By the title of this post, you might think I'm about to write a bad review of the Lee Scratch Perry show I saw with Chris, Bill, and Erika last night at the Independent:
I'm really just here to share my observations. If you don't know who Lee "Scratch" Perry is, this interview will be enlightening. It provides insight, if not an actual excuse, as to why he thought he could get away with that outfit.
First impression of the evening: The amount of weed, smoke and the smoking of weed in the club was obscene. It comforted me at first, but as the evening progressed, the undergrad contingent in the club got bigger and tweakier. I witnessed some odd territorial behavior from the women and uncomfortable glaring from the men - frat boys, ladies and gentlemen, a species I barely recognize in the wild because I've never had to deal with them. Might they have smoked and drank more than their share? Lucky for me, I do have some experience avoiding interaction with aggressive drunks. I have great peripheral vision for noticing the drunken leer. I hold my ground, don't return eye contact, and don't acknowledge anyone I don't want to talk to. It's a bitchy move, but it works great. (The unfocused kung fu eye thing can be helpful in situations like this.)
The time between sets didn't help. Dub is a Weapon (whom I'd love to see again) played by themselves first, and then with Perry. No equipment had to be broken down or set up between sets, but we were still forced to wait over an hour (?) for The Mighty Upsetter to grace us with his presence. Chris, of course, couldn't take it, and headed for the door before the set started. Luckily, he only had to make it as far as a reasonably unobtrusive spot under an AC vent where he could stand and enjoy the show more comfortably. It was here where he had his epiphany during Perry's set, "I'm bored. You're boring. This is boring." He told me this, but still claims that he really enjoyed the show.
I, however, stayed with Bill and Erika, where I endured both an uncomfortable exchange involving an ownerless joint as well as an hilarious incident involving my beer and some high maintenance dreadlocks. We had fun making fun. If Erika were a betting woman, she could have won a few bucks, as well. As Mr. Perry completed a song about piss and proceeded to 'respect the pussy' in his next number, Erika contended that he had only to sing about cock and shit next to complete his series. Lo and behold, the cock talk followed quickly thereafter. There was no shit, however, unless you want to count the 'rubadubadub-scrubadubadub' scat he managed to drop into every single song. Everytime I heard it, I was snapped out of my groove and felt the same sentiment expressed so concisely by Chris in the title of this post.
Apparently, San Francisco is the last stop on the tour. They have a second show at the Independent tonight. Rather than let you be swayed so heavily by my own personal experience of the show, I'd recommend you check the clip from SXSW. You can see the good stuff for yourselves and decide whether or not you want to check it out live and in person:
