Far Too Long

Y’all.  By my calculation, the last time I saw Yarn was last August.  August.  How did that happen?  I think there was a conflicting show when I had Other Tickets, and a show on someone’s birthday when I ended up at Neptune’s instead- and do you know how much I have to love you to show up at Neptune’s? and, well, things have been busy.

The August show was great.  I know it was great.  I don’t remember any details, not because of excessive consumption of any kind, but because I’d be hard-pressed to name a time in the last decade when I felt more shattered, fragile, and lost than I did last August. That weekend on the farm, with Yarn and fresh air and that swing in the tree at sunset, was the first step towards putting things back together, so that now I remember even less about being fragile than I do about the show that night.  I remember that I crawled into bed early, because I had not one bit of stamina left in me, and that Yarn sang me to sleep, and I loved it.

Tonight was different.  Tonight, I remembered why I fell in love with Yarn in the first place.  Audrey and I caught a show at Motorco a couple of years ago, and I was just plain gobsmacked at how good an alt country band from Brooklyn could sound.  The first and only hangover I’ve ever had was at my second Yarn show, when they did three sets at the Pour House and wedged a whole Grateful Dead set into the middle.  That may be in my top five shows of all times. That may also be the pirate rum from Barbados we all shared that night talking. But I don’t think so. I think it was really that good.

I’ve seen Yarn a whole bunch of other times, and always had a good time, but tonight- tonight was above and beyond.  For starters, since the concert got moved indoors, there were eleventy billion people in Deep South.  Exactly.

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Funk is really not my thing, but if I hadn’t accidentally shown up early enough to hear Chit Nasty (y’all, I saw things I can’t un-see, up on that stage tonight)  then I wouldn’t have gotten in for Yarn.  Deep South was over capacity.

Some of my friends I found, and some of my friends I couldn’t get near, but that was fine.  I made new ones. One guy I was standing next to was an Oak City 7 sponsor, and huge Yarn fan.  He’s good friends with one of my bosses, who was standing waaaaay in the back.  Another guy next to me is having Yarn play at his wedding party.  I met him after I climbed up on the hospitality table in the corner.  (I only did that because it got so crowded I suddenly found there were breasts all over me.  Seriously.  I stood my ground at first, and finally turned to look, horrified, at the girl and her boyfriend who were grinding on me.  Never, in my worst-behaved music crowd, have I had breasts all over me.  Groping, stumbling, loudness, slam-dancing, idiocy, yes.  But breasts are beyond the pale.  She said to me as if I were the one being unreasonable, “It’s fine.  REALLY.”

Let me speak for all of us when I say, That is Not Fine.  Keep those to yourself.  Seriously.

I tapped Oak City 7 sponsor on the shoulder and asked if he wanted to trade places with me, since he had already made a joke to me about shirtless Chit Nasty guy. I thought he might enjoy the breast situation a whole lot more than I did. He took one good look at the scene behind me.

“I do not want to trade,” he said.  “Good luck with all of that.”

That’s when I scooched over to the corner and made space on the hospitality table, and made a bunch of friends.  I had a huge time.  Because, you know.  YARN.

Here they are doing “Abiline.”  That’s not my official favorite- I still reserve that spot for “Listen Up, Sweetheart,” because that’s the first song of theirs I loved- but “Abilene” tears me up.  Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to fall in love with a place, or maybe because they always sing that one like they really, really mean it, but although I generally have a low tolerance for extended jams of any kind, I will endorse a 45 minute version of “Abilene,” any day of the week. An hour, even.  Play on.

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They went on and on, long past midnight, and I finally slipped out the back door because I love to leave on a high note, and also I was worried that Dawg had missed me.  He had not, because I had given him a marrow bone the size of his head, and he was pretty happy with that.  Other than some tail wagging, he barely noticed when I came in.

It’s been kind of a lousy week, thus far.  A series of small catastrophes, some predictable, some not.  Thus far, all have turned out better than expected.  But, you know.  Rainy humid midsummer doldrum kind of a week.  And then: Yarn.

Thanks, y’all.  I didn’t know how badly I needed that.

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