If you missed out on this show, be sad.
Not as sad as if you missed out on their show at Trees almost 3 years ago, when they gave a seriously unbeatable performance, but be sad.
It is my personal, factual, undisputed, universally-accepted-as-truth belief that BRMC is incapable of giving a bad performance. The night of April 27th was no exception.
As many of you may know, Texas has been the proverbial hair in the Golden Corral dinner that is the 2011 heatwave. I don’t know what proverb that comes from, but what I mean to say is that Texas is smack dab in the middle of one of its worst heat waves in decades. With autumn fast approaching, one can only hope the sun will soon get off its power trip and go see a therapist instead of torturing all us Texans with its evil rays. It’s not Texas’s fault your dad never loved you, Sun.
Much mayhem (not the All State kind) has occurred in this summer heatwave, including fires, sunburns, and car steering wheels reaching the temperature of frying pans. So let us grab a cold beverage and review the highlights of this passing, scorching summer.
It’s a tale as old as time, true as it can be. Or rather, a question as old as the birth of McDonald’s. Who’s hotter, Grimace or the Hamburglar?
Let’s be honest. Supernatural has jumped the shark.
Once upon a time, it was an awesome show. Even now, it has a few worthwhile episodes mixed in with the turdy ones. Like, a few actual Godiva truffles mixed in with those Godiva “gems” you can buy at CVS that are pretty sucky and disappointing. But do you really want to suffer through all that crappy chocolate, those assaults on your taste buds, before getting to the deliciousness? Does anyone relate to this reference, or even understand it? No? Well, that’s okay. My point is this: no. No, you do not want to suffer through crap just for the chance you’ll see something good.
BRMC no longer stands for “Black Rebel Motorcycle Club”. After their amazing show at Trees in Dallas, TX, last Sunday night, it now stands for “Badass Rockin’ Mind-Blowing Concert”. In other words, my new drug. Their concert was so good, it felt like what I imagine cult members think they’re gonna feel like after they drink the Kool-Aid.
When I woke up on Monday morning, the whole night felt really surreal, like a meth-head dream. I’ve never smoked meth though, so I have no idea what that feels like. The surrealism of the night before makes me think BRMC concerts are drugs in and of themselves, only better since they’re less likely to kill you. I’ve only been to two of their shows, and now attending more is an absolute necessity. In March earlier this year, they came to the House of Blues in Dallas, and the show was good, but Sunday night’s was way better. This was either because Robert Levon Been was on fire, or because this time around, there weren’t any douchebags asking for a tangerine to the face.
There was blood everywhere, and tears in her eyes.
God, that sounds like the chorus to a Hawthorne Heights song.
I didn’t mean to punch Shelby Waters in the face. I didn’t mean to break her nose. I didn’t even know I could break noses. I couldn’t even snap a pencil in two, which was pretty embarrassing when I tried in front of my sister, then the next day she told her whole second grade class.
Maybe I should back up.
I’ve been balls-to-the-wall in love with Shelby Waters for two years, ever since she transferred to my high school and lent me a pencil during sophomore year English. She smiled at me, and that was it. It was all over. I’ve never been able to look at another girl. I think I still have it. The pencil, I mean. It’s pink. Don’t tell her, though, ‘cause I don’t want her to think I’m a stalker. I’m not a stalker. I mean, I stare at her a lot, but I don’t wait outside her house in the rain dressed like the Unabomber.