But so today's entry isn't a total loss, I'd like to take you back to a time when my unemployment was still fresh and the hopes of finding another job still flourished. When the sun was still shining, and your best gay friend lived only minutes away. I'm talking of course about the September month of 2009. In which I attended one of the few yet what I'm sure will remain one of the best concerts of my existence. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. My story is told from a first person perspective as well as a biographer's stand point. I play both of course.
So whip out your maps and compass Northwest to Karen O, you've got a date with the night:
"Flight of The Yeah Yeah Yeahs. (YYY Republic)"
September 7th, of the 2009, was to forever be recorded in Portland history as the YYY bombing of the Crystal Ballroom. Told here, is the complete detailed and graphically recorded play by play of the event, seen and told through the eyes and mouth of the first human being to obtain the very first ticket for the concert at the time of the unveiling, August 22, of the 2009.
Here now, is Christopher.
It is with meth addled stumptown hands and a heavy ear lobe that I write this now. To go from the beginning, a challenge. To think what my life had been before. But here I tell.
My morning began in true celebration of labor day having recently been unemployed by the white man fascist supreme organization of Nordstrom. I celebrated my tradition of viewing, "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist," before every concert I attend, before calling my fateful Scorpio companion Ernie, who was to be my wingman for the night. He arrived decked in 80's checkers and thunder lightning ties. He was ready, as was I. In my armor of black ballet pants with on the outside were my red demon graphic speedo underwear. Above my waist, my Mexican orange mariachi shirt, and over it my red and white stripe top I wore in attendance of the Thermals landing. Gracing my head was my black bowler hat, around my neck a Texas chainsaw massacre tie. Ernie and I left the base, and marched onward to Half and Half.
There commenced our taking in of sandwich nutrition, and caffeine fuel. Pukage power was loaded after tossing back my quad americano, and sprang forth a Thurston Moore migraine within my brain lobes. Comforted by Barista Brain's promise to help me find a new job, his two armed hug, and best wishes for Ernie and I's Y Control plunge, we bought some smokes, peed in Everyday Music, and with an hour and 15 minutes to spare, we landed outside the Crystal, and waited silently beneath a barred window with loogie lined cement.
There we drank visos and tossed back some Camel Turkish Silvers. My headache was beginning to froth, but I was distracted by the young lush who sat with us in line, Alex. She was a beautiful girl. As beautiful as today's generation of women could be. Then came her friends. 18 year old Maryn, the Karen O enthusiast who was soon heading for LA to attend the Where the Wild things are premiere. Her 15 year old "son" Nolan, who embodied the mind and spirit of William Miller. And the mystery girl who Ernie and I decided to call Ashley. We shot the shit for awhile, and Alex helped guide me through the McMenamins bar to piss. 8:00 came, and we were in.
Having made these new friends, them along with Ernie and I secured ourselves in the very front of the arena. As I purchased my YYY shirt*, my headache was beginning to boil. The Thurston Migraine was now becoming a silver rocket. I sat down in a sea of legs, my legs beginning to buckle. Trying to distract myself by the girl standing behind me, who has a brought a pair of her giant pink panties with her phone number written on it that were to later be Karen O's. Suddenly the voice of Maryn graced my ear and whispered, "Do you need water?' I looked down at her hand, and there she held, two Excedrin tablets. She pummeled her way through Los Angeles cunts and Amy Winehouse chipped teeth to get me a bottle of water. Within seconds my headache was gone.
9:00 came, and the mystery opening band was finally revealed. YACHT. Visionaries indeed, the two leaders, one man one woman, in the course of their performance, lept out into the crowd!!! Having turned to find Ernie, I suddenly felt a great weight fall into my outstretched arms. Turning I saw it was the man, Jonah. His white clad indie computer rock ass checks in my embrace. Well, he may not have been Hutch Harris but all the same, my hands were as giddy as marionettes.
Once they finished, the crowd got restless screaming for the yeah yeah yeahs to be revealed. At this point, there was no room to breathe. The mystery Ashley girl had now basically become my girlfriend for the night, having my left hand wrapped tightly on the stage bar, and my right arm wrapped firmly around her waist. I was lucky enough to be in a circle jerk of cool chicks. My new friends, as well as this kamikaze chick who had tunneled her way up front. I could write a book on the women of the event. But for now I will put aside the talk of the ladies, and finally reveal, the performance.
Karen O hit the stage in a pink louche mask, that lit up in spirals. They opened with "Heads will Roll." And once the song ended, Karen O whipped off the mask, and I practically shit my pants. She reached out her arm during her next song, and Ashley, my girlfriend for the night, grabbed her hand. When she let go I took Ashley's hand an rubbed it on my face. During the song, "Cheated Hearts," Karen launched her microphone to the front audiences mouth. Mine included. My lips were right on her microphone. "Hoo-hoo-whoo-whoo....." and at this I lunged forward, and touched Karen O's arm.
The crowd was at this point pummelling my back with their elbows, and ass raping me with their knees. I turned around to catch sight of a giant bull dyke who triggered p.d.s.d. memories of the Modest Mouse concert in '04. The pantie girl threw her panties onstage and Karen O caught em. Swinging em around in full glory. At one point, a churchy looking girl in yellow leaped up on stage, much to the surprise of a wide eyed Karen O. They grabbed hands and circle danced onstage, before she was pulled off by security, still swinging her head around in their arms. Its here I notice, Marylin Manson is in the crowd.
After two rounds of songs, including Zero, Date with the Night, Maps, Y Control, KISS KISS (Oh yea, Old school yeah yeah yeahs) it was over. The lights came on and removed the YYY film over my eyes. I realized that I was still standing where I rooted myself upon arrival. I had survived. No matter how hard those barely breathing hipsters tried, they did not take me alive. I had come out. On top and up front.
As Ernie, and our new friends slowly left the arena, we caught sight of Jona and his YACHT girl band mate. I ran to him to tell him that I had caught his ass while performing. While taking my hands he smiled, "Thank-you. I owe you an ass catch." Clearly a come on line, I am now determined to date Jona from YACHT. Take that in the ass, Portland!
We then made way for the safety base at Coffee time, our new friends followed from the hills. There I received more barista love from Scott. He doubled the hugs after telling him about my unemployment, gave me a free coffee, free bagel, and punched out my coffee time card so that I could get a free drink next time I was there. Ernie and I said goodbye to our new friends, walked home in the cold night, made all the more colder by our rock sweat, and ate cup of noodles while watching south park.
My hands, now ache at the retelling. Ache from detachment of true living, blessed only to those grifters of unemployed and lonely in love. Myself. I am one with the people and one with the musical republic. I have touched Thurston Moore. Been touched by Hutch Harris. And now I have touched Karen O, and with that have embraced what she has unleashed to her legion of fans.
There are gods among us.
Sadly, I never did score that date with Jona.
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