Marc
On Cursive and the Fireside Bowl; generalizing things to the extreme:
Watching Cursive tonight made me remember why I had a terrible time watching them two years ago (?) when they played at the Noise Pop Festival with the Dismemberment Plan at the Odum in Chicago. I didn't listen to them at that point, and they're so all over the place with their song structure, it's almost a challenge to get into them during a live show. Namely because of their singer, the full-fledged alcoholic, Tim Kasher. To their credit, having finally gotten into them, I was much more into what they were doing this time around, and you've got to give them a little leeway as this was the first show they've played since last May, just before Mr. Kasher suffered a collapsed lung. Allowances. It's all about allowances.
Collapsed lung, or no, though, he was, indeed, drunk as a fucking skunk, doing all kinds of vocal improvisations, laughing during deeply emotional lines, fudging key guitar leads, etc. If you hate Cursive, this wasn't the show for you. If you like Cursive, you might have been pleasantly okay with what they were presenting. If you love Cursive, you probably didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. I fall somewhere in the middle. Some songs, like "The Lament of a Pretty Baby", completely rocked, while others, like "Excerts from Various Notes ..." almost totally sucked. It's hard to follow stops and starts like that when you can hardly see straight, wouldn't you think?
Another bummer, of course, is the Fireside itself, which is more of a fashion show than a venue. It's one of those sad but true scenarios, where you don't want to dislike the place but all the pretentious ass-fucks make it hard to have a good time. Especially in-between songs when it's almost possible to hear a pin drop. Not kidding. It was that quiet, which was odd because it was so loud, and so intense during the songs. It seems that after each note, the vision and suredness with which the crowd participates simply evaporates, and anyone found talking (namely your author) are severely scolded or scoffed at for their unruly ways. Boo to you, stupid crowdheads.
And finally, an aside about the Kid From California Who Wouldn't Stop Talking About Circle Pits. Along with the author, there was a gentleman of fair California who claimed that, no matter what band he was seeing in the Golden State, there was a constant circle pit. And he was mightily upset that this wasn't the case in the Windy City. "Chicago," he said, "blows." So succinct.
On Cursive and the Fireside Bowl; generalizing things to the extreme:
Watching Cursive tonight made me remember why I had a terrible time watching them two years ago (?) when they played at the Noise Pop Festival with the Dismemberment Plan at the Odum in Chicago. I didn't listen to them at that point, and they're so all over the place with their song structure, it's almost a challenge to get into them during a live show. Namely because of their singer, the full-fledged alcoholic, Tim Kasher. To their credit, having finally gotten into them, I was much more into what they were doing this time around, and you've got to give them a little leeway as this was the first show they've played since last May, just before Mr. Kasher suffered a collapsed lung. Allowances. It's all about allowances.
Collapsed lung, or no, though, he was, indeed, drunk as a fucking skunk, doing all kinds of vocal improvisations, laughing during deeply emotional lines, fudging key guitar leads, etc. If you hate Cursive, this wasn't the show for you. If you like Cursive, you might have been pleasantly okay with what they were presenting. If you love Cursive, you probably didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. I fall somewhere in the middle. Some songs, like "The Lament of a Pretty Baby", completely rocked, while others, like "Excerts from Various Notes ..." almost totally sucked. It's hard to follow stops and starts like that when you can hardly see straight, wouldn't you think?
Another bummer, of course, is the Fireside itself, which is more of a fashion show than a venue. It's one of those sad but true scenarios, where you don't want to dislike the place but all the pretentious ass-fucks make it hard to have a good time. Especially in-between songs when it's almost possible to hear a pin drop. Not kidding. It was that quiet, which was odd because it was so loud, and so intense during the songs. It seems that after each note, the vision and suredness with which the crowd participates simply evaporates, and anyone found talking (namely your author) are severely scolded or scoffed at for their unruly ways. Boo to you, stupid crowdheads.
And finally, an aside about the Kid From California Who Wouldn't Stop Talking About Circle Pits. Along with the author, there was a gentleman of fair California who claimed that, no matter what band he was seeing in the Golden State, there was a constant circle pit. And he was mightily upset that this wasn't the case in the Windy City. "Chicago," he said, "blows." So succinct.
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