25 February 2012

Stone Cold Dreamers

Whew. I can't believe it's been a week since I posted here. I actually might have to go back through my planner and figure out how the hell I've spent my time the last week.

A couple weeks ago, I got to see my friend Mike's band play their first show ever. It was a private, invite-only gig for close friends at their practice space. Every part of me wanted Robin there with me, but she got stuck closing at work. Michull & Maggie joined the rest of us there, and we had a lot of fun minus the absence of my partner in crime.

The entire building housing said practice spaces was decrepit an run-down. Carpet was worn to the floorboards, strips of it were missing. You could practically see the dust caked to ancient banisters and creaky, wooden stairs. It was comfortable, beaten to shit. A big group of us comfortably crammed into the practice space, a wood-paneled room slightly bigger than my childhood bedroom. We passed time drinking beers, talking and keeping one eye on the "Arrested Development" episodes playing on the tiny TV in the corner. Fred Flintstone watched with a judgmental eye.

Later than planned and a few beers in, the boys in the band got behind their gear and announced themselves as Stone Cold Dreamers. All of us in the room got to our feet and cracked a beer. The band tore into a short, sweet set of rough-and-tumble poppunk. The walls seemed to shake, and I couldn't stop my leg from pounding on the floor to the beat of the music. The music gathered their collective influences, yet somehow manage to breath new life into the trite and tired genre. I was all smiles. Not only was the band spot-on and GOOD, but I'm good friends with the guy singing half the songs. I showed my pride by toasting my beer at any chance I got.

It was then that I realized the validity and value of Punk Rock. There we were, bound together by the music blasting out of the amplifiers. Meat cutters and short-order cooks, members of the coast-guard and teachers held together by the simplicity of a few chords and a few beers. The music a backbeat to my life, the frantic triumph, the depressed frustration all intertwined by the dual vocal attack. I could have stayed in that room forever. It was one of the truest forms of unity I've been a part of at a show in Portland since moving here. This one's for you, Stone Cold Dreamers.

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