The worst part of any vacation is all the way back. A vacation: quite literally an escape from your normal life and the more you let go, the deeper you leave, the harder it is to return. In some cases you don’t completely come back, something changes inside. Sometimes this change is temporary, but sometimes it takes. My body arrived in Key West containing one version of self and left with something closely resembling the person I am now. And I can pinpoint the exact moment that change took place…
Most of the week is a blur, spontaneous images attached to comforts of calm, like most memories. The drive: -anxious- four potential drivers and yet Dave helmed his mom’s mini van straight through the entire 18 hour trip. The campground: -peaceful- a dock, moped, Rob passed out on a dock, keg shells, extinguished coals, steak scavenged from neighbors and uneven ground that slept great. The city: -alive- street corner Aristotle, blankets of sun with shadows of palm, homeless chickens, sunset behind fire eaters, hungry and dark. But this is where things become clear . . .
From the front row I watch Tyson, lead singer of the alternative cover band Poptart Monkeys, fly around stage with contempt for restraint. His 5 foot 8 inch frame launches itself across the platform as he unleashes vocals from an All American Rejects song, “Move Along”. At one point he hurdles the bassist and the girl beside me casually holds up her arms to keep him from face planting off the stage. The song ends and Tyson, unfazed, yells, “The World is a Vampire,” as the band transforms into the Smashing Pumpkins. A few people in the small crowd are bobbing heads and swaying in moderation. Then the chorus hits, Tyson’s mid-air, “Despite all the rage . . .” and I feel it. There’s no other way to put it–I just feel it. All self-awareness evacuates my body and leaves behind raw musical energy. I have no idea how the people around me are reacting to what my friends later describe as, “violent flailing and vicious convulsing.” I thought I was dancing. A transference of energy and liberation of exuberance too ridiculous to display at any other point. I danced in crowded solidarity until the sweat pouring off my forehead exceeded the perspiration accumulated even by Tyson. Eventually the music stopped.
But the momentum continued through the week, through the ride home, and largely through the point I’m at now.
…A year or two ago I noticed PTM was playing less than an hour from my college in Southwest VA (nobody plays out there, nobody) and I immediately called Dave. We decided it would be best not to attend.