Death Cab Show

Last night Nate and I went to the Death Cab For Cutie / Pretty Girls Make Graves show at SOMA. We like Death Cab -- also like Gibbard's side Postal Service project.

So, we show up at the show reasonably buzzed, wait in a long-ass line, pay our cash to get in, and then, as the entry door slams behind us, realize . . . we are in all-ages-no-bar-at-show-having-to-sober-up-while-listening-to-the-opening-"band"-surrounded-by-high-school-kids-looking-at-us-like-we're-strange-old-molestors-hell. Discouraged, but still resolved to enjoy ourselves, we buy two red-bullish drinks (but with creatine and what seemed like some sort of fruit pulp) and venture in to check out the opening "band."

The opening act was "Pretty Girls Make Graves." Let me try to explain the apparent concept behind this "band." Singer -- Kelly-Osborne looking girl, who sounds like a shitty Bjork and prominently uses a whistle in songs. It was like being at a TJ tequila bar in Iceland. "Keyboard" player -- Reasonably cute girl named Leona, she was the new addition to the band (as the lead singer told us). Her job was to repeatedly press the most annoying-sounding keys on her 2-ft long Fisher Price keyboard. I felt bad for her, with the equipment the band gave her, she had no chance. Bass player -- He was pretty good, but he kind of wobbled around erratically as if he were stuck on an imaginary "y" axis (Nate and Josh, like the guy at the Vegas Phish show). Guitarist -- Didn't really get a good look at this guy, given the other distractions on stage. Drummer -- He was actually pretty good -- I was sad that he was being dragged down by the anchors in the band. Anyway, you get a rough idea of what we were sobering up to.

There so many High School kids staring at me with that “what are you doing here old man” looks, I go outside and smoke with Nate – I don’t smoke – EVER – I succumbed to peer pressure and these people weren’t even my peers.

Understandably, Nate and I decided that we had to escape – but how, with the strict “no reentry” policy? First, we tried to negotiate in advance with the bouncer – no dice. Then we just left, hoping we could get back in later. Off to Stewart Anderson’s Black Angus for cocktails we went. After a couple beers / shots, we were sufficiently emboldened to make our reentry attempt. We had the brilliant idea of handing the bouncer $5 bills with our ripped tickets, and play it sly. I approached first, and the bouncer gave me back the $5 and didn’t notice the ripped ticket – in I went. Then Nate approached – suddenly the bouncer knew what was going on, and wouldn’t let Nate in. I ran into the crowd inside, ditching Nate like an ugly chick at prom. Somehow, though I wasn’t there to see it, Nate talked the guy into letting him in (I think it involved playing it dumb and use of his Seattle ID).

So, all’s well that ends well – we got back in and watched Death Cab (who were excellent -- a welcome change from that rubbish Bjork/whistle outfit), and we were buzzed enough to forget that we were old enough to be any other concertgoer's dad.