So yeah... the Queens of the Stone Age concert...
Man, what a fucking trip.
It was Dec. 9--on a fucking SUNDAY, OKAY??--and at the McCallum Theatre in Palm Desert. This tripped me out for a few reasons. First of all, when I was growing up in the desert, the McCallum was the beautiful, old but lovingly restored theater where acts like Wayne Newton and the Nutcracker would come perform every year. For you Maui folks, it's akin to the Castle Theater--only a bit more aged, I would say. At the Castle, we mostly had acts that our aging hippie parents would enjoy. At the McCallum, it was our aging hippie parents' conservative parents who'd don their mink stoles and venture out for the night.
Okay, so also when I was a young, nubile Palm Springs scenester in the late '80s/early '90s, the progenitor of QOTSA was a band called Kyuss who, along with the dudes from Fatso Jetson and Eagles of Death Metal (who opened for QOTSA's Dec. 9 show) and a multitude of other "stoner" or "desert"-hard rock bands, would perform nearly every weekend in the middle of the desert (when there was A LOT more desert to spread out in, of course) at an old abandoned nudist colony, powered by generators. And they played there because a lot of the musicians or their girlfriends and most of their friends were underage and had no venue, other than a weak all-ages dance club that was in existence for about 30 seconds. But also, there was no way any adult club or venue in the desert was gonna let a bunch of long-haired, leather-wearing, amp-blowing kids into their joint, much less on their stages.
And the other thing? Kyuss was not necessarily the best band of the bunch. I do distinctly remember making fun of them, in fact, because they took themselves SO seriously. Naturally, the joke ended up being on us eventually anyway, as that kind of rockstar-earnestness paid back the Sons of Kyuss--and ultimately, QOTSA--a cool few million-fold in record sales and recognition. And oh, I am definitely a fan--and it's not for sentimental reasons, they are just really fucking good.
Okay. So now, here it is, nearly 20 years later... and the QOTSA (formerly wayward, hack-rock, generator-party playing Kyuss) is headlining a rock (and not just ROCK, but HEAVY, HARD, DEVILISHLY DELICIOUS rock) show at our grandmothers' venue, the McCallum Theatre. Yes, I know, I know--this should be a GOOD thing, right? Finally, the hometown validation, yeah? The Man, at long last, has succombed to what we've been trying to express all these many, angst-filled, desert-voided years, and our colleagues have made it bigtime. Fan-fucking-tastic, right??
This is where I am attacked by strange feelings of guilt and depression. Because when I show up for the concert, I see old people. Lots and lots of old people. Only, the thing is, they're my age.
And they're excited because most of them haven't gone out in nearly 20 years, and have kids now about the age they were when they were going to shows, and they've brought earplugs, and have maybe a little less hair but a few extra pounds, which sneaks out of the waistline of their jeans and dusty old leather jackets they uncovered at the bottom of their storage closets, next to their kids' dilapidated XBoxes and soccer uniforms.
Me? I was drunk, you see, because I knew subconsciously that this was gonna happen. So I downed a few whiskeys at the dive bar around the corner, and I slapped on some lipstick and zipped up my boots and slipped wide-eyed and tentatively into the Theatre. I immediately spotted a couple girls I went to high school with, and said hello as they looked me up and down and scurried away. I also turned and found myself face-to-face with an old boyfriend. Okay, I'll be honest--he was not so much a "boyfriend" as he was somebody I slept with on occasion, because he was a few years older and to me, more experienced and worldly. And it was strange because, in my mind, he was this larger-than-life character, somebody I'd always felt intimidated by because he was older and (I thought) infinitely cooler than dorky ol' me. And yet when I saw him again, 20 years later, when I was staring him straight in the bespectacled eye, he seemed rather small. And old.
And I think I might've said something to that effect to him. Awful, eh? He flinched.
"Well, you've aged well," he said, and slipped me his card. "Call me!"
Now I was feeling dizzy and sick so I decided to find my seat, which was box-side so I had a great view of the stage and the rest of the audience. Fatso Jetson, headed by the Lalli Brothers, were awesome, but I was dumbfounded by the experience of seeing them up on this particular stage and looking out at the crowd, all of whom were SITTING, mostly because they had to (again, think CASTLE THEATER) but also because they were OLD.
I was momentarily brought out of my addled reverie by the Eagles of Death Metal, fronted by Jesse Huges, who I don't really remember from back in the day but who I know was a part of the scene along with everybody else. And he RAWKED the stage; it was a really fun show. I actually got the sense that it was just as much of a trip for him to be there as it was for us to see him up there. And that was oddly comforting.
But then Josh Homme and QOTSA were on, and I was back to being disoriented and disturbed. He also put on a great show; the band was tight, the riffs were appropriately intense and wailing, his voice was on point--at once melodic, mournful, playful, sinister and full of swagger. It was just kinda weird. I mean, there was some disconnect there, like something missing. I think it sounds a bit contrite or cliche to say this but, it felt soul-less somehow.
When it was all over, I ran back to the dive bar for another whiskey cleanse but ran into someone else who I used to have a huge, big, gigantic crush on, who was also someone I let intimidate me (how was I so unbelievably shy??) and who, now, looks just, I dunno, human. I took great pleasure in saying hi to him, because it didn't matter anymore, and I would no longer agonize over him with my girlfriends or beat myself up at what I did or didn't say, and you know what? I think it was disappointing for him, too, to not see the fear and adulation in my eyes.
UGh. Weirdness.
Anyway... that was probably the most depressing--and yet, fun, too--night I've had by myself in the desert since I've been back, but also I think a turning point in how I feel about being here. If I could pull it off, in order to continue fulltime employment as a journalist at the Gannett daily newspaper. Sure, it could be good for my career, but I think after this night, and all the rest, I'm thinking it's time to head back to the city, where I left my heart, and where I could replenish my battered, old, dried-up desert spirit.
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