, showered, and passed out.

Sunday

Got up, got ready, left the house early to try to buy sunscreen and a poncho. The ponchos were too expensive so I skipped it and hoped for the best (a good decision). Since I didn’t buy the poncho and I was fine the day before I decided against buying sunscreen (a bad decision). Train was boring and I got to Douglas Park right on time, and it was fucking HOT. I don’t know if I was just over dressed or if it was the lack of sunscreen, but I felt like I was melting. So I found shade and sat in the grass before Beach Slang. Watched a few Beach Slang songs, then made my way over to wait for Hot Water Music (and find some shade!). Beach Slang were interesting. Decent music (another band to check out later) and sometimes funny on stage, but mostly I felt second hand embarrassment lol. Hot Water Music were great! I’m really happy I finally got to see them. I wish they played more from Caution though, cause that’s my jam. I need to get my hands on their new album. 

Thankfully it was around this time that it got all cloudy and I was starting to feel like a human being again, so I got a cool beer and made my way over to watch That Dog. This is a band I knew nothing about, but they seem like a band I’d really like (love me some lady bands) so they are another I plan to revisit. Made my way to The Radicals stage for Say Anything (my first time seeing them!) and the Menzingers. That first beer got me slightly tipsy, and I decided to get another so I’d be nice and happy for The Menzingers. This was a good idea because their crowd was CRAZY. 

After being on the barrier for two bands the day before my arms were bruised and sore. I think I had just enough alcohol to numb the pain since I ended up being squished against people and moved all around for The Menzingers. Before they started there was a security guard throwing water bottles into the crowd and of course I got hit with one lmao. It hit my beer and got beer all over my shirt and on the left side of my glasses, which later, I almost lost to a crowd surfer. It was a blast! Highlights for me were the songs from Rented World, since that was the album that got me into them. It was cute when they said that they thought this was their biggest crowd ever. They deserve all the love.

After The Menzingers I got water, which I very much needed, hit the bathroom, caught some of the Flatliners before I decided I really had to eat (got a burger and regretted it tbh. I’ve had better burgers at like, Bdubs.) Then made my way over for Minus the Bear. I was a little salty during their set because they remind me of the boy, and there were a lot of couples near me. I was hoping I’d get to hear my summer anthem (Throwin’ Shapes) live, but they didn’t play it. Walked over and sat and watched/listened to TV on the Radio and talked to some guy from Seattle who was there with friends. Wish I felt more comfortable talking with big groups of people, they were nice. Next was MIA, who came out late. I REALLY wanted to hear Bad Girls, but left after a few songs to get a decent spot for JAWBREAKER.

Caught some Prophets of Rage while waiting for Jawbreaker, which I actually enjoyed more than I thought I would. They did a nice tribute to Chris Cornell, playing Like a Stone and letting the crowd do the vocals.

Then it was time for Jawbreaker! Not gonna lie, I’ve only been into them for like two months, but I was so stoked. Plus seeing them reunite and knowing how they have influenced so many bands I like was really cool. Highlights were everything from Dear You lol, since that is THE album (for me at least), and the surprises of them playing Million and Want (which weren’t on their practice setlists from this year, if I recall correctly).

I saw a tweet that said even though they were a headliner it still felt intimate, and I totally agree with that! It was just really powerful to see everyone in the crowd losing it (a guy near me summed it up perfectly when after a song he shouted “I’m not crying, you’re crying!”). And all those people on the stage! I’ve never seen so many people on the stage for a headliner before. It was amazing. I felt like I was witnessing / a part of something historic.

I’m really glad I didn’t let my anxiety get the better of me, because after Saturday I was questioning whether I’d be comfortable enough to even stay for Jawbreaker. Overall, I had a blast and it was definitely worth the money and the stress.

#music stuff #carrie writes #riot fest 17

[kylewritesaboutthings]

Riot Fest 2016 - Day 2

Insanity, by Einstein’s definition, is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results.  While this may or may not be a true attribution, it is a fair statement and the most accurate to how I approach any music festival. For those of you keeping track of my writing (see: my review of the Shaky Knees festival in May), you will know that my experience is a predictable one as shittily illustrated by the graph below.

Day 1 is a fury of alcohol, high fives, and shenanigans that usually peaks around 1:30am when I’m taking shot after shot before the bar closes because god forbid I want to feel like a real human being the next morning  or make the first batch of bands I want to see. And Riot Fest was no exception. Considering that I spent the previous day drinking crotch smuggled whiskey and drinking to easycore jams all night long, Saturday was set up to be a slow start. And that it was. Shooting well past the 12:30 and 1 o’clock start times of both Plague Vendor and Canadian darlings Fucked Up, we arrived to Douglas Park in time for two things: a press happy hour in which I could not bring myself to drink more than a single sip of beer and to lay in the grass and listen to hometown crooners, the Smoking Popes.

If you have never listed to the Popes picture the dadest punk band to ever happen. Like white, short sleeve button up shirts and cargo shorts. Wikipedia lists their influences as “crooners like Tony Bennett and Frank Sinantra”. They have been around since 1991 and while I am sure they were not actually dads back then, they have been dads the whole time. But please do not take this as any kind of slight on the band or their music…I’m merely setting the scene to say that they are the perfect band to listen to whilst sitting in a grassy field on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Always a solid live band, I highly recommend them for anyone looking to take a breather in between a full day of festival sets or, alternatively, those arriving late and hungover and looking to ease their way back into the real world. 

After cleansing my musical palate on the smooth tunes of the Smoking Popes, I was ready for the bitter sweet taste of Motion City Soundtracks large format farewell show. While they were set to play their officially official farewell the next night at the world famous Metro, I was not one of the luckily 1100 to get a ticket to that sad boy/girl fest. For me and the thousands gathered around the roots stage, the hour would be our goodbye to a band that was our introduction to a lot of the music we listen to day in and day out. In the wake of their decision to call it quits, Noisey published an article articulating just that…that Motion City dug their niche as an often underappreciated gateway band that really did much more than they were ever recognized for at the time.

It was with this mindset that I watched the Twin Cities catchiest export work their way through 60 minutes of perfect hooks, witty lyrics, and constant crowd singalongs. I kick myself for the years of “oh, I’ll see them next time they’re in town” and “yeah, I’ll get around to listening to the new album”. They only took a few short pauses in between songs to thank the audience and collect themselves, as singer/guitarist Justine Pierre was never one for the extravagant…just an earnest band trying to play as best and as much as possible in their given time.  Motion City was a truly special band and incredibly fun to watch live. I’ll especially miss the onstage energy and antics of keyboard player Jesse Johnson. RIP the days of keyboard stands. 

The end of their set, appropriately closed with “The Future Freaks Me Out”, left me a little sadder than I expected to be. But reprieve was in sight as The Hives were slated to start shortly after on the nearby rock stage. If you have written the The Hives off as ‘one of those bands that was popular when it was super popular to call your band The Somethings’ you are foolish and have done yourself a disservice. Garage rock at its rockiest, these Sweedes know how to perform at a level last seen in the 1970’s heyday of rock itself. Lead singer Howlin’ Pele Almqvist (I KNOW RIGHT? HOWLIN?!) is the closest we’ll get to seeing Mick Jagger strutting his stuff across the stage without the assistance of a walker or other mobility device. The ultimate showman, he knows how to work a crowd. Bouncing around all over the stage, climbing the side trusses, inciting cheers from “ladies, gentlemen, and everyone else” there was never a dull moment. Introducing the band at the start of the set, he let the crowd know that The Hives are here and we all had two wishes left. 

As a band, their stage presence can only be matched by the likes of Gwar…though obviously in a more subtle fashion than giant, mutoid, murderous space demons. The Hives take the black and white motif to an extreme that would make a 50’s diner jealous. Each member of the band donning a split black and white suit, playing black and white instruments (to include drumming with one black and one white stick), and having their stage techs dressed as one black and one white ninja while handing off freshly tuned guitars and adjusting drum kits before, during, and after the show. They are a monochromatic whirlwind of rock and roll fury and an absolute blast to watch live. As they do not play the states very often, with their last US performance coming in 2013, you should take every opportunity to see their show. Learn the lessons taught by Motion City Soundtrack.

With some time to kill before Brand New was set to make everyone sad again, our little band of hungover heroes sauntered over to the food vendor row in hopes of snacks and salvation. While browsing the selection of fried and un-fried items alike, I began to notice a sign posted to each vendor booth. These sheets were announcements that there was to be no meat cooked, served, or sold during Morrissey’s 2 hour set that evening. He has famously bared venues from even having meat in the building during his solo performance, so I’m not terribly surprised by this move. However, I do think that it is a complete and utter crock of shit. These are the same forced down the throat, boarder line fascist mentality of the fringe religious groups and other general nut jobs that hold a ‘holier than thou’ ideal to their beliefs. This move hurts every small business that spent massive amounts of money on vending space at the fest, for the will of one moody performer. While I agree that there needs to be more vegan friendly options at events like Riot Fest, this was not the way to go about it. But Morrissey has never been known for being a reasonable person, que sera sera.

Luckily it was about this time that I stumbled upon a stand serving plates of pierogis complete with sour cream and apple sauce. If anything can put out the fires of indignation in my soul, it is a belly full of doughy Polish delight. Making our way back towards Brand New I could feel life coming back to my liver. Knowing full well that press happy hour started just after the beginning of their set, we camped out on the right side of the riot stage in anticipation of the metaphorical dinner bell for all of us writers. If there is anything that can bring together a group of literary minded people: it is the promise of free booze. Of course we immediately found our other friends from For the Love of Punk and Punktastic waiting around for the same thing.

Brand New kicked off their set with a jolt, heading right into the familiar bass into to fan favorite “Sic Transit Gloria”. Hot damn! Jesse Lacy and company are known for their temperamental nature, especially in festival settings. Maybe this is growing up? As they rolled through the next two songs, also from Deja Entendu, were in shock. What is this? Where are the Daisy songs scattered in the set to break up the rhythm? Following up this run of hits with the acoustic “Mix Tape”, Jesse actually broke out a smile when getting to the line “and I’m sick of your tattoos and the way you always criticize the Smiths, and Morrissey”. I’m sure playing on the same stage that Morrissey would walk onto just an hour later (note: it would be two hours later because Morrissey is a fucking dick and was late to his headlining set) made his sad heart warm for just a moment. But the moment was fleeting as the set closed out with tracks from The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me and Daisy. During this time I sang my way back and forth from the press tent, shuttling free tallboys to my general admission friends and getting ready for the rest of the evening, which was to be the annual Pop Punk Pizza Party for my business, Soothsayer Hot Sauce.

After Brand New closed out, we started our stroll to the car as I wound through my mental checklist for the evening. Last year, in a fit of nerves, I threw up in a Walgreens parking lot before getting to the venue. This year I was doing much better, some jitters were called down through my Chief Sauce Operator/Right Hand Woman Rachel and the help of my good buddies Steph, Jim, and Travis. But I believe someone else has covered that show, so I’ll let you get the juicy details from them. To preview: amazing sets from Turnspit, Nervous Passenger, Devon Kay and the Solutions, and our secret guest…Bad Cop/Bad Cop! We ate close to 50 pizzas, drank enough malort to kill a small village, and named a dog.  Ya know, usual punk shit.