This Gingi being gone thing is *way* stress for me. I feel like I need to update for both reader bases.

The

Pressure

Of

An

Update!!!!!!!

Jesus Mary and Joseph!

*~*

Focus�

*~*

I�ve been working like a Presidential Aide. That would be nonstop.

But I took a break on Monday night to go out with Gingi to see Sparklehorse, one of her indie music loves.

Prior to meeting Gingi, I had another �drink appointment.� Due to the fact that I haven�t really been drinking for about a month now, I showed up slightly intoxicated (READ: ROCKED). The heat, the sangria, low tolerance, happiness to be out before 10PM�take your pick on what might have put me over the edge.

So we waited to get into this show. Finally we got in. And we had to stand. In a packed room of about 250 people, which is annoying. The guy who warmed up was RAD, all hippied out with his long, straight blonde hair and South American weave shirt, and I was digging his slide guitar retro-Hendrix free form.

Finally, this guy who had been sitting at a table in the audience walked up on stage and sat at the microphone onstage. Turns out he IS Sparklehorse, so I�m all, �Thanks for taking your time and wasting mine for an hour��

Bitter, anyone?

But seriously, it was hotter than hell in this place. Two songs into Sparklehorse, some girl standing near us fainted from the heat � that�s how hot it was. I realized what happened before Gingi and turned to the bartender to ask her for water, as the crowd around the girl seemed to ripple away from her lifeless form now crumpled on the filthy carpet floor.

And this is when I noticed one of the very vital differences among the Indie music crowd for all other music fans � they are utterly unequipped to deal with the normal emergencies that occur a rock, punk and even folk shows. Anyone with tour experience, with stadium show experience, and especially with Dead Show experience, knows *exactly* what to do for a fainter. Hell, we have fainter�s in every section. Usually the result of dehydration while tripping, the first thing you do is put a cold cloth on the person�s face. If you can sit them up, give them some water and if they are conscious, have them suck on an ice cube. The problem is almost always dehydration.

But these indie fans are spoiled with small, dark air-conditioned venues and imported beers and they are missing this elemental concert experience.

The other interesting thing I noticed with the Indie crowd is that they do not appear to be having a good time or enjoying the music. I tell you, I did not see a toe-tap in the entire room. No heads bopping, and not one crazy dancer. These people could have been in the waiting room at the dentist, for all the excitement they showed. No �yahooing� whatsoever. I mean, how is there no yahoo?

And what does the band think about all of this? They are playing to a room of 250 packed people and not one lets out an appreciative whistle! The place, was like a morgue.

Normally, if it�s like a morgue, I assume everyone�s high. But let me tell you, no one in the room was getting high. I kept investigating and no one was doing anything. And if they were high when they walked in, it was surely over by the time Mr. Sparkle got onstage so someone should have been sparking up something.

I started to get a little rebel-rouser drunk and asked Gingi if it would be ok for me to yell out a request for some Sex Pistols but she didn�t think it was a good idea. I decided to keep that to myself.

To sum it up, Sparklehorse was great, the audience sucked and I for one would like to apologize to Mr. Sparklehorse and the rest of his sparkley bandmates if the audience�s nearly extinct energy ran them out of town on a horse with no Sparkle.

I mean, really. It�s a show, people. Get it up.

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