I've been listening to Turisas new album on repeat since its release several weeks ago; it's good metal for me, folksy and sultry and fun.
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In wintertime, Josh and I saw the band in concert here in the city.
I was nervous beforehand.
I wore a flowered skirt and muddy colours: pea green, umber, black. I had fresh black hair and doc martens on and I wondered, fleetingly, if I looked too mean for the mainstream (contrary to the teenage me, who had perpetually scowled and used black to keep others at a distance). When we arrived, I peered cautiously around at the other girls in ripped jeans and band ts and safety pins and realized that I was a cupcake. It was an interesting moment; good things.
I was surprised by how much I'd enjoyed the show: the loud pounding drums and electricity of being bumped into by strangers. I had warmed up to the scene.
In wintertime, Josh and I saw the band in concert here in the city.
I was nervous beforehand.
I wore a flowered skirt and muddy colours: pea green, umber, black. I had fresh black hair and doc martens on and I wondered, fleetingly, if I looked too mean for the mainstream (contrary to the teenage me, who had perpetually scowled and used black to keep others at a distance). When we arrived, I peered cautiously around at the other girls in ripped jeans and band ts and safety pins and realized that I was a cupcake. It was an interesting moment; good things.
I was surprised by how much I'd enjoyed the show: the loud pounding drums and electricity of being bumped into by strangers. I had warmed up to the scene.
When the encore began, I was standing alone near the front corner of the stage; they were playing my favourite song, the one I'd been waiting for all night (ra,ra).
Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder from behind; I was clasped by a piggy boy in a denim vest as he wrenched me out of his way and rushed the stage. He flung his pink arms around an amp as I felt awkwardness drip over me. The sight of his curtain of blonde hair thrashing as he tilted his head back to be hit full in the face by sound sickened me. I would have gladly moved, if he had only asked.
Suddenly, there was a hand on my shoulder from behind; I was clasped by a piggy boy in a denim vest as he wrenched me out of his way and rushed the stage. He flung his pink arms around an amp as I felt awkwardness drip over me. The sight of his curtain of blonde hair thrashing as he tilted his head back to be hit full in the face by sound sickened me. I would have gladly moved, if he had only asked.
There's no room for etiquette in places like that, I later learned. There's no room for people like me, polite and empathetic.
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I'd rather look mean and be kind, than look nice and be terrible inside.
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