Wow. A chick who digs musicians. Mindblowing.
Yeah, okay, I'm not special. And I've dated plenty of other guys (if you redefine the word "plenty") that don't fit the rockstar/brooding musician type at all. I can find men appealing who don't sing about failed relationships and wear black clothes and makeup. But that's only because there aren't that many of them and a girl's gotta eat (so to speak).
This past weekend I was flooded with MY TYPE at every corner at the Projekt Revolution tour in San "I'm Actually a Desert, Barnes & Noble and Chili's Nonwithstanding" Bernadino, California. My good friend Brian and his band won an MTV contest and were performing as the very, very, very opening act of the entire tour, headlined by Linkin Park and, 50% my reason for attending, My Chemical Romance. Swoon.
I met Brian my very first day of classes at my very first class, freshman year at college. It was Intro to Film (as if I needed an introduction to something I had been self-educating myself about since birth) and the TA had everyone break the ice by sharing a recent movie that they enjoyed. Brian, a heterosexual male, said Moulin Rouge which had come out just a few months previous, and you could immediately sense an entire classroom of film school snobs (yep, even on Day 1) judging his choice, conforming to the then-popular Baz Luhrman backlash. Uncharacteristic of me, but perhaps out of a survival of the fittest adrenaline rush of needing to make friends, I approached this attractive stranger after class and simply said, "I agree with you, I really loved Moulin Rouge." We realized we had lots more in common, including a love of Alanis Morissette and No Doubt (concerts we attended together in the years to come), dancing like idiots at sorority and frat invites, a similar ridiculous sense of humor and obsession with pop culture. And thus a friendship was born!
Brian has remained a busy and distant friend but a supportive one throughout the years. He's always done his best to make my improv troupe performances, and I always go to his band's gigs when I can make it, even if I go alone. His band, Art of Chaos, is not typically the type of music I like -- it's a bit louder and heavier than something I would normally listen to. Then again, I never proclaim a love for a band just because it is of a particular genre of music (Linkin Park and Good Charlotte, I'm referring to you).
That said, because I've given it more airplay on my iPod than I would have given it had I not known someone in said band, I've grown to really love Art of Chaos' music. It's catchy, it's emotional, it's not just screaming into a mic - in fact it's not screaming at all, and Brian has a lovely tenor voice atypical in his band's chosen genre of music. I can happily say I'm not just humoring him; I really do enjoy his band's music (which you can check out here). Which is a pleasure, because I thankfully don't have to lie to his face, which is what I probably would do even if I couldn't stand it. That's what friends are for, right?
So, since I am a lady of my word and had last Saturday free, I spent close to $100 on a LOGE 1 ticket, and drove to San Bernadino alone to see Brian and his bandmates perform at one of the biggest gigs of their career (so far). Okay, maaaaybe I also wanted to see My Chemical Romance and I chose to get orchestra seats as opposed to general lawn for $30... but as all my slutty friends say, if you're gonna go, go all the way. And use protection. Sunscreen, of course. Pervs.
I got to The 'Bernadino (new FOX drama?) at 11:45am and a line thousands of people long had already formed. I bypassed everyone and waited at the top of the hill, near the entrance. At about 12:30, they started letting people in at the precise moment I heard Brian's voice come through a loudspeaker. They started playing their first song the very second the gates opened. Talk about an opening act.
I wasn't going to miss him, not after driving an hour and a half and spending tons of money and getting there at the very, very beginning of a 12 hour music festival. I cut absolutely everyone in line, got my ticket ripped, and RAN to the Revolution stage where they were finishing their first song to about, oh, the ten people ahead of me in line who got there first.
I saw their whole show (always engaging, like old pro rockstars), but unfortunately most of their entourage of friends, family and fans missed it because of the line. Another shining example that sometimes, just sometimes, being selfish and cheating your way to the top is the way to go. I never said this blog was a role model.
I spent the rest of the afternoon waiting to say hello and congrats to Brian while he signed autographs (seriously - there is nothing weirder than seeing your friend you've known for a long time sign autographs and take pictures with strangers). Then it was a combination of tanning, texting, calling my mom, reading tabloids, spending as much money as possible on the worst food imaginable ($96 for a ticket and the best you can offer me is a limp cheeseburger combo? SHENANIGANS!), listening to my iPod, admiring the thousands of tattooes on display, trying to figure out what a seven-year old is doing at this type of concert when I can't remember having a taste in music when I was seven, trying to sneak backstage with Brian (to no avail), until this happened:
I can't say enough good things about this band. My ex tried to get me into them, but the only thing he showed me was the "I'm Not Okay" video, and while amusing and tongue-in-cheek, Gerard Way looked like, as I quote, "a monster".
He changed his hair a few times, sobered up, put away (some) of his eyeliner, and needles to say, I changed my mind, too:
Brian met him backstage and the only thing I could do to keep from weeping was lick Brian's hand that shook Gerard's. Okay, I didn't really do that, but it's frustrating to be so close yet so far to someone you would pretty much stage a vag attack on the second you meet them just from listening to the music they create. In fact I think it would be fair to say I get sexually aroused just by watching MCR perform live, turned on to 11 seeing Gerard goosetep all over stage (no really, he does that a lot). Do I need therapy? Or a bandana and a pack of Mentos to get backstage? Both, probably.
In any respect, Art of Chaos is just a few more live performances and a Rolling Stone cover away from inspiring multiple orgasms. And that's pretty much the best endorsement I can give.