Tonight, I just want to talk about music. Specifically, this idea I’ve always had that songs are actually tiny magic spells, able to transport you in time and place, both to your past and from your future. That thought is one I’ve had for a long time. The new addition to it which came to me as the lights went down at the Great American Music Hall last night was how we can hold certain moments, feelings, and people, suspended in amber in our minds, even as we continue to change and grow and live our lives.
Just before they hit the stage last night, I had this fleeting thought about the Archers of Loaf, a band I’ve seen probably a dozen times, and opened for a handful of those. I thought, “What if they’ve changed?” On one hand, it was a ridiculous question. Of course they’ve changed. It’s been at least 10 years since I’ve seen them live, so there’s no way they wouldn’t or couldn’t have changed. Especially considering what's happened in the decade since I last witnessed one of their sets. I hope I’ve changed, too, to be honest.
On the other hand, however, what was I expecting? Yes, I like the new album, and I was hoping to hear some from it. But there are definitely certain tickets to certain shows which come with an almost guaranteed shot of nostalgia. And taking in the crowd last night, it looked like every Bay Area white guy dad was in attendance with the exact same hope: Rock me like it’s 1996.
The show was great. Plenty of hits. Not much signs of aging. Save for the between song banter about aging. Matt still hops around as if possessed by equal parts hyperactive 12-year-old hyperactive soccer player and member of your favorite late 80s-era thrash metal band. So in a sense, not much has changed. Those songs still resonate with me. And definitely worked their individual magic. “Web in Front,” for instance, always opens a flood of memories from my days in Tallahassee, one of which is a much longer story about a friend finding a pile of those seven-inches in a pile on the side of the road.
But even as other favorites like “Harnessed in Slums” and “Audio Whore” came at us at the speed of cattle, I was hearing them with older ears, watching with older eyes. This new perspective, thankfully, didn’t detract from any of the enjoyment. I was able to appreciate all the same aspects which made me a fan in the first place. That’s not always the case lately, though. Some of my favorite records and bands just haven’t aged as well. And I mean that in a number of ways. Yes, there are perfect albums that have made them timeless in my mind, but other favorites from long ago simply just don’t hold up. So the only reason to hold onto them is for their time machine capabilities. Especially when you need to be transported to another time and another place. To restate all this much more simply: Music is magic.
Rhinosaur
09 February 2023
Tonight, I just want to talk about music. Specifically, this idea I’ve always had that songs are actually tiny magic spells, able to transport you in time and place, both to your past and from your future. That thought is one I’ve had for a long time. The new addition to it which came to me as the lights went down at the Great American Music Hall last night was how we can hold certain moments, feelings, and people, suspended in amber in our minds, even as we continue to change and grow and live our lives.
Just before they hit the stage last night, I had this fleeting thought about the Archers of Loaf, a band I’ve seen probably a dozen times, and opened for a handful of those. I thought, “What if they’ve changed?” On one hand, it was a ridiculous question. Of course they’ve changed. It’s been at least 10 years since I’ve seen them live, so there’s no way they wouldn’t or couldn’t have changed. Especially considering what's happened in the decade since I last witnessed one of their sets. I hope I’ve changed, too, to be honest.
On the other hand, however, what was I expecting? Yes, I like the new album, and I was hoping to hear some from it. But there are definitely certain tickets to certain shows which come with an almost guaranteed shot of nostalgia. And taking in the crowd last night, it looked like every Bay Area white guy dad was in attendance with the exact same hope: Rock me like it’s 1996.
The show was great. Plenty of hits. Not much signs of aging. Save for the between song banter about aging. Matt still hops around as if possessed by equal parts hyperactive 12-year-old hyperactive soccer player and member of your favorite late 80s-era thrash metal band. So in a sense, not much has changed. Those songs still resonate with me. And definitely worked their individual magic. “Web in Front,” for instance, always opens a flood of memories from my days in Tallahassee, one of which is a much longer story about a friend finding a pile of those seven-inches in a pile on the side of the road.
But even as other favorites like “Harnessed in Slums” and “Audio Whore” came at us at the speed of cattle, I was hearing them with older ears, watching with older eyes. This new perspective, thankfully, didn’t detract from any of the enjoyment. I was able to appreciate all the same aspects which made me a fan in the first place. That’s not always the case lately, though. Some of my favorite records and bands just haven’t aged as well. And I mean that in a number of ways. Yes, there are perfect albums that have made them timeless in my mind, but other favorites from long ago simply just don’t hold up. So the only reason to hold onto them is for their time machine capabilities. Especially when you need to be transported to another time and another place. To restate all this much more simply: Music is magic.
See you tomorrow?