Mitski at the Mod Club

November 7, 2016 at 2:51 am (Uncategorized)

I do like live music. I’m just not sure I like concerts anymore.  After a long day, it seems to take more and more of an effort to drag myself downtown to see a show in a club knowing that i won’t get home till late, and I’ll still have to get up early in the morning. I’ve largely given up seeing opening bands (see another post for that rationale), and now my goal is to arrive as close as possible to the headliner coming on stage, see the show and get out (OK, OK, I stay for the encore, – I have to have some standards!)

So, it’s Thursday night, and I’m standing at the Mod club. A sold-out show for Brooklyn’s Mitski. She played the Horseshoe in the summer, but I was out of town. So this time I’m in, but I’m tired. I’m hot. Is it worth it?

It’s 10:30. the band is supposed to be on stage. C’mon, c’mon. I’m already adding set-time and travel time to the point I can be in bed. A guy walks onto the stage. Roadie. He walks around doing a final check. Turns on a light or two. Sits behind the drum kit and does a couple of drum rolls. Shouldn’t they have done this earlier? It’s an extended drum session; then a guitar player, and Mitski herself. We’re on.

And suddenly , it doesn’t matter. The cramps in my calves. The smell of sweat, stale beer and marijuana. The couple making out ahead of me. the guy who thinks I might get a better view of the stage if I watch the show through his phone. None of it matters because this is a moment. this is live. This is now.

I’m not overly familiar with Mitski’s work. I listened the album a few times before the show, but I don’t recognize any of the songs she played. but it’s powerful. Loud guitar, lyrics I can’t barely catch, but something, something. Something authentic. The songs wash over us. We, the crowd as collective, sway. We dance. We embrace the sound. A lot of people sing along. This is what it supposed to be.

And then. the band leaves Mitski along on the stage. A couple of more songs and at the 45 minute mark, it’s over. A one-song encore, and the house lights come on. The feeling fades. I’m disappointed there’s not more, but as the sound and memory recedes, comes the realization. And I have to work tomorrow.

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