A night on the town
Reporter goes to show, gets abducted, taken to another show
TIMOTHY BROWN STAFF
Standing in an alley, just off of Higgins. We’re smashing thrown-out computer parts and trying to break a television set that’s been placed right beside them. The television is tougher than we originally thought. We throw a computer monitor, fully intact, at it. The monitor shatters, the TV is unphased. One of my companions becomes frustrated, grabs the television and tips it over. I finish smashing the keyboard in my hand and we head back inside. We’re cold and the music has started. As we walk, I can’t help but wonder how my night turned out like this.
Rewind to the beginning of the night: it’s 7:30 p.m. and I’m at the Label Gallery. I’m there to watch Kenmode and Electro Quarterstaff play. With them are Velodrome and Krull. Velodrome is interesting, a two-piece instrumental band (bass player and drummer). Krull — not so interesting. They’re a typical metal band. Fast guitars, deep growling vocals, quick drumming, all the other components you would associate with a metal band.
With the opening bands out of the way, Kenmode, continues to impress, song after song. Intricate musicianship and ridiculous faces make them a fun band to watch. The same can be said for Electro Quarterstaff — another great set by a great band. I enjoy the show, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. It’s what I expect.
Once the show is finished, I head home, ready to relax. Sitting on the couch, I glance over and realize I still have to return a movie to Movie Village. I force myself up and out the door. With hardly any energy, I take step after step, slowly making my way, trudging along. Walking along Osborne, heading south, I reach Broadway. I start to cross the street and suddenly I hear my name being yelled. It’s coming from a van waiting at the red light, no more than 10 feet from me. I see silhouettes, hardly anything more. But I recognize a few of the voices. They’re yelling for me to get in the van, so I do. I jump in and the van is filled with silly girls that I know and used to live with. They tell me that they’re heading to a party with live bands and that I’m now coming. I don’t argue.
Travelling through the city, I glance up at the buildings passing by, wondering where this party is supposed to be. Where they’re taking me. I should be returning the movie, I should be doing homework, I should be doing a lot of things that don’t involve being abducted and taken to some random party. I should care, but I don’t. I enjoy the moment and the mystery, I enjoy it because I didn’t expect this, how could I?
We travel east along Broadway, we turn left at Main, we make our way up to Higgins, we turn right, travel for a bit, and we’re there: the Graffiti Gallery. The side of the building is completely covered in gorgeous graffiti art. I stare in awe as we enter. Inside, we walk through a hallway, which leads into the main room. It’s like a warehouse, it probably was at some point. There’s an ambient glow, and in the corner, there’s a man playing guitar and singing. Ian La Rue. The whole place feels surreal. Couches spread out everywhere, people are scattered throughout the building, watching. I walk around, analyzing the building, looking at all the graffiti covering the interior. Some of my friends decide to go outside so I follow. We walk around and check out the area. Across the street we find that pile of computer parts and the television. We smash what we can and head back inside. The next act has started.
They’re called Suture: two people, playing with audio and visual components, integrating them together. The result is, for the lack of a better word, trippy. I explore the building further, finding more and more friends who have come to this performance. I continue to stare at the images on the wall, how they flow over each other, almost dancing. Before I realize it, Suture has finished and the final band is preparing. It’s the band most have come to see, Mahogany Frog. The performance is intense, musicians acting like scientists, twisting sounds, pushing the limits of instruments, captivating the audience.
As the set ends, that group of silly girls prepare for departure, so I follow. As I head home, I am lost in thought, sitting in a van, driving down the empty streets, watching the buildings pass by, the buildings on empty streets, the buildings that seem like they were built for ghosts. I enter my apartment and head to sleep. The things I should’ve done can wait until morning.
