I went to see another hardcore punk rock show last night in Petaluma - GBH and Niis and a local opening band. They were all pretty good, if you're into that sort of thing. It is often interesting for me to go see punk rock bands because, as Kim Gordon pointed out, you're there to watch people believe in themselves.
The opening band included a guitar player who I've written about here before, though I can't seem to find it now. Her name is Allison. She worked at a guitar shop up the valley and did a great job cleaning the fretboard of my Martin acoustic guitar. She was changing genders when I met her. She had apparently been born a male. She was also changing the hands with which she plays the guitar. Last night proved she succeeded wildly. Her playing was great, as was the other members of the group.
When I came home after chatting with Allison I tried playing the guitar flipped upside down. I tried some of the simplest chords, and within minutes became very frustrated. It doesn't make sense. My right hand should be more dexterous. It wasn't. The rhythm that came from my left hand made matters worse. I only tried this for about half an hour, but it was incredibly difficult. Infuriating. I couldn't understand how anybody could dedicate themselves to such a thing.
At one point the lead singer of the opening band announced where free Narcan inhalers can be requested. "We all know somebody who has died. Everybody should have one with them all the time."
I was in no danger of overdosing, but it did seem like something possibly worth having. Everywhere I go I run into people who are doing all sorts of drugs. I wonder how they do it. We are all aging. We have all aged so much. The time needed to recover from almost anything keeps stretching further and further into the future, though it is easy enough to envision the horizon arriving quite unexpectedly.
While the headliners were playing I was near the stage, a little off to the side of the mosh pit. Somebody pushed me from behind and I bumped into the guy in front of me, which sent him just slightly into the oblong area where punks conduct their group ritual rotation. He turned and pushed me back pretty hard. He seemed very angry, and was very muscular, but short enough that I wasn't too worried.
"Sorry, bro."
"I'm not your brother."
"Yeah, we don't have any midgets in our family."
He swung at my face but I knew it was coming so it was easy enough to lean back and away from. I was able to punch him in the side of the head but all it did was hurt my hand enough that I knew boxing was out of the question for the remainder of the night. We tussled to the floor where there was more space to fight. I was lucky enough to end up on top of him and somewhat pinned him for maybe a second or two. It wasn't how I was expecting to spend the evening. Security was there very quickly. They both dragged the little guy outside with the help of a couple revelers. They saw that he took the first swing, I guess, because they only asked if I was okay.
Later somebody told me that he's a constant local nuisance. They keep their eye on him.
I imagined him stabbing me in the throat when I left, but it didn't happen. Maybe next time we run into one another.
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| Niis |
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