Location: Mississippi Studios.
I bought myself a drink, brought it into the studio, walked into a throng of extremely tall, thin bespectacled people whose gender could not be told by their hair length or body shape but could be told by whether their clothes came from Anthropologie and the severity of their lipstick. I may not be ready for a photo shoot at the drop of a hat, but I spend way less money on clothes and enjoy way more food.
Unfamiliar as I was with the band playing, I was compelled into an increasingly strange round robin with a nice gentleman who introduced himself and asked how I knew of the band? I said I was unfamiliar with the band. Oh, did I come with friends? No, I came alone. Why was I here alone without knowing the band? Was I with coworkers? No, I just decided to come. But I didn’t know the band? No, I just wanted to have an evening of music. So…I was traveling “without a wolf pack?” Yes, I said, that’s it exactly. I’m a lone wolf.
Ernie, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry I didn’t take you up on a drink after the concert - you were very nice and gentlemanly and I did enjoy talking with you. You were right: despite their heartfelt pretension, I did end up enjoying the music, as I too secretly love music that is one hipster-notoriety rung from scoring the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy.