Astronautalis with Sims and Mr. Invisible - King's - 03/09/11

I Carpe Diem so hard sometimes I leave fire trails like a DeLorean. I find myself living life to the utmost expressively intense level at all times. Why? Why. See below for the ultimate digression. This review is almost a personal journal entry. If you want to see just the review of the show, skip below the line.

If I bring up Freud, everyone’s first instinct is to do the whole “Tell me about your mother… haw haw!” thing and assume everything the man had to say was about sex. Not entirely true. I’m not having the easiest time finding any sort of reference here, but I know what I’m talking about; he once said something about how our entire development is shaped by the intense first personal experience of either sex or death, and whichever one you experienced first, this is who you become. For most people it is sex; (spin the bottle, finding dad’s playboys, playing doctor.) For me, it was death. (Side note, I’m not all PBRs and rock shows, I get a little too introspective sometimes and this is a hellacious digression to get to a show review, but bear with me.) I didn’t have the most traumatic experiences, never saw anyone kill themselves or anything, but I have several experiences, one in particular that propelled me recklessly into what Freud called the “Death Drive” as opposed to his theory of the “Pleasure principle” (Miss Jackson if you’re nasty, right?).  Rather than seek outlets of ‘pleasure’ (sex, for most people) I seek repetitive behaviors that perpetuate my intense denial of my own mortality (falling in love too soon, blowing my entire paycheck before rent’s due, etc…)

When I get into this deep of an expository level, trying to explain who I am, I feel even more narcissistic. And that’s the thing that people forget, not all narcissism is standing in the mirror saying “hey, I look hot”, it’s mostly being completely and utterly obsessed with your own existence and mortality. This is what the Death Drive does to me. I, stemming from sometime in my early childhood, manipulated myself into being completely unable to plan or envision my own existence any further than, say, oh 15(ish or so) minutes into the future. Sure, I make plans and I buy plane tickets and, but I never assume I will be alive to enjoy anything… SO. Long digression short: I live life full steam ahead because I am overly conscious of my own mortality at all times. AT ALL TIMES. It’s exhausting and extremely self destructive, but as I get older, I feel somehow proud of it, of me. I feel most comfortable in the extremes. I would rather feel EVERYTHING than nothing. I make poor decisions, but I also make extremely beautifully romantic decisions sometimes. I’ve kissed the wrong boys, but I’ve also blown off work to sit in the yard and watch the robins and write poetry before.  I worry I’ll never find anyone to love, appreciate and enjoy this side of me, sometimes I could care less.

This all has a point… eventually. This intensity, this lack of foresight, has lead me into some precarious situations, but has also sent me blindly groping, blissfully, into the dark fantasy worlds of others. Maybe I shouldn’t say fantasies, (I’m sure that sounds pervy. But try and remember that fantasy does not always imply sexuality, k?) I am addicted to passion. I am addicted to other people’s extremes. If I see someone I always see break from the mundane and lose their minds with joy or grief or confusion or whatever, I totally get off on that. Sometimes it’s just a dream somebody has to do something out of the ordinary. For example: you want to try Ethiopian food for the first time, call me, I want to experience this with you. Your mom had a stroke, your favorite band is in town, or you found the cutest cross stitch pattern… Anything that is going to turn you into someone I haven’t seen before in you. Something that makes you sit up straight in your chair and talk too fast, tell me about that thing! Share it with me! This is my drug. I may not know anything about it (football?) or care anything about it (definitely football, or all sports really) – but if you can explain it to me passionately, I will love it for you. I could probably care less that your kid took a crap or your boss liked your spreadsheet, but if your eyes get big and you start throwing those hand gestures around, I’ll be enthralled. Because I love love. And I love passion. And I love people passionately committed to things they love, regardless of my involvement or understanding. (This all coincides with my obsessive thoughts and defense of the theory of “art for art’s sake” – if you say it is art and I can see you bleed it, I will respect and love it. And you.)

So abrupt change of subject, but it somehow in my mind all segues beautifully; In the mid to late 80’s/early 90’s when all my friends were listening to White Lion, Poison and Guns ‘n’ Roses, I was somehow oddly, deeply immersed in this RnB, hiphop world. I couldn’t care less about hair metal, sure there was a few pop songs I liked and I ain’t gonna lie, I loved my Paula Abdul cassingles, but I was all about some Public Enemy. I was listening to a lot of De La Soul, Queen Latifah and EPMD. This is very strange, considering I was a chubbo redhead quirkyalone who hid in the bushes during recess with my headphones and diary, writing screenplays (I promise you I did this kind of thing until high school. Wait. No, I still do this now. Except I’m not a redhead anymore. And I feel fat at the moment, but it might be water weight. But I mostly always feel fat because I am a woman.) It wasn’t long after I hit high school I fell in with the freaky flannel wearing, Chuck Taylor grunge scene kids and discovered Siouxsie and Morrissey and that was that. I was an “alternative music” nerd for a while, but then I realized I was being pretty much a douchey idiot, ignoring all these other types of music and remember very vividly making the decision to “like good music, no matter the genre” – and so I did.

Many years since my Fear of a Black Planet cassette has bit the dust, I find myself only very rarely connecting with and enjoying Hip Hop. It’s mostly the beats I am drawn to; the rhymes are secondary. (You may feel free to judge me on that.) I do not follow or know Hip Hop more than the average 30-something white girl. This is to say, I don’t know much. Yes, it’s true; I lost my shit when I finally got to see Public Enemy at Hopscotch last year:

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I hadn’t been to a hip hop show in a bajillion years. Wait, I lie… Snoop a couple times (does that even count?) and Outkast (again? Count? This is like white people safety rap.) I have been known to see many a show, in the same vein as described above, that I was not emotionally invested in but gleaned excitement from the persons dying to attend said show. For example: Reba Macintyre? Kiss? Black Sabbath? Sure. I’ll see anyone, but only if you’re REALLY into it. So there it is with Sims and Astronautalis. I didn’t have any driving need to see this show, but Roo did. So I followed.

A while back there was a Doomtree group show at the 506 that Roo and I attended. I knew practically nothing about any of the performers; I just knew Roo was psyched. So I went. It was pretty much amazing. Then Sims, one of the Doomtree Family members that we had seen that night, announced a show at King’s with Astronautalis, and Roo, once again, called it. So I followed him gladly, skipping after him like he was the pied piper, leading me to his passion! 

If you were looking for WhiteBoy Rap, a la Eminem, you were in the wrong place. These guys are on some higher plane, a level where spoken word meets a good hard BPM. It almost seems coincidental at times there is music over the words, in all performers this evening, there was a depth beyond bitches and hos. Something more akin to dying to defend your dreams, taking chances on true love; existentially philosophical shit I can really get down with.

I really can’t tell you specifics… I know the first group, Mr. Invisible tore shit up. When Roo and I walked in; the dj, probably the nerdiest bespectacled gingery whiteboy I’d ever seen was playing such hard beats I almost tripped over myself trying to get up there faster. They had a fierce vibe, excellent sound and amazing toys. I completely enjoyed it.

Sims was next and instantly went right into the crowd to do his set. It was charming. It was magic. It was something I would do if I could do what he does. And the thing about this show was; no it wasn’t even close to selling out, but the people that were there REALLY WANTED TO BE THERE. And they knew every flipping word. And they were so happy Sims was in the crowd with them. The rhymes were stellar, the energy was out of control and the crowd was ecstatic. What more could you ask for?

I never heard of Astronautalis before this evening. He was somewhere between hip-hop, spoken word, total improv, orator, spokes model, rock star, performing monkey, something else that blew my mind. The people I spoke to said he was performing differently that the albums sound. That’s probably the best thing about having no preconceived notion or idea before walking in; it was all awe-inspiring to me.

Here is a quick aside about the Astronautalis Superfans that I asked Roo to help me remember:

“From the stage Astro told a story about how a few years ago before he was really known at all, he ended up playing a gig at some dive bar on Long Island. He didn't expect anyone to come because it was an off night in the middle of nowhere. When he got there, there were not many people there, but five guys had driven from somewhere in NC to see him play this show because it was the closest they could get to. They knew every lyric to every song and it was one of the most important moments in his life. He said he had told the story on stage at least 30 times since then, and last night was the first time since that he had seen them.”  ---I love these guys, btw:

Oddly amazing truth in life: if the first time you ever hear a band or artist is when they are playing live, you will think they are the greatest thing in the universe.  And then no album will ever be as good as the first time you heard them. Always. And you know why? It’s the superfans. It’s the people down front who wind up bruised and aching the next day from rocking out so hard. The ones who miss work the next day because they drove 3 hours out of town to see a 45 minute set. So after explaining my passion-obsession, do you see now why I seek out the Superfans? Why I always want to find them and document them and know what their favorite song is or why they came? I love their love.

Dear Superfans across the world: Keep going to shows, keep rocking out, keep supporting the artists you love and I will keep supporting you!