Alone Again, Naturally
Rollins Band Guitarist Assaults Fresno Man
That's what the headline would read if anyone would have seen it happen. But I'll get around to that later.......
Some people really have trouble being alone. They feel the need to always be in the company of others, whether it be at home or not. I think the cell phone craze has really helped these people; how many times have you seen someone hang up on a cell call, just to dial another number so they can continue interacting with someone else? These people cannnot fathom seeing a movie alone, going to a resturaunt alone or heaven forbid if you're a woman, even going to a public restroom alone. Me? No problem.
For the first five years of my life, I was without a sibling or neighbor my own age. So I learned to entertain myself and became comfortable being alone. To this day, I can sit at the DMV, the doctor's office or any otherwise boring place and just entertain myself by getting inside my own head. I like it in there. I don't know if any of you would be comfortable, though. You might not understand what's going on.
I've gone to a few concerts by myself. Concerts are a communal experience by design. You and your friends go out to see a band and whoop it up, right? That's where you're wrong and I can help you see the light. It's not about being somewhere with someone, it always boils down to your own personal experience.
Watch a concert film (DVD, whatever) and you get fixed moments in time that will exist forever as chosen by the director of the film. But attend a concert in person and you choose the shots; look at the band, look at your significant other, look at the drunk guy two rows down who's headbanging to the ballad you had played as the first dance at your wedding reception. You make the call.
The best part about being at a concert alone is that you don't have to worry about anyone else's experience but your own. No "oh man, I hope she isn't bored" crap and no "I'm into this, but my buddies aren't getting it" thoughts creeping into your own enjoyment. You are there because you wanted to be there and you're not on the hook for anyone else.
In August of '01, I called my concert stalwarts, longtime chum Chet and my sis-in-law Janet about my plans to see the Rollins Band up in S.F. (Keep in mind, Mary had noooo interest in this show). Chet could not make it due to some prior plans that I can't recall now and Janet passed under the misconception of what the Rollins Band actually was. She thought they were a jamband like Gov't Mule or maybe even the Dead, probably because Mary and I were (and are) so into the Mule and talked about their shows so much. I didn't understand her negative answer at the time and should have asked if she'd heard the music before. I later felt bad that I had assumed she knew what the Rollins Band sounded like, because when I played some Rollins stuff on our way up to see Metallica at Candlestick Park last August she really dug the CD. Oh well, next time around. (Candlestick Metallica show story will be on this site in the future--stay tuned).
So if I wanted to see this show, which I did very badly, I would have to go it alone. I talked to Mary and she understood that this was something I could not miss. While she was not completely comfortable with me travelling up to the City alone, she relented and I made the plans. I found a motel out by the airport, bought my ticket online and was ready to go.
Henry Rollins has been pretty big in my life for the last few years. I've been reading his books, listening to his spoken word CDs and of course, listening to the Rollins Band discs. I've found that the Rollins Band CDs are the best thing to listen to while working out. Henry pushes you to work hard; push it, lift it, hit it, hurt it, kill it, maim it or just grind it under your boot. Whatever he's singing about, I'm buying, maybe only because he's so convincing.
The latest incarnation of the Rollins Band has really put out some quality stuff. Henry had already ditched the latest batch of characters in the Rollins Band when he discovered an L.A. group called Mother Superior. Check them out here: wwwmother-superior.com. He was so impressed with their sound that he produced an album for them and then invited them to work on material which would become the next Rollins Band album, "Get Some Go Again". Part of the selling point for me travelling up to San Francisco was that Mother Superior would open the show and then pull double duty backing Henry as the Rollins Band.
Another plus was that the show was going to be at the Fillmore. I love the Fillmore. So much musical history has taken place there. It's probably my favorite venue, not because of the comfort factor (of zero--it's all standing room only unless you get lucky and commandeer one of the two or three tables up in the balcony that have views of the the stage) but for the pure vibe that resonates through the building. I get a little giddy just being in the place.
On Friday, August 31st 2001, I embarked on my journey from Fresno to the City by the Bay. I got home early from work, showered, packed and loaded the truck. Kissed Mary goodbye and was on my way. What I had forgotten was that it was the getaway day for the Labor Day weekend. Traffic was pretty horrendous getting out of the valley and that put me a little behind my schedule. But once I got through Los Banos, it was a free-for-all and I pushed the Ranger for all she was worth. Her and I pulled into the Red Roof Inn at SFO around 6pm, both of us breathing a little heavy.
I checked in, washed up a little and prepared for the sojourn into the City. A cold 24oz Silver Bullet from the Shell station next door had primed the pump and it was "go time". Driving into San Francisco on the 101 that early evening, aggressively fighting off the Yellow Cabs and Swivel-Headed tourists, I kept yelling Daffy Duck's Robin Hood staff instructions; "Ho, haha, guard, turn, perry, dodge, spin, ha, thrust!" With KSJO blasting and laughing out loud at my own Warnor Brothers induced nerdiness, I made good time into the Haight-Ashbury district.
I parked the truck in the Kabuki Theater's garage and made my way onto the streets of Japantown. I had ideas of getting a nice meal in a cafe' somewhere, sipping a local microbrew and finding stimulating conversation. I would be so cosmopolitan . In reality, I was running out of time and couldn't decide what to eat so I found myself in a Taco Bell, shovelling in a Grilled Stuffed Burrito and sipping on a Diet Pepsi, afraid to say a word to the extras from the Thriller video that were shuffling around me.
Next Post: The Assault
That's what the headline would read if anyone would have seen it happen. But I'll get around to that later.......
Some people really have trouble being alone. They feel the need to always be in the company of others, whether it be at home or not. I think the cell phone craze has really helped these people; how many times have you seen someone hang up on a cell call, just to dial another number so they can continue interacting with someone else? These people cannnot fathom seeing a movie alone, going to a resturaunt alone or heaven forbid if you're a woman, even going to a public restroom alone. Me? No problem.
For the first five years of my life, I was without a sibling or neighbor my own age. So I learned to entertain myself and became comfortable being alone. To this day, I can sit at the DMV, the doctor's office or any otherwise boring place and just entertain myself by getting inside my own head. I like it in there. I don't know if any of you would be comfortable, though. You might not understand what's going on.
I've gone to a few concerts by myself. Concerts are a communal experience by design. You and your friends go out to see a band and whoop it up, right? That's where you're wrong and I can help you see the light. It's not about being somewhere with someone, it always boils down to your own personal experience.
Watch a concert film (DVD, whatever) and you get fixed moments in time that will exist forever as chosen by the director of the film. But attend a concert in person and you choose the shots; look at the band, look at your significant other, look at the drunk guy two rows down who's headbanging to the ballad you had played as the first dance at your wedding reception. You make the call.
The best part about being at a concert alone is that you don't have to worry about anyone else's experience but your own. No "oh man, I hope she isn't bored" crap and no "I'm into this, but my buddies aren't getting it" thoughts creeping into your own enjoyment. You are there because you wanted to be there and you're not on the hook for anyone else.
In August of '01, I called my concert stalwarts, longtime chum Chet and my sis-in-law Janet about my plans to see the Rollins Band up in S.F. (Keep in mind, Mary had noooo interest in this show). Chet could not make it due to some prior plans that I can't recall now and Janet passed under the misconception of what the Rollins Band actually was. She thought they were a jamband like Gov't Mule or maybe even the Dead, probably because Mary and I were (and are) so into the Mule and talked about their shows so much. I didn't understand her negative answer at the time and should have asked if she'd heard the music before. I later felt bad that I had assumed she knew what the Rollins Band sounded like, because when I played some Rollins stuff on our way up to see Metallica at Candlestick Park last August she really dug the CD. Oh well, next time around. (Candlestick Metallica show story will be on this site in the future--stay tuned).
So if I wanted to see this show, which I did very badly, I would have to go it alone. I talked to Mary and she understood that this was something I could not miss. While she was not completely comfortable with me travelling up to the City alone, she relented and I made the plans. I found a motel out by the airport, bought my ticket online and was ready to go.
Henry Rollins has been pretty big in my life for the last few years. I've been reading his books, listening to his spoken word CDs and of course, listening to the Rollins Band discs. I've found that the Rollins Band CDs are the best thing to listen to while working out. Henry pushes you to work hard; push it, lift it, hit it, hurt it, kill it, maim it or just grind it under your boot. Whatever he's singing about, I'm buying, maybe only because he's so convincing.
The latest incarnation of the Rollins Band has really put out some quality stuff. Henry had already ditched the latest batch of characters in the Rollins Band when he discovered an L.A. group called Mother Superior. Check them out here: wwwmother-superior.com. He was so impressed with their sound that he produced an album for them and then invited them to work on material which would become the next Rollins Band album, "Get Some Go Again". Part of the selling point for me travelling up to San Francisco was that Mother Superior would open the show and then pull double duty backing Henry as the Rollins Band.
Another plus was that the show was going to be at the Fillmore. I love the Fillmore. So much musical history has taken place there. It's probably my favorite venue, not because of the comfort factor (of zero--it's all standing room only unless you get lucky and commandeer one of the two or three tables up in the balcony that have views of the the stage) but for the pure vibe that resonates through the building. I get a little giddy just being in the place.
On Friday, August 31st 2001, I embarked on my journey from Fresno to the City by the Bay. I got home early from work, showered, packed and loaded the truck. Kissed Mary goodbye and was on my way. What I had forgotten was that it was the getaway day for the Labor Day weekend. Traffic was pretty horrendous getting out of the valley and that put me a little behind my schedule. But once I got through Los Banos, it was a free-for-all and I pushed the Ranger for all she was worth. Her and I pulled into the Red Roof Inn at SFO around 6pm, both of us breathing a little heavy.
I checked in, washed up a little and prepared for the sojourn into the City. A cold 24oz Silver Bullet from the Shell station next door had primed the pump and it was "go time". Driving into San Francisco on the 101 that early evening, aggressively fighting off the Yellow Cabs and Swivel-Headed tourists, I kept yelling Daffy Duck's Robin Hood staff instructions; "Ho, haha, guard, turn, perry, dodge, spin, ha, thrust!" With KSJO blasting and laughing out loud at my own Warnor Brothers induced nerdiness, I made good time into the Haight-Ashbury district.
I parked the truck in the Kabuki Theater's garage and made my way onto the streets of Japantown. I had ideas of getting a nice meal in a cafe' somewhere, sipping a local microbrew and finding stimulating conversation. I would be so cosmopolitan . In reality, I was running out of time and couldn't decide what to eat so I found myself in a Taco Bell, shovelling in a Grilled Stuffed Burrito and sipping on a Diet Pepsi, afraid to say a word to the extras from the Thriller video that were shuffling around me.
Next Post: The Assault
posted by Tony at 8:56 PM
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