If I don’t see another concert for the rest of the year, it’ll be fine — I’ll be fine. There isn’t enough audacity in me to vow to never listen to music for the rest of the year — that’s simply preposterous.
Thanks to Mike B. for reaching out and the ticket, because seeing Skinny Lister and especially Frank Turner at The Lost Horizon presented a show that was much more than a concert. Beans on Toast opened, but I caught the very tail end of his solo set. He sounded good, don’t get me wrong.
“Another Man’s Words”
“Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings,
about fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings,
and the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering,
and help us with remembering that the only thing that’s left to do is live.
After all the loving and the losing, the heroes and pioneers,
the only thing that’s left to do is get another round in the bar.”
– Frank Turner
“I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous”
The sign read:
LOST HORIZON CUSTOMERS
N O P A R K I N G
That’s all that really needs to be seen, because the third and last line, warning the vehicle will be towed, is to the point.
I parked there anyway. Maybe it was because I was going to a designated indie punk show. Maybe it was due to the clear cluster of cars being parked wherever was confusing. Maybe it was because a spot was immediately seen, and taking it was a smart move. My blue ‘Bu blended in well. (How would they know? It’s a barren lot. There are no cameras. There is just a white sign with red lettering, displaying a message that cannot be conveyed well via WordPress.)
It’s clear that venue patrons can’t park in the strip club parking lot. They can’t park in the gas station parking lot or over at the laundromat. Is this a message to park here? Is this a message saying not to? What a fine use of the English language.
“Sweat Off My Back”
With fall comes cooling temperatures, its great to layer. I love to layer. However, I forgot it’s The Lost Horizon. The last time I attended a show there was probably at least a decade ago. The last time I was supposed to attend a show was last month, but in the fleeting moments of deciding to order a ticket to see Every Time I Die, and offer to see Jim Gaffigan was put on the table.
It was an easy decision to make. I’ve seen ETID before, but Gaffigan was on my list. I would have gone to listen to music by myself, but I’d be surrounded by great people for the stand-up routine.
It wasn’t until my feet crossed the front door’s threshold where cue kicked in: It’s going to be hot in there. It was a given the venue would be packed; it always has at shows, and that’s the beauty of having that kind of intimacy. No matter where you stand, you’re surrounded by like-minded (in regard to music) people.
The atmosphere felt warm, but it didn’t feel hot. In the latter part of the show, the beads of sweat could be felt dripping down my back.
“Drag Me on Back to Shore”
The last band I can remember seeing there was Biohazard. Or was it Hatebreed? Clutch was performing at the show for certain. It’s been a long time, so let’s leave it at that.
Of the three, I’d probably go see Clutch before the other two, but I haven’t listened to them in years.
On that note: There is a good chance I’d jump on a ticket if it came across my way, but there would be a picky decision making process. I’ve heard of Frank Turner, I listened to him plenty of times in the past without passing on his music on Pandora or what-have-you. But there wasn’t any sense of dedicated fandom leading up to the show.
Now, I’m addicted.
He’s a storyteller. He’s a showman, but not in the Wayne Newton sense. He and Sleeping Souls are definitively a rock band. They have a “garage” element to them, but they put on a show that was a bouquet of pop, acoustic rock, folk, rock and roll, rockabilly, and punk. There were times of sing-a-longs, but there was singing along at every point — not by me personally. (OK, a few times.)
As raw and as simple as the stage was set up, the lack of distraction was the way to go. There was a simple red and blue backdrop, which paralleled the new album, Positive Songs for Negative People.
I would have loved to get in the pit, if weaseling my way down there was possible. It was a bit of a cluster, but I’d survive. It wasn’t that ferocious of a crowd. No band listed prior.
I felt alive in The Lost Horizon. There was the opportunity to tap into my younger self, scrape out that soul marrow, and indulge and enjoy it.
Perhaps venturing into the lower level could have been accomplished, helped raise and pass along the few surfers that decided to test the crowd. I put height into perspective; the ceiling isn’t as high as remembered. And the lights are literally right there. There was more worry toward breaking a light than being electrocuted. Knowing personal luck, both would have occurred, and then the situation would have scared a patron enough for them to throw their beer on accident and into the exposed light — trifecta of trouble.
Enjoying the music simply it. I was to be lame that evening.
I’m aging alright.
“The Gang’s All Here”
Remember that band from the movie Titanic where the “Third Class” hung out? Skinny Lister is that band. Well, not really. But they’d be the band you’d want to enjoy while on your way to the briny bottom. But I’m sure they’d prefer to play your private party first, if you could book them.
This was the first time I’ve heard their music, and they’re a riot.
For comparison purposes, to give an idea of their sound, they’re a young Flogging Molly — the fact their record company is One Side Dummy is a bit of a tell, too. They’re the band to get you out of a mess, but would help you get into one when given the chance. They wouldn’t be to blame, because it’d be your conscious decision.
“Kite Song” is one their slower-paced and melody-focused songs, one that doesn’t sound like a folk or American-perceived drinking song. “Colours” was another great one they played during the show. Off of their latest album, “What Can I Say?” employs a classic country approach. “Cathy” triumphs as a sing-a-long parallel to “Come on Eileen.” Familiar refrain from the latter is actually belted out in “Ten Thousand Voices.”
Skinny Lister is a fascinating band. (They passed a jug of something around, but I didn’t partake.) I can’t wait for them to come back.
Cheers to fascinating music.