6/17/09 Columbus , OH @ Monster House (garage! Pick Pocket)
The Boy Who Could Fly
When we first moved into Monster House the true owner of the house, Bob, was still living. I remember meeting him in the backyard garage to settle lease business. He showed off his cars and the ample space he had for working on them. One of the cars had “Bob & Nancy” air brushed on the hood. He was probably in his sixties and had young, sharp blue eyes and a keen memory. He was sweeping the dust out while we talked. He was always working hard. His heart was tired and quit on him a couple weeks before we moved in. It was sad news to hear. The garage sat unused. One day Pat made a call and sure enough, he settled a deal to rent the garage a fair price. Now he has his business, Shout Out Loud Prints, based out of there. Austin also runs In the Pocket Tapes out of there.
Pat gave the go ahead on a garage show, just to change things up at the house a bit. Garage shows always remind me of middle school band practice and a Weezer song. Delay played a garage on tour once in the Chicago suburbs. It rained and everyone had to jam into the tiny garage and then it was shut. Their was pop and chips from someone’s parents. I remember it being a fun set. The high school band that played after us just got busted by cops the previous weekend for driving crazily around their developement with too many people in the car. It inspired them the write an emo punk hit called “Fuck Police.” In marque sign letters, the bass player made a mispelling on his amp; “Fuck Polcie.” Ah, to be young and oppressed. The show in our garage had to be acoustic since the ceiling is nothing more than some wood with shingles on top.
Everyone that played was and is beautiful to me. I hope they know that. Their music surrounded me and floated my heart like a bread and butter pickel. Sweet, but still possessing sharp vinegar qualities and salty with meaning. Songs of love and life and the struggle for some identity. Songs that exposed and revealed themseleves in some way to a garage full of people. I felt a part of something. Part of a song I could sing too.