When the music makes the hipsters fade away...

April 28, 2011

First off, don't worry mom, I didn't get a tattoo of a blurry menorah on my wrist, it's a stamp.  I received the stamp upon entering the Crocodile Cafe in Seattle tonight for my first rock show in ages.  The stamp across my wrist, like so many I had received in years gone by made me just a little bit sad.

You see, I used to be cool.  I realize that being 26 would allow me plenty of time to redeem my former state of coolness.  EP listening music snobbery mixed with really excellent pins and patches that lined my backpack was the way I rolled.  I lived for rock shows, for the ringing in my ears, the opening acts I swore had potential, the closing acts that didn't and everything in between.  One thing was painfully obvious during all that time, the truth was, no matter how much I wanted to look the part I never did.  I was always a little too clean cut for the punk rockers and head bangers I surrounded myself with and despite our commonalities I kind stuck out like Vanilla Ice at the Hip Hop Hall of Fame.

Fast forward a few years. I realize I am not hipster enough for Seattle.  I don't own more than one flannel shirt, I look terrible in skinny jeans and I refuse to wear Ray Bans, particularly ones with the lenses punched out.  I am not the girl with the jeans over her boots or wearing a slouchy knit hat because that's not me and I realize my lack of hipster-appeal has probably precluded so far from a music scene that is seemingly second to none.  So walking in to the Crocodile tonight the stark reality of how perfectly I did not fit in was thick in the air.  Noah and I joked about our apparent fall from "cool enough" but secretly I was just sad.  And then, the music began...

We went to see We Are Augustines, check them out, they are phenomenal.  The harsh truth is, I heard about them for the first time this morning on Chase Jarvis' live blog.  I haven't been following them since their days in other bands or across their tour through Europe, I heard about them while I was eating steel cut oats and Nutella (thanks Jamie Rose).  I don't have history or memories with them but their lyrics combined with powerful but artfully restrained music made me feel like we were old friends, retelling the same stories we had laughed at and mourned over a hundred times before.  In those moments I felt like myself again, like maybe I belonged there.  In those moments, the hipsters faded away.

I got the opportunity to meet their drummer and he complimented me on my smile, I complimented him on a remarkable show and we shared a few laughs.  I also worked up the courage to introduce myself to photo great Chase Jarvis and found in him a humble man with a desire to see true and talented artists converge on the world's stage to prove that beauty is not lost on such a jaded generation.

I am still not cool enough for Seattle, but I'll do my best not to let that stop me.

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