Modest Mouse on Marr

All the years of being "The City that Never Sleeps" finally caught up with the Big Apple, as New York City seemed tired last night.

The level of affected boredom in that town always drives me nuts, but it was particularly irritating last night at the Bowery Ballroom for Modest Mouse.

Let's go to the tale of the texts.

8:30: Bowery Ballroom is a fantastic venue!
Still relatively sober as I send this message. The Bowery is a great place to see a show, better than the Roseland.

9:30: David Cross and Johnny Marr performing a parody of U2’s “One” in commemoration of the Bank of America merger. Funny stuff.


About 5 beers into the show at this point. Opening act Marcellus Hall is lounging in a private, screened off room in the back of the balcony. I later discovered the Bank of America song that Johnny Marr and David Cross sang was actually performed at a Bank of America corporate event to celebrate their merger with MBNA.

Soon after sending this text I stepped across the velvet rope into the VIP section, removed a table tent emblazoned with "Reserved Modest Mouse" and had a front-railing view of the stage. The only problem was sneaking back in whenever my beer cup ran dry.

11:??: Best show ever. Ever.
Texted this after Modest Mouse played "Trailer Trash." Closing their encore with "Doin' the Cockroach" also cemented this sentiment in my mind. In the sober light of day, this show was fantastic, but I'm not sure it can top the time I saw Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick performing "The Show" (not the featured link, but really worth watching).

The only defense I have for my following name-dropping is that it was my first celebrity run-in (except when I saw this guy in Lancaster about 20 years ago). With the opening strands of “Doin’ the Cockroach,” I yelled, “David, good to see you,” shook Cross’s hand (abiding Ice Cube's words), ran down the stairs, and waded straight to the front of the stage before Isaac announced, “I was in heaven, I was in hell, believe in neither but fear ‘em as well…”

As the drunken bumpkin from the sticks (Philly), I was completely entertained and going bananas, as every one around me was doing their best to appear bored. At least they were nodding to the music. As I was stompin' my feet and jumping around, I high-fived a guy in the middle of "Cockroach"—damn, you should’ve seen the scared look in his eyes. He gave me his wallet.

I waded unaccosted to the front of the crowd like a giant through tall grass, and I was drumming on the stage by the end of the song. Right in front. Stompin and pogoing, and generally being a rowdy concertgoer in the midst of a bunch of staid, bored hipsters. This would never happen in Philadelphia, I've tried. Bunch of dispassionate, world-weary fuckers. Philly kicks NYC’s ass.

??:??: NYC is a town of pussies and posers. I am king of of New York.
The double “of” was not intentional. The alcohol hammer had dropped.

After the show, it was over to Brooklyn where I met the "grandmother of literary hipsters," Maud, who hates to be called “grandmother” or “hipster,” even though that's how my friend described her. For the rest of the night, I had to keep this in mind as Mrs. Parker's devotees maintained a steady stream of doting at the round table. She seemed like a good shit (and was dressed a bit like the Queen's mum), and you gotta give her credit for keeping her blog going after the novel-ty has worn off for her.

My friend Dennis was also at the bar. When "The Writer's Mind" opens in New York, go see it.

Modest Mouse: 11/18/2006
Dramamine
Paper-Thin Walls
Float On
The View
Fire It Up
We’ve Got Everything
Bukowski
Missed the Boat
Tiny Cities Made of Ashes
Breakthrough
Black Cadillacs
Trailer Trash
Dashboard

Encore
Continental Breakfast???
Ocean Breathes Salty
Bury Me With It
Doin’ the Cockroach