Get this: after years of obsessing over their two classic albums of brain-shredding heavy music, dealing with their subsequent break-up, and having their new album of brutal genius bestowed upon me last year, I finally get to let those motherfuckers in the band Coalesce blow my mind live and in person. Needless to say, I’m stoked to be seeing—for the first fucking time—one of my all time favorite heavy bands since my teen years this Saturday at Slim’s. The upcoming show brings a thought to mind: Coalesce is just one of many ’90s-born bands that have recently convened its disparate parts to reunite, and, for lack of a better word, capitalize on the element of nostalgia that so many music lovers (read: people) quite easily succumb to.
Sunny Day Real Estate, looking so early-’90s.
In the past months, the bands Far, Sunny Day Real Estate, and The Get Up Kids, to name a few, have all settled whatever differences there were, and hit the touring circuit to cash in on the elderly (read: 30+) and the young folks, not unlike myself, who hunger for another taste of what they once loved. Now, before I get to my shit talking, I’ll say this: I saw Far twice—once in Sacramento and once in SF—and SDRE the one night they played The Fillmore. I did not see The Get Up Kids, but I probably would have were I suffering from a severely monstrous surplus of money. However, I draw the line here: Cap’n Jazz.
Cap’n Jazz, looking so seminal.
You may be saying, “What the H, Patric? Aren’t you one of those dudes that does that emo thing at Pop’s? Aren’t you more or less required by scene law to attend the reunion of the harbingers of the now-dead genre you propagate on a monthly basis? What the H gives?!”
And you’d be right, but then I’d say, “Well, dude, here’s the thing. I grew up listening to those other bands, waiting for their new albums to come out, wishing my parents would let me go see them play live, and bumming out super hard when I found out I missed my chance because they’d broken up. Sunny Day Real Estate and The Get Up Kids were fucking huge when they were around, and any self-respecting kid in the scene would’ve given their coolest pin and a super-rare colored-vinyl 7” to go see them perform. But guess what, you never even heard of Cap’n Jazz until at least three years after they stopped being a band that no one cared about, unless you went to highschool in the fucking greater Chicago area in the early-’90s, and you probably wouldn’t have ever had the chance to hear their songs if the members hadn’t gone on to immediately join two legitimate bands that people did actually care about.”
At this point, I’d take a sip of a beer (though not PBR, sorry), then continue, “By the way, those guys were fucking children when they made that band. Do really expect a bunch of cynical dudes who are revered by many to be ‘gods’ of whatever they do, and have aged nearly 20 years since they started the band, to still have the same naive angst and frustration they did when they were teenage virgins? That was what made their music actually worthwhile! Not to mention, have you seen the clips of them on YouTube? They were terrible live! Any band nowadays trying to pull that shit at Bimbo’s on a Friday night would get the shit beat out of them. Or at least booed offstage.”
After a brief pause—allowing my words a chance to sink in—I’d conclude my long-winded diatribe, “And don’t you remember Owls? That fucking band was labeled as a goddamn ‘reforming’ of Cap’n Jazz too, but at least they wrote new fucking songs! Now, those guys are just being lazy, and ripping off your 20 bucks for some rehashed shit I’d just as soon listen to every third Tuesday of the month at Pop’s.” (<— so legit)
You may then respond, saying, “Well, shit, Patric. I see what you’re saying, but I got this extra ticket that I can’t seem to pawn off. You still wanna come with me?”
Someone sent this to me saying “UP/AL material?” and I replied, “Uh, I soooo saw that video years ago.” Regardless of my pioneering You Tube exploration, it would be rad to see this in the Mission. Bike Polo is fun to watch, but it isn’t as cutting edge as Cycle Ball. Don’t you fools care about being cool?
Charukesnant lived in Cow Hollow for years before buying a two-bedroom, one-bath unit in the Mission last month. She and her friends would frequently hit the restaurants in the Mission on the weekends, something that’s more convenient now that she lives there.
Brian Choe, who had previously been renting in the Marina, narrowed his search for a home to the Mission and Mission-Potrero area. Once he set his eyes on a unit at the Union by Palisades, “he knew this was where I wanted to be.” The young professional said he eats out nearly every night at one of the neighborhood restaurants and often finds himself at a local watering hole, Homestead, 2301 Folsom St.
Charukesnant said the Mission’s “chill vibe” is perhaps one its most surprising delights.
Dunno how much longer the Mission will have a “chill vibe” if a bunch of bros in Ed Hardy shirts keep infesting the neighborhood and pumping out shit-factories, but that’s just me.
UPDATE: Let me clarify, it has nothing to do with fashion but everything to do with attitude. These are the people that drive to work (read the article), make demands for more parking rather than parkletts/bike lanes/bike parking, file noise complaints, and demand that hipsters leave Dolores Park alone so they can hang out with their babies and dogs. Fuck that.
Once upon a time I had a picture of my mom chugging a can of PBR and flipping off the camera (no joke). Unfortunately I couldn’t find it, so I think this picture is a hot 2nd place on the “Kevin, I’m going to fucking kill you” scale.
About a month ago, I finally learned that I was a mistake. During a conversation about how women with ticking timebombs for biological clocks terrify me, she offered up some reassurance: “Not all women really have the urge to have children. I didn’t really ever have the urge. I was getting my degree when I suddenly became pregnant with you and we just decided to roll with it.” “So I was a mistake?” “Oh, mmmm, yeah.”
I had known that my youngest sister was a mistake since forever ago. I was teasing her one day in my youth, “you really think you were planned? Get pregnant 6 months after I was born? On Valentine’s Day?” When confronted, my mom volunteered: “You were a planned mistaken.” “Planned?!” “Well, we planned to have another kid, just not quite then.” I really hope being bad at birth control isn’t hereditary.
Anyways, the reason I share this is because my mom was about a year away from getting her Ph.D, was a professor at Smith College and still “decided to roll with it.” She had a lot to lose. Hell, if I were married to a woman that close to getting tenure and a Ph.D, I would have kicked her down the stairs so she could go be the breadwinner and I could just still around, drink beer, watch Hulu, and keep this blog updated. But yeah, my mom gave up her pursuit of a Ph.D and ultimately tenure to raise my ass. I think that’s pretty big.