Back in Black
I hit the sack?
Terrible lyrics. Hitting the sack doesn't sound pleasant. Unless they mean the sack as in the bed.
I'm having some trouble getting into the flow right now, it's been a while since I've written anything. I draw now more than ever, and I'm looking into painting. I dance. I love.
I had to correct that last sentence, something I rarely do. But here goes.
Tool has always held a special place in my mind. Perhaps it's the heart of my mind, perhaps it's the soul. I'll never be sure which or even if either one exists. As I sip my diet coke I try to recollect the exact combinations of thoughts and feelings that I experienced last night. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all I can come up with is a feeling that we're all the same. As different as we are, we're all the exact same.
I'll try.
Explain.
The inexplicable.
The night before the concert. The night before the concert... Doesn't matter. Useless backstory for an event that's whole in it's incompleteness. Perfect in it's imperfection. Blah, those are all useless descriptions. More opinions really than anything.
The night started before the night started. We had a goal: make this the best concert experience ever. Our first preparation stop involved LSD. Our second a jacket. We chose to go and purchase three jackets (one each for me, Will, and Matt, or Mike, damn) from value village. Three jackets for under ten dollars that could easily be left behind in the event that they went missing at the show. They are now even more beautiful than ever. Will's, an eighties, neon windbreaker model. Mine, a purple, down-filled guiding jacket. And Mike's, A plain bomber jacket. I believe they illustrated who we are as people. At least myself anyway.
In order to save ourselves the inconvinience of having to cart around the obscene number of shirts that Mike bought for people for Christmas, we decided to run them back to the car for the show. Unfortunately, you can't get in and then leave; a problem that we circumvented with little problems. Blah, all this is unimportant.
By this point, we (including Mike) were relatively interested in even the most visually uninteresting things. We decided to walk around to get a grasp on our surroundings. We were hours early for Tool. We arrived at about 645, when the opening band took the stage at about 8. During our wander, I started to categorize the people at the show.
Before I get into these categorizations (which I know are wrong), I should let you, the reader, know where we were seated. Nowhere. Floor was general admission, and me and Mike are huge. We were no more than ten feet from Tool the entire time. Though, it must be said that I fought tooth and nail for every spot.
Group one. The "Tool Fan". Noticable with several distinctive characteristics: large pupils, large hair, large beards, and large T-shirts from tours previous. They were automatically friends. Few conversations were had with anyone other than this group. They could be found as soldiers, soldiers in the tool army. Beside me. Sweating. Moving. Fighting.
Group two. The "Girlfriends". I felt bad for them. They clearly didn't enjoy the show, nor the "monsters" that their boyfriends had become. Draped in more exposed skin than necessary, they were ignored by all. Tool, at least live, supercedes woman. With few exceptions. It should be noted that not all the "Girlfriends" actually had boyfriends. They could be found trying to flatter their way past me, or hitting me in the back of the head as they "surfed" the crowd, which is an ignorant, and potentially concert ruining practise that should be punishable by death.
Finally, my least favorite. The "Drunken Douche". The party animal. The problem. They give people a bad name. Clearly there to party, and only to party in their way. They were always responsible for the song-calling chants, and any trouble that happened during the show. Easily distinguishable rom the rest of us by their blatant inhebriation, and inability to be nice. They could be found everywhere. Everywhere you didn't want them to be.
My mom was there. About a row behind me at some points. In the mosh. In the thick of it. She made fun of me for being a pussy.
I've now left this for another day, picking up where I left off. This is a study break. Lets hope it goes well.
Now that you're all aware of who was there, I'll try give you a rundown of the music.
The opening band, "Trans Am", were terrible. I felt so horrible for them for having to play in front of a bunch of overly-judgemental Tool fans with uber-high expectations. They sounded like a combination of whoever sung "Mr. Roboto", Daft Punk and a cat in a shower. It was Horrific.
Then, Tool. As they started playing, I leaned over and loudly thanked Mike for getting us there early. I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but it was general admission on the floor. The mosh soon started. Now, I like to let go and let the crowd move me where it feels it must. This technique is only effective until someone tries to edge you further back. It was a constant struggle. I loved it all. My back did not. Fun. Pain.
I started thinking.
First, about the crowd. Being a good member in a crowd involves two things. Self-preservation (in relation to wanting to stay in your spot) and generosity. You must fight for your position while at the same time not fighting too hard in an effort to not piss off people around you enough that they move you. This also applies to everytime you're dealing with more than one person. A good example was the parking lot escapades afterwards.
Second. Damn, I don't really remember what else I thought about. I mostly just absorbed. Not projected. Absorbed and appreciated. Appreciated and absorbed.
I made eye contact with Danny Carrey during his insane, mind-blowing solo. He doesn't even try. During said solo, the crowd tried to clap his rhythm he was on, and couldn't. Not one of us could understand it. No effort. It was unbelievable.
Maynard played us like puppets. Sending us into a daze, whether we were clapping for him, under his command, or singing for him (the vocals didn't sound right).
All in all, Edmonton show, or Saskatoon?
Musically, Edmonton. Everything just sounded better, and being in a seat; I was actually able to listen to it.
Fun-wise, Saskatoon. I simply enjoyed the show more. I was able to feel how the crowd reacted to it. I felt as though I, along with the rest of us, were a part of the show. Which was nice. Hands down, due to the fun factor, I think that Saskatoon was the better show, at least for me.
Wear the grudge like a crown.
Brandon Brown signing off. You start running, I'll start pulling.
Terrible lyrics. Hitting the sack doesn't sound pleasant. Unless they mean the sack as in the bed.
I'm having some trouble getting into the flow right now, it's been a while since I've written anything. I draw now more than ever, and I'm looking into painting. I dance. I love.
I had to correct that last sentence, something I rarely do. But here goes.
Tool has always held a special place in my mind. Perhaps it's the heart of my mind, perhaps it's the soul. I'll never be sure which or even if either one exists. As I sip my diet coke I try to recollect the exact combinations of thoughts and feelings that I experienced last night. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all I can come up with is a feeling that we're all the same. As different as we are, we're all the exact same.
I'll try.
Explain.
The inexplicable.
The night before the concert. The night before the concert... Doesn't matter. Useless backstory for an event that's whole in it's incompleteness. Perfect in it's imperfection. Blah, those are all useless descriptions. More opinions really than anything.
The night started before the night started. We had a goal: make this the best concert experience ever. Our first preparation stop involved LSD. Our second a jacket. We chose to go and purchase three jackets (one each for me, Will, and Matt, or Mike, damn) from value village. Three jackets for under ten dollars that could easily be left behind in the event that they went missing at the show. They are now even more beautiful than ever. Will's, an eighties, neon windbreaker model. Mine, a purple, down-filled guiding jacket. And Mike's, A plain bomber jacket. I believe they illustrated who we are as people. At least myself anyway.
In order to save ourselves the inconvinience of having to cart around the obscene number of shirts that Mike bought for people for Christmas, we decided to run them back to the car for the show. Unfortunately, you can't get in and then leave; a problem that we circumvented with little problems. Blah, all this is unimportant.
By this point, we (including Mike) were relatively interested in even the most visually uninteresting things. We decided to walk around to get a grasp on our surroundings. We were hours early for Tool. We arrived at about 645, when the opening band took the stage at about 8. During our wander, I started to categorize the people at the show.
Before I get into these categorizations (which I know are wrong), I should let you, the reader, know where we were seated. Nowhere. Floor was general admission, and me and Mike are huge. We were no more than ten feet from Tool the entire time. Though, it must be said that I fought tooth and nail for every spot.
Group one. The "Tool Fan". Noticable with several distinctive characteristics: large pupils, large hair, large beards, and large T-shirts from tours previous. They were automatically friends. Few conversations were had with anyone other than this group. They could be found as soldiers, soldiers in the tool army. Beside me. Sweating. Moving. Fighting.
Group two. The "Girlfriends". I felt bad for them. They clearly didn't enjoy the show, nor the "monsters" that their boyfriends had become. Draped in more exposed skin than necessary, they were ignored by all. Tool, at least live, supercedes woman. With few exceptions. It should be noted that not all the "Girlfriends" actually had boyfriends. They could be found trying to flatter their way past me, or hitting me in the back of the head as they "surfed" the crowd, which is an ignorant, and potentially concert ruining practise that should be punishable by death.
Finally, my least favorite. The "Drunken Douche". The party animal. The problem. They give people a bad name. Clearly there to party, and only to party in their way. They were always responsible for the song-calling chants, and any trouble that happened during the show. Easily distinguishable rom the rest of us by their blatant inhebriation, and inability to be nice. They could be found everywhere. Everywhere you didn't want them to be.
My mom was there. About a row behind me at some points. In the mosh. In the thick of it. She made fun of me for being a pussy.
I've now left this for another day, picking up where I left off. This is a study break. Lets hope it goes well.
Now that you're all aware of who was there, I'll try give you a rundown of the music.
The opening band, "Trans Am", were terrible. I felt so horrible for them for having to play in front of a bunch of overly-judgemental Tool fans with uber-high expectations. They sounded like a combination of whoever sung "Mr. Roboto", Daft Punk and a cat in a shower. It was Horrific.
Then, Tool. As they started playing, I leaned over and loudly thanked Mike for getting us there early. I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but it was general admission on the floor. The mosh soon started. Now, I like to let go and let the crowd move me where it feels it must. This technique is only effective until someone tries to edge you further back. It was a constant struggle. I loved it all. My back did not. Fun. Pain.
I started thinking.
First, about the crowd. Being a good member in a crowd involves two things. Self-preservation (in relation to wanting to stay in your spot) and generosity. You must fight for your position while at the same time not fighting too hard in an effort to not piss off people around you enough that they move you. This also applies to everytime you're dealing with more than one person. A good example was the parking lot escapades afterwards.
Second. Damn, I don't really remember what else I thought about. I mostly just absorbed. Not projected. Absorbed and appreciated. Appreciated and absorbed.
I made eye contact with Danny Carrey during his insane, mind-blowing solo. He doesn't even try. During said solo, the crowd tried to clap his rhythm he was on, and couldn't. Not one of us could understand it. No effort. It was unbelievable.
Maynard played us like puppets. Sending us into a daze, whether we were clapping for him, under his command, or singing for him (the vocals didn't sound right).
All in all, Edmonton show, or Saskatoon?
Musically, Edmonton. Everything just sounded better, and being in a seat; I was actually able to listen to it.
Fun-wise, Saskatoon. I simply enjoyed the show more. I was able to feel how the crowd reacted to it. I felt as though I, along with the rest of us, were a part of the show. Which was nice. Hands down, due to the fun factor, I think that Saskatoon was the better show, at least for me.
Wear the grudge like a crown.
Brandon Brown signing off. You start running, I'll start pulling.
