Cosmonaut, or Transatlantic Foe, possibly

As a tremendous music fan, it probably goes without saying that the live music experience trumps all else. In fact, using the phrase "it goes without saying" shouldn't be said, because it's redundant and annoying. But it's already happened, so we're moving on. For how amazing the live music experience is, however, there can be times when it's still a little less-than-remarkable. I remember, for example, going to see Cat Power play in Seattle. I've gotten the impression since then that it was during a time when she was struggling with some things, including a little too much drinking, I believe, so I suppose that can account for some of it. Some of it could also be accounted for by the fact that she was playing music from The Greatest, which, incidentally, is not the greatest album of hers, in my opinion. At any rate, it was a disappointing show, and I left after what I assumed was about half of it having been completed.

The other end of the spectrum to me aren't truly amazing shows, though, it's the truly amazing moments. There are indescribable instances of time during live shows which feel like peaking on ecstasy, for anyone who can relate to that. It's this moment where you temporarily forget that you're in your body, when you think maybe you've missed the previous minute or so, when you feel like you're being hoisted up by your armpits, and when the cliched hair stands up a little on your cliched neck. It's usually an eruption or an explosion of some kind, a moment when you finally feel absolutely present, and it's the sort of thing that solidified for me the need to never do drugs ever again. It happened whenever I saw the Dismemberment Plan play, and they played the song "The City". The music builds at the end of the first verse, and then goes into a repeated guitar jangle as the synthesizer sustains and hums in the background, the drums temporarily cease, and Travis holds onto the word "gone"... and then it crashes back in, all at once, and it feels like letting your breath out again, and I remember that the lights would flash at that moment (if they had lights at the show), and everyone would kind of let loose at the same time, and you could almost feel the floor give a little (when they played at the Southgate House). There was a comparable moment during "What Do You Want Me To Say", but for me, the night always cracked open with "The City". I'd usually even tear up a little bit, because that sort of musical moment does that to me.

Something similar happened when I saw Los Campesinos play, and they'd perform "You, Me, Dancing". Like "The City", it's probably one of their better-known songs, and one almost everyone anticipates hearing before the night is over, and the band usually slots it into the evening accordingly. And I think that mass anticipation has a lot to do with the energy that persists throughout the crowd, and that always touches me. Also like "The City", the moment of that song comes from a lot of build-up. For being a little over 6 minutes long (on album), a little over the first minute is just all instrumental build-up. Live, it feels even more infuriating, and I'm sure that they ad-lib to draw it out even more. Almost a minute is just a steady guitar strum, gradually building in amplitude, and then some other eager noise, and then finally, like the release of a sneeze or an orgasm, the kick drum signifies that the song has really begun. Incidentally, that's the moment that got me the most, but in all actuality, there's another summit to the build-up just a little while later when the xylophone (yes, xylophone - trust me, it works) and violin kick in, and then you really feel like something has washed over you.

I know that I've experienced that sort of euphoria on other occasions, usually when seeing some band that I never held in any sort of remarkable esteem, and who then really knock me for a loop by playing some song that I never realized I wanted to hear so much, or performing in a way that I never really expected. I think of Pulp, starting off with "Do You Remember the First Time?", or Cursive actually playing "The Radiator Hums", or when Sunny Day Real Estate played "48" and I literally wept a little bit.

This idea extends beyond the live experience, however, even though it certainly has its pinnacle there. There are songs and moments within songs that give me the shivers or cause a visceral reaction that I'm also somewhat addicted to. For example, at the beginning of "Tired of Sex", by Weezer, on Pinkerton, just before the song really takes off, Rivers Cuomo sing/screams "woo" in this strangled, hurt kind of way, and that really just sets the tone for the rest of the album for me. I have a pretty low-quality version of At the Drive-in's Relationship of Command, which is a result of my cd being pretty beat up before I ripped it to my computer. And it's really a shame, because the only song that I really notice it on has one of those moments as well - the song "Cosmonaut". It's about 30 seconds from the end, and it sounds like Cedric has some sort of moment where he loses all ability to contain his manic frustration or something. It's some sort of extemporaneous yelping that just always gives me chills, because I can almost picture him just bouncing around, in some sort of combination of glee and rage and confusion and sadness.

And I'm not sure what came first - noticing that instance in that song, and becoming obsessed with seeing At the Drive-in play live, or being obsessed with ATDI, and being more attuned to their music, and picking up on that moment as a result. Either way, I was ready to see them play at Bogart's, in Cincinnati, in April 2001. They were coming back from Australia and Europe, and had a huge tour planned that for some reason was going to take them through Cincinnati. And then, they ended. And, like the Smiths, I'd surmised enough about their break-up and the people involved to assume that I would never have a chance to see them play live ever again. I watched grainy, lo-fi videos on YouTube. I played their songs on Guitar Hero. I almost talked myself into seeing the Mars Volta one time. I told somebody they were an idiot when they said that Sparta was even better than ATDI. I coped, and found other nice things, like Los Campesinos. But then the word came out. They're back. And for now, it's just twitter traffic, and passive pleasantries, but I feel way too good about this, and I have some twisted notion that 11 years later, I'm going to be able to go see them play and rock out the same way I would have back in 2001. If only.