In some sort of late 20's punk rock pissing contest, I decided to pretend that I wasn't too busy in the middle of the week to drive 4 hours round trip to see a show. Who needs sleep? These guys put out one of my favorite albums of all time; Pink Flag. Of course, that was in the '70s and the subsequent albums have ranged from disappointing to intolerable, but hell, I can sit through half a set of crap to see them live and hopefully hear a couple classics. Unfortunately, I apparently only like their album Pink Flag and their performance was crushingly boring. I know they have the right to "evolve as artists" and all that, and quite frankly, they're in their 60's so maybe not the dynamos of energy they once were. Still, I saw the Ex play last month and while a similar band demographically, they destroyed my face with their set. And I had never previously heard a single song they played, they had just somehow managed to bring as much energy and intention to their new stuff as the old.
I found that I felt embarrassed for ever liking Wire. Sure, Pink Flag will always be a great album, but as an aging punk I fell into the trap of associating my own identity with what in the end turns out to be just some band. As I wandered amidst the morbidly obese in their studded leather bustiers (the show was at Dante's after all) I wonder "What the hell I am doing here?". Then there was the kinda skinhead guy in the TSOL shirt dancing like a raver. Ugh. The one consolation was at least I had avoided the bad band tattoo trap; given my stature, demeanor and incongruous heterosexuality, the last thing I needed to go with my mohawk as a kid was a tattoo of a pink flag.
The next day, crippled with exhaustion, I manage to publicly screw up in front of everyone of consequence in the Math department. I can no longer even cling to the idea that while I may be the dumbest person in the department, at least I have better taste in music. That hurts more than anything.
