Yeah, it's almost three am and I had a shot of jamesons and about six beers and just watched the Buzzcocks rock out (if you want to call it that) in DC and then drove all the way home, but dammit I'm awake and having a glass of wine. And I want to tell ya'll about the show. So you know I love me some of that good old fashioned punk rawk and when I heard the Buzzcocks were starting their new tour in DC, you know Sam and I had to go. So I bought us some tickets at some twenty five bucks a piece (remember when punk shows were five bucks?) and we drove the hour and a half to the nation's capital to see us a punk rock show.
Now I know these dudes have been around for a coon's age (love that expression) and I wasn't expecting TOO much, but I certainly wasn't expecting a punk rock jam band. We were promised the first two records in their entirety and what we got was a good opening and then a diversion into complete jam bandery complete with drum solos. They left the pretension at the door - no unnecessary babbling - although there was a bit - but I couldn't understand it because of their thick Bolton accents -, which was nice, considering they're old as fuck and could likely be just as pretencious as say, John Lydon, but that was not the case, which was refreshing. However, frontman Pete Shelley was wearing a Mondrian inspired button down and the drummer and bassist were obviously new, as in younger than seventy, and were mouthing the wrong words to the songs throughout the set. I had to go outside to smoke about halfway through and even then, didn't really want to go back inside.
Sam and I lost each other as he made his way up to dance, but then lost interest when he noticed the exact same things I noticed and decided to go get a drink. We met back up with each other, expressed our concerns, had a beer at the bar next door to the club, and proceeded to the DC drunken eating spot, Ben's Chili Bowl, for some after hours fries and burgers to bitch some more about how much fun we didn't have.
That's not to say we didn't have fun, tho. If you know me, I could have fun in a cardboard box given the right amount of alcohol and the right crowd. And Sam and I always enjoy each other's company and getting the fuck out of town whenever we have a chance. Which lately, is often. So good times. Whatever. Just avoid watching old people play punk rock. It sucks to say, but seriously. Considering we're both on our way to being old. It could have been my dad up there in a very wrong polo shirt trying to recapture his youth and getting exhausted and run down and trying to act they he's having a good time but not really. But in the best way possible. If that makes sense.
Have a good night! Love you all!