Of Opinions and Assholes

Last night I braved the disappointment of leaving my house and rolled down the hill to the Red Room to see an old friend's new band, For Cravers. It was a reunion of sorts, as almost everyone there was someone I knew when I got to town (from Ohiowadaho, for new readers). The opening band was a barely existent duo; forgettable songs sung by a ignorable guitarist and regrettable bassist. They and their table of overly-supportive friends quickly trickled out in such a way that I became convinced that they were never actually there.

Sadly, this meant that by the time For Cravers got loud and proud, all who remained were, again, friends of the band. This is when I split into two of my warring audience personalities: the Experiencer, who got momentarily lost in beautifully counterintuitive, interlocked guitar lines and resonant throb of the tight low end and the buzzzzzzzzzzzz of foodless beer; and the Observer, who got trapped in the absurdity of friends playing songs for friends as we all spend money on the privilege of being in a "scene". Do we really need the infrastructure for anything other than the fantasy of a rock world that doesn't seem to exist anymore? In its purest form, music moves the maker first, then moves out into the world through vibrations or ones and zeros. The rest is dressing, right?

Well, no. Standing in a dimly lit room full of people being moved by the same vibrations, whether they dig them or not, is a visceral experience that will always be worth having. (Same way that theatre won't really be dead as long as people still want to tell stories to each other in the dark.) Plus, the possibility of meeting and maybe even touching a person who believes in music the same way you do keeps a lonely guy like me coming back, even if only occasionally, even if only to oblige dear friends still finding their following.

But what hit me hardest all night was the realization that I seem to have lost (among so many other things) much of my enthusiasm, and my concomitant capacity for forming opinions worth sharing. If opinions are indeed like assholes, then I suppose it's no surprise that lately I've tended to ignore the existence of both of mine, just out of common courtesy. But even now, every once in a while there's an opinion that smells almost... good.

OK, so. I'm going back in my cave for a while.