EVERYBODY knows real shows happen at outdoor venues. Take Woodstock for example, those guys knew what they were doing. There’s a reason why festivals like Woodstock, Live Aid, and Glastonbury are still remembered while the house show I went to last week isn’t: It’s because they were outside. No one would give a rat’s ass about Woodstock ‘94 if there hadn’t been all that mud–And getting all that shit indoors would’ve been a logistical nightmare. Taking in the scenery and being one with nature is the only way to experience live music. You wanna know why?
If the show is outside, I can smoke as many cigarettes as I want. You know how many cigarettes I can smoke inside? Fucking zero. Do you know how many times I’ve been shit on by a bird or stepped in some other animal feces at an indoor show? Not zero but the number is a hell of a lot less than outside. The only way to rectify my local scene is to do what all these venues are too scared to do: literally blow the roof off of the place.
In fact, I’ve already started. I was removing one ceiling tile every night at my local dive bar, since they don’t have the money to replace them. However, about two weeks in, someone saw me adding to my stash of tiles in the trunk of my car and I got banned. So, then I started taking a more efficient approach and broke the skylight at a house show. That still wasn’t enough for me though–-So I got my buddy and a hammer and we just went fucking crazy on the roof.
Surprisingly, people were not pleased to find the show now taking place in a venue without a roof. Don’t they know anything about culture? Fucking posers. Because of this, I had to get out of there–and fast. I skipped town that night and haven’t looked back, despite my landlord demanding I still pay rent as if I’m not on the run.
It’s fine though–Once I gain enough trust in my new city’s scene I’ll be able to get right back to my plan.