Since I've already opened up roughly about how I run this blog, it wouldn't be too much to expose it a little bit more. I have in the past jotted "drafts" for future posts. Most of them were never finished and published, (though there weren't very many). I talked before about having to be inspired by a situation before being able to write about a topic well enough. Like a miracle, the night I published that post I met someone who re-inspired one of my old drafts.
There's a cliche out there that says any guy who can serenade a girl with his guitar will win her heart. There's also a little known fact out there that says I don't have much of a cliched heart to be won. But what does keep my blood organ beating, are the beats of a drum.
I had my days where all I listened to was what people referred to as "pop rock" and "emo/punk." There was a lot of bass, and screaming, and depressing lyrics, and long bangs, and black eyeliner, and sweaty drummers. I thought I loved it all, but I outgrew all of it except one. To this day whenever I hear a song, the words stray to mumbles while the sound of the drums beat prominently in my ears. In an ironic way, there is a calm I feel when I only concentrate on this background instrument. And in a live show, I keep wishing the lead would fuckin stand to the side.
The one band I've always wanted to see was Anberlin. Nate Young. Period.
Needless to say, that never happened. But I did manage to make it to Lollapalooza '11 this past August. There, I caught the set of two-man (or 1 man-1 woman) band An Horse. The cool thing about such a small band was having the drummer set up front along side the lead. Though it probably was because, which I realized in the middle of the set, that the drummer also sung! Bonus perk. Because when I thought he was a good drummer, he proved he was better at multitasking on the drums. I literally could not keep my eyes off of him playing. And to be quite honest, he wasn't the best looking...or very young.
On the first Monday night in [country of which native language I am not fluent] I found myself at the campus bar with a handful of other English speakers. For that alone, I was glad. As the night went on, one of the nice fellows I'd just met realized, after months of being at this institute, that he could hit a few sticks himself on the drumset that sat on the local stage. The bar's genius design allowed us to watch the stage from directly above on the second floor. At a show I typically rush to the ground floor right in front of the stage because going up to the balcony would only ever allow you to look down at so little, but at this intimate bar, the balcony looked right down at the band, drummer at center. It was a whole new perspective of looking at a drummer's passionate expressionism. Amongst a buildup of my recent life's anxieties (at the time), I was at a calm.
This is number nineteen.