so i don’t do band reviews, but my best pals and i came down to our capital to see the first polvo show in 10 years. remember this scene in singles?
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you know the one where the magazines are talking and he’s yelling about tinnitus? or whatever. well right now i am like that. also, anarchivist knows the bartender so all night the drinks were like this:
so, on the new jersey train i saw some REG with, like etnies on and i was mourning the days when every dude who wore etnies was hot and i was 15 and i had big crushes on skater dudes who couldn’t be bothered to look twice at me and that reminded me of how they would always be playing sunny day real estate in their cars and then sunny day real estate played with velocity girl but i wasn’t allowed to go and then jeremy enigk turned all christian and that’s not my thing per se, but when my parents went out of town, KB and i snuck off to the magic stick to see his solo show and it was MIND MELTINGLY awesome.
so the first opening band was like this
totally boring, you know?
and then, the second band had a singer with a helmet and a tambourine mohawk and he kept hitting his head with the microphone. he also said something like, “hold on, i need to adjust my shit.” and then moved his helmet a tiny millimeter so that we would know he was serious.
like a heart attack.
and also during the opening bands, ash bowie and mary timony were just hanging out drinking wine and i was having a teenage crush moment where i couldn’t look away.
but then polvo came on and stayed on for something like 2 hours and my head exploded, particularly when they seemed to insert about 5 minutes of straight feedback into “every holy shroud” and i yelled that it was bigger and louder and more intense than any sonic youth show i had ever been to.
here is a text message i sent to chris who was on the other side of the club:
sebadoh doing bubble and scrape.!?! also holy fuck this show. pot smoke and feedback and fuck all.
that’s my review. make an effort if you can to see them this time around.
ash bowie, remains, preserved like a pickle – as hot as he was in 1998.