[New York] I bought tickets to this show (the headliners, King Tuff) before
going to South Korea, an ambitious move on my part. The 24-hour
travel day to return home ended on Thursday. I worked on Friday like a
travel-champion, or so I thought—and then very bad decisions ensued as of
Friday at 5:30p and I did not return to the land of the decent until Sunday-maybe what was needed. I was still ragged enough on Sunday that I wasn’t sure I was
going to make it, but make it I did. The first and only time I’d been to Star
Theater was for Psychic TV, who, it turns out, started electronica? Or so a long-discarded
Tinder date told me. That was among the weirder and more memborable shows I’d
been to… so Star Theater was an entirely different beast this night. Youthful.
Happy. I’d heard that song in the grocery store that evening—“If you're going
to San Francisco // Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair // If you're
going to San Francisco // You're gonna meet some gentle people there”— and spent
one aisle thinking how it was funny how a song that was so meaningful to a
young Dara could end up being so annoying to an older Dara. Coincidentally,
this was a crowd of “gentle folk.” Men with long curly locks and jean jackets. Men
in shorts pants with white tube socks and harmless loping gaits. I arrived late,
uncharacteristically, and pushed my way into the back part of the main floor.
An empty spot emerged 2-o’clock—that I didn’t even notice—and the person to my
right asked me if I’d like it … before he moved into it. Weird. It reminded me
of my token Portland-is-so-nice story—that time I was on the train to Sellwood,
an even nicer part of Portland, if that’s possible—but the train was reallll
full that day and people were being jostled, what with the lack of available
loops or poles to hold, and many apologies were being thrown for all the bumps
and nudges—and, finally, one fellow looked up from his book and said, “You
know, if we all linked arms, it wouldn’t be so bad.” My body erupted into
uncontrollable eyebrow raises and snorts, but, more amazing, everyone around me
nodded. Thanks be, it didn’t happen. But this crowd brought me back. My first
reaction to the band was, that every song will sound like this, ended up being
true. I actually really like their sound, but there was just a telling tameness
and calmness to it all. They are verbatim Ricky Nelson. Straightforward old-fashioned
pop with doo-wop foundations, or, in modern day genres: garage pop… but that’s
really a stretch for this band that I’m probably thinking of because of King
Tuff. Little bits of vaudeville, spaghetti western, country, even Grateful
Dead. The whole band, like the crowd, had this happy-go-lucky, aw-shucks vibe.
Left to right, the keyboardist had a fishing sort of cap on and deadhead
stickers on his keyboard – he was happy. The bass player, in his beanie and
black beatnik outfit, was even happier, bobbing his hips along to the music.
The drummer, though, he was the happiest of all, in his puffy blue hat, beaming
smile—I kept trying to figure out if he was high or just that genuinely happy.
Ironically, the lead singer wasn’t all that happy. His hat was his big flop of
hair—he was in a pearl-snap-button style western shirt and a nearly fading
personality. Every interlude between songs felt like an apology. He whispered
his name: Max. The girls in the crowd chanted it under their breaths—they loved
him. He needed them—he was waiting to be saved by every girl in that crowd.
And, just as I summed them up as a one-note band, their second to last song was
a solo by Max—the rest of the band left the stage—it was different—no real
styling, just straight singer/songwriter—maybe Bright Eyes, maybe Lou Reed,
maybe Jesus “Sixto” Rodriguez. I don’t have any real judgment to cast on this
band… except if nobody hates you, you’re doing it wrong?
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