Thursday, March 25, 2010
Everything was filthy. The festival was in a giant dirt bowl. It was 95 degrees Fahrenheit and humid. There was a hot wind blowing. Everything was dirty and dusty. It had been a long day. There had been an art opening the night before for some of my new work, and I had gotten drunk. Then we had woken up at 6am to drive here. We’d been at the festival since noon. I wasn’t complaining. It’d been fun. It’d been good. During the evening, about 7pm, Interpol was playing. They were good. They sounded exactly like Joy Division, and they were nearly headlining this huge festival. Joy Division never could have played this festival. Interpol’s good though. There’s nothing wrong with resembling your influences. It’s not like Joy Division are around anymore, anyway. And you can’t blame Interpol for having fans. They make good music. There’s nothing wrong with that. As they started playing, the sun was descending. Right on queue, it started raining. The effect was beautiful and improved the experience further. The world cooled, and the dust in the air was weighed down by the moisture. I wasn't drunk. I hadn’t had a drink. There was a group of people in front of us who had clearly had more than a few. They looked like they were in their late 20s, all trashed, and seemingly dancing to music with a totally different beat than the music that I was hearing. Their group was comprised of three girls and one guy. All of the girls looked good, but one looked especially good. The guy looked like he could really fuck you up. He was about 5’ 10, and probably 240lbs. Frat boy attire. He didn’t look especially aggressive, just like he lifted substantially heavier than me. Regardless, it seemed like he was an extremely friendly drunk. I could identify with that. He was waving around a camera. Each time he got all three of the girls together to take a crooked, pseudo-suggestive picture with him, he double hi-fived everybody around him. They must have taken no less than a hundred pictures during the band’s set. We stood far enough back that we were left alone. He primarily danced with two of the three girls. The exceptionally beautiful one rarely interacted with him. She mostly kept to herself, and was clearly in better sync with the beat than her friends. She was tall and lean, blond, blue-eyed, and had a Cheshire cat smile. She was wearing very short running shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top, barefoot. Apparently she had known it would be a dusty, dirty event, and thus hadn’t dressed up. She was a gorgeous thing to watch. Her dancing and the rain both enhanced the experience.