Maybe it’s because you read my status update and looked around Beacon all night for a place called Zulu’s. Or maybe other stuff was happening, or maybe you just didn’t want to go out.
Sorry to say, you missed a splendid night.
Robots was scheduled to play at the exact moment the art opening ended. We loaded in during the opening and set up in front of what was, in my opinion, the coolest artwork there. Only a moderate number of families looking to have a nice artsy relaxing evening were displaced. The place was loaded with these families, whose children needed to be removed before the music started for the sake of their functioning eardrums.
I drank two 16oz. Mile High Blend coffees while we got ourselves situated in the corner near the back door, next to the cool paintings. I talked to some of my former students, whom I was glad to find out were doing well as high school seniors. I was happy they came out. I made a stupid joke about them being drivers, which they probably hated. Anyway, by the time we played, the caffeine was launching blood through my veins and my face felt at least thirty degrees hotter than it should have. So needless to say, it was a good set. We played old songs, new songs, and a cover.
Glass Half Empty played after us. There are rumors floating around about Glacial and Glass Half Empty, and the rumors are probably true, except for the one about the Elmer’s Wood Glue, the seventeen scorpions, and the gallon of sewer filth. Definitely not true. They plowed through a spirited and brutal set of their Setzer-Deadguy-Dissolve-influenced material that they pull off so well, and I plowed through another 16oz. of Mile High, which forced me to miss their last song for a walk outside. I prepared to vomit, but happily did not. That would not have been the first time I threw up from drinking too much, but it would have been the first time it happened from drinking too much coffee. The problem was there was no pizza in my belly, so I put pizza in my belly.
The pizza made me feel sooooo good and recovered during Casket Architects’ set I almost moshed and sang along. Instead I stood in the corner, and appreciated them from afar. The songs they played off their new album Future Wounds (get on it) filled that softly lit and peaceful nook with sounds joyously contrary yet strangely fitting for the environment—like if Jaws somehow smuggled himself into Sea World, performed some tricks for the crowd, then ate a seal and a couple human beings. They played a song of their 7” for the first time live. You couldn’t tell they never played it, except that their set ruled slightly more than usual.
Other notes about the Jan. 9th show:
I met this cool guy named Skip, but I called him Chip. What a jerk. Sorry Skip.
Also, so many great friends came out that it felt like that pink battery bunny was in my chest cavity, pounding all night at my soul with his felt mallets. Because of their attendance, there will be more shows at Zuzu’s in the coming months. A Spare Parks show is in the works for what's looking like March. Thanks, everyone. I love you all.
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