DeadMau5 last spring with my daughter. I've never seen anything like it, beautiful and made me cry in some points.

I actually wrote a review for it...

The Dickies
Karman Bar
February 11, 2017

Deep in the OC, at a shitty bar in a semi-industrial complex next to a church, a punk rock show is happening. It seems a normal shitty bar at first, but as the night wears on it becomes apparent that they're stuck in a different time—a time I'd rather not experience again. Everyone here is white. The men sporting shaved heads outnumber those that don't. Some are shaved because of age (like mine), but the others, well, let's just say the racism is so thick you can cut it with a knife. No one is being overtly racist, but you can feel it.

First up is a band called The Infirmities. The singer's got a spiked Mohawk, a vest made out of patches, and is generally a copy of every cookie cutter crust punk from the mid/late 90s. Their music—once you get past the Christian overtones and preaching—is decent, but nothing special.

Second to take the stage is Duct Tape Hostage. Very reminiscent of SoCal punk rock of the mid 90s, and with good reason; they're all in their 40s. The music is good enough, and gives me flashbacks, both good and bad, to my youth. It's energetic, and verges on making an old fogie like me want to jump in the pit and throw some elbows, but something is missing. Can't really put my finger on it, but there is something that just isn't there.

Third up, The Subjectors. Like the bands before them, a decent sound, but nothing to write home about. Their instruments are tuned and they have good timing, but not much else to say. While these guys were playing, I noticed a few people that were not white. There are now a couple of Hispanic men and an Asian woman amongst everyone else. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions about the racism here. Oh, they're covering Black Flag's White Minority in an unironic fashion? Racism confirmed!

Shortly after their set, I noticed a young woman with a shaved head and an american front tattoo on her scalp. Remember the american front? Yeah, fuck them. I want to leave. I don't enjoy this type of audience. I'm exceedingly uncomfortable here amongst the Neanderthals. I'd much rather be with my ill lady friend, even if it means I miss the Dickies. But god damn it, this shit needs to be documented. Everyone needs to know this shit is still going on, and not only is it going on, but it's getting stronger under the trumpstapo.

I'm drinking heavily. I'm trying to forget where I am, but mostly who I'm surrounded by. Naturally, the alcohol has the opposite effect. I dwell on this instead and want to weep. California Über Alles plays over the PA, the meaning of which is completely lost on everyone here.

Fourth to take the stage, The Infidelz. Oh, hey. One of the Hispanics I saw earlier works here. The other? He's in this band. He plays the bass. He rips every bit as as hard as Matt Freeman. These guys are melodic, tight as a rat's ass, and so far, a foot stomping good time. Into their third song, it's obvious they are all top quality musicians that deserve to be on stage. Uh-oh, now they're playing a song about "white trash heritage." And now I see a woman with an ss patch on her sleeve and a nazi eagle covering the entire back of her jacket. I walk outside during their set to smoke. Thoughts of fleeing nearly overtake me. I see Dickies guitarist Stan Lee coming in, and am reinvigorated. I'm staying. Fuck these racist fucknuts, and fuck everything about them. I will not let them ruin the Dickies. I came back in. The Infidelz were playing Throwing Rocks At Little Kids. This song somehow completely reinforced me against the idiots present. It was a brilliant rendition of the song and it made me feel invincible. That was short lived though as the singer decided it was a good time to go on a pro-Trump rant. He said that "he wants to build a wall to keep us safe." Did I mention the Hispanic bass player? Irony, thou art cruel indeed.

Up next, Dead Friends. Before they play, I hold out hope. I hope that they are everything I've heard about, and I hope the diversity here increases. It probably won't, but weirder shit has happened, right? These guys are okay I guess. I might be more inclined to like them if they stepped up and said something about the racist fuckwits. But, if I've learned anything about white apathy, I know they won't. If they're not racists, they certainly are doing nothing to prevent it, and that's just the same to me.

I don't even want to be inside right now. I want to punch every person sporting even vaguely racist shit, but I know if I do I will be extremely outnumbered and it won't go well. It sucks so bad it hurts. I step outside for a bit. Adam Gomez, current Dickies drummer, is walking up with some of his gear. He stops and greets me, asking how it's going. I make with the normal niceties, holding in my rage. My night might be spoiled, but I won't have any part in spoiling his. I head back inside. Dead Friends are playing their last song. After it's over, I wander up front to claim my spot near the stage. The Dickies are my all time favorite band to see live. I hope they can turn my night around. If not, I'm sure they'll eliminate my malaise temporarily.

Adam set up his drums himself, trusting in no tech to do it for him. Eddie Tatar was on stage with him, since he's never been one for dramatics. Stan was on stage as well, getting ready for the set. Ben, the newest Dickies member was there, and Leonard, in typical Dickies fashion, was somewhere else, taking an inordinate amount of time to join them on the stage. Does he think he's some sort of rockstar or something? Manic Hispanic's Rudy Cholo blared over the PA. It almost seemed a protest of the white supremacy the evening had previously seemed to foster. I'm starting to feel better. A handful of non-whites are here. I don't feel alone any more. Maybe there's hope after all.

They started with Rosemary. All my fears and misgivings about the folks around me melted away, at least for now. Time seemed to stop and move exceedingly fast all at once as they drove through their set. They played most of the classics and a few tunes rarely heard live. I have no criticisms of the band, and likely never will. The crowd was a disappointment to say the least. They were such a horrible audience that the only calls for more were from me. When the house lights came up and the band turned off their amps, it became apparent that for the first time in my life, I would not see the Dickies do an encore.

As I stepped out the front door I was hit by a welcoming blast of cold air. With it, all the heartache from earlier came flooding back. I was suddenly worried about getting stabbed, beaten, or even mugged. I never feel more scared, more unsafe, more like I'm going to be victimized than when I'm surrounded by large numbers of white people, especially ones that are unequivocally racist.

Paul McCartney.

Jimmy Buffet. It was weird, because it was my only concert every where I was totally sober.

Steven Wilson, the Hand Cannot Erase tour at the Boulder Theater in Boulder, Colorado.

Just saw English Beat in a wonderful local venue. Not as good as when I saw them in '83 and the only original member was the lead singer Dave Wakeling but still excellent. In fact his daughter was singing back-up. Local twin cities band Umbrella Bed opened. They had a french horn in with the horn section!?! Even had a french horn solo. Man I love ska.

Iron Maiden in 1983!!

Chris Thile in Tampa. Incredible...pure genius!

I live fairly close to a venue in Manchester, NH so I have had the opportunity for many concerts. My favorite had to be the Eagles with all of them alive and well 8 years ago. I regret bringing my ex-significant other with me. He misbehaved and we had to leave the concert early. I ended the 10 year on and off relatiionship several months later.

I went to see Twenty One Pilots with my mom for my 21st birthday. Best day I have had in a long time.