I want to start a group called The Soundchecks where all we do is dress in skinnies and swooping v’s and check the levels on stage, never actually playing more than a few chords in no particular progression. Most in the audience will detest our existence, but one scruffy shitgoat with an influential blog will coin us the Andy Kaufmanns of the indie music scene making us the hottest shit in Echo Park for a month. We will all date cute, malnourished women with pale skin and ride our iconoclastic status until we are pressured to finally release an actual song, which will be terrible, and eventually our lack of musical talent will force the group to take a break and reassess the merits of law school.Weird Chicks- Unlike clubs, bars and parties where women generally choose clothes that accentuate parts of their body, women at concerts around these parts tend to look like… Fill in the whoride.
- Indiana Jone’s understudy
- Your 5th grade production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest
- Punky Brewster’s foreign cousin, Rumpy Mooster
- Someone who collects recycling for a living
- An evil sustainable farmer
- Charlie Chaplin in less modern clothes
- An extra from a yet to be released indie film, “We’re Fucking Cooler Than You.”
I’ve seen girls wearing shorts that give them wedgies. Some wear things called rompers, which make it look like they have pooped themselves. Other times they wear something on their arm that looks like an androgynous skeletor…oops, that’s your boyfriend? My bad.The Ambience – This is of course contingent on the venue, but if I don’t have arch support, a good amount of booze and an exit strategy you better believe there will be some low-key freaking out on my part. One of the worst feelings in life is to be trapped in a crowd where everyone is more fucked up than you. It is intolerable. Every shoulder bump, foot smash, small girl’s aggressive elbow to your back is an affront to your humanity. Even the cute little white Pocahontas’ with their feather headdresses and adorable prancing get on your nerves. Call me square or close-minded, but I can’t just will myself to dance if I have no connection to the music or group. People who freely gangle about to any sequence of chords frighten me. All I ask for is beer under 7 bucks, a few attractive girls who aren’t completely fried and a bus route nearby if case The Soundchecks go on too long.