I enjoy going to the ECC, it's laid back, artsy [but not overly so], and usually there's some hip, local band that fits into those two categories. Tonight I had the pleasure of realizing that my favorite dance-synth band The Parsley Flakes were making an appearance there.
Yippee! I shouted with a zeal completely outside of the quasi-melancholy I was experiencing at the moment. Something to help me forget my [kinda petty] problems and do some dancing to the only thing that sets my soul afire--in-your-face synth. I arrived at 10:45 under the impression that they would perform at 10:30, meaning about 11:20 in ECC time.
Fair enough, I thought as I entered, dropping 55 cents into a professional-enough-looking tub labeled "Katrina Victims" held by a cutie at the door. Feeling better about myself already, I dropped another 2 dollars on a bottle of Pabst and commenced to listening to the opening band Kill the Hippies. Their brand of hardcore punk ameliorated some disdain circulating my body, but my soul was kept in check by hope of the glorious Parsley Flakes. Thub-thub-thub-parsleyflakes went my little heart.
"They're on after MC Homeless," a Lesbian conferred to me at the bar. Well, a bit of a delay, I suppose, but then my synth-fix would be in. What seemed like years and 3 depressingly boring bands later [in reality it was 2 hours, which still is an inexplicably long time to wait for the soothing pangs of syth to enter the body] I was still waiting, wallet depleted, Pabst empty, and smoking way too many Camel filters. The crowd swelled and became riotous.
By 12:30, shit hit the fan. Joel, the oft-inept, hopelessly stoned proprietor of the ECC was engaging in a verbal bout with none other than my Parsley Flakes. They had brought the crowd, who numbered far beyond just me, brought prizes, and, most importantly, had brought that uppedy brand of synth that my soul was craving.
But it was all for naught. I overheard the absolutely gorgeous Marie saying that if they did not play now, the Flakes would pack it up and never return to the ECC. Her boyfriend/bandmate Jeff said they'd probably wait 2 months, in reality. Joel stormed out of his own establishment, slammed into his muffler-enhanced Civic and sped off aggressively into residential Kent.
A random guy outside clutching the Katrina tub remarked, "He needs some anti-depressants and a muffler," in probably the most appropriate comment I've ever heard. Disconcerted to see so much drama unfold on a Tuesday night, I hopped on my cycle and pedaled away, glancing over my shoulder to see the majestic Marie looking particularly angry. What a shame.
My soul has yet to recover from the blow.
I've always [since last month] said, "A synth band will save the world." It seems as though the world will be a horrible place so long as The Parsley Flakes are repressed by venue owners too stoned for their own good. My soul hurts. The world does, too.