Sometimes, just sometimes, when you are beating a weekend with a 27″ aluminum bat a whole extra day falls out and into your lap and sometimes, just sometimes, you might be able to figure a little something to do with that extra day. Or at least you would if you were me and had friends like Jamon and Chelsea who are just as up for a crazy ass evening chasing punk beats as I am.
And before I continue, let me remind you that I am way too old for this shit. Which also means that everyone involved is probably way too old for this shit, but when you have a piñata you’re never quite sure what you are going to get.
The original plan was simple. I would stay another day in SLC. We would head down town to SLC Underground (wherever the hell that is) and take in the sounds of a band we all enjoyed named Get Dead. As things progressed the plan got a little more complex. I had to somehow get from SLC back to SG on Monday. This comprised a trip to the SLC airport where I would catch a shuttle and then take a taxi from the shuttle to the Lounge. Pretty straight forward, but the morning might be a little groggy…
We had finished up our ride on Sunday, embibed a couple of beers and taken on a lunch. I grabbed everything I didn’t need: two dirty chamois, 4 dirty shirts, my helmet, several pairs of boxers that were either dirty or clean I wasn’t sure and a beanie. I kissed Mrs. Moose goodbye and turned around to find that said bag was gone. Jamon had already snagged it and tossed it in the back of the truck. The things that weren’t in that bag included: my phone charger, toothbrush, deodorant and clean shirts. Whatever. Punk rock.
1st up on the itinerary – nap time. Remember, Yadayadayada I’m too old for this shit.
Nap time was promptly followed by tea and by tea I mean strong black coffee with a shot of whiskey or at least Chelsea said it was only one shot. Either way, the coffee was stiff and probably just what I needed to either fall back to sleep or wake up to rage. I’m still not sure which was the case.
We then made our way downtown to the Proper Brewing Company that was conveniently located next to where the concert was supposed to be. None of us were too hungry, but beer was on the brain and we bought some more. The Hop vs. Hop was on point as well as their Instigator. The beer comes in 1 Pint 6 Oz bottles because this is Utah and you can’t have good beer on tap cause that’s just crazy talk.
It was at this point that the search for the venue began. The address that was on the flyer put the show right next door. So naturally that’s where we went. The sign out front was very worn but stated that this was the “Premier” practice space in SLC. We began wandering around the building until we found an open door. Than we wandered around inside as we could hear music coming from all different directions interrupted only by the smell of lots of tree. The hallways were covered in graffiti and lined with doors. Almost all the doors were shut, but there were one or two where people where practicing with the doors open. After what seemed like we had wandered every hallway and were now in a giant maze unable to exit, Chelsea thought it wise to ask. So she did. Dude pointed us in a direction. We went that way, found nothing. Returned. Dude took us that direction. Found nothing.
He assured us that one of the lock doors was the spot. Well, ok. Then as we were getting ready to leave, he awkwardly stopped us and leaned up against the wall with one leg up as if he were a cool kid finding his place in the hallway during high school lunch break. He had noticed that I was filming and wanted to make sure that I didn’t post anything from the inside of his practice space, because you know, they were internationally known, and there, you know, certain things lying around, that you know, might not look good if they were posted online.
Ok. Whatever.
We exited the warehouse empty handed.
We are a tenacious bunch and were not deterred by this setback. Once back out on the street, we all began to use our pocket communicators to see if we could find some more or new information about the show. Was it happening? Had it been moved? Were we just too old and punctual?
The venue had been moved from the Underground to the Beehive Collective which was located at 666 S. State Street. Really? Is that a real address? Google Earth showed a building there and it was only a couple of blocks away. So naturally we went to the bathroom. At which point I did my one good deed for the day and fixed some graffiti.
We then began the trip to the “new” venue. To my surprise, there was actually an address in downtown SLC that was 666 S. State Street. Woulda thunk?
Upon entering there was a row of soda cans and a couple of guys hanging out behind them. They confirmed that we were in the right spot, but also confirmed that we were too old and punctual and that the show still wouldn’t be starting for a bit. We paid our entry and everyone got smiley faces drawn on their hands but me. I got a frowny face. Fuck that guy.
Seeing that we had some more time to kill, we made our way across the street to the Bayou for some food and more drinks. Jamon pointed out that there was a MCA sticker from a few years ago on the bike rack. I refreshed it and then we ate and drank.
Upon returning, the above band was playing and there was a small crowd that had gathered. After a few songs, they were done and some other band we didn’t necessarily care about was getting ready to play. We wandered back to the truck for some ear plugs and found some more booze.
Our return found the next band just finishing up and then Kevin Seconds and Steve Soto began to ready their acoustic set. If you don’t know who those guys are, you probably should. Kevin is/was the lead singe for 7 Seconds and Steve is from the Adolescents and another dozen or so bands since.
By the time Kevin and Steve finished and the band that we had come to see was ready to play, there was maybe 15 people still there. We were tired and way too sober for this time in the evening. There was about 4 heavily bearded guys that moshed for the whole show and one of them decided it was a good idea to get in my face every 5-10 minutes and yell along with the song. Thanks that guy. I really wanted to smell your breath.
We drank some Orange Crush because it was funny and we were thirsty. They tasted horrible. The lead singer also seemed to either be perfectly on point (whilst singing) or about to fall over (any time he was just trying to stand). I can say I’ve never witnessed someone that intoxicated be able to nail every song. The energy in the crowd was at about a 4.2, but I wouldn’t fault the band for that. It was late on a Sunday in Utah and the promoter had pretty much failed to get the word out about them being there.
And that, more or less, is what fell out of the already broken piñata when we hit it one more time.
P. L. and R.