grand archives at neumos
Last night I was reminded I’m a junior AARP card-carrier. I showed up at Neumo’s to see my favorite local band. The doors opened at 8 PM, I figured if I showed up at 9:30 my timing would be perfect to catch part of the opening act and thereafter I’d be primed for Mat Brooke and his strained-but-satisfying falsetto. I strolled to the window to pick up my ticket and saw a sheet of notebook paper taped to the window showing the schedule of the bands. I was very dispirited to find Grand Archives didn’t go on until 11:30 PM. I turned around and went home so I could hang out with Diana for awhile.
The Redwood Plan opened for Grand Archives, I caught the last quarter of their thunderingly-loud dance punk. Their pine needles-in-your-picnic-basket-sounding name defied their obnoxiousness. The frontwoman of the band asked the sound person to turn the volume down, even. I never wear my hearing aid for a show in a small club, the sonic blasting didn’t bother me too much. In fact, I always stand under the biggest speakers for breathing room, my logic being no one with half a brain would position themselves someplace where you can feel the music pulsating in every internal organ of your body. Really, I’m not that naive. But it’s still unsettling for me how many people willfully expose themselves to permanently-altering decibels.
Grand Archives put on what I thought was a good, tight show with the exception of a wince-inducing version of Oslo Novelist (in their defense, beforehand they admitted they’ve never figured out how to play that song live). They were on hometown Sub Pop for their first two albums, but at the moment apparently they’re free agents. I’m blinded as to why because I’m a rabid fan. Speaking of which, I ran into Mat Brooke in front of Bartell’s Drugstore last month.
We spent most of this afternoon at Alki Beach. Adam and I built a monstrously huge canal 30 feet out to the water that I started worrying we’d get in trouble for, for constructing without a permit. Diana kept telling me to quit and just hang out with her. I kept telling her “just a few more minutes, hon!” I have this bad habit of turning a sandcastle at the beach into an engineering marvel. It’s all in good fun, Adam had a blast.