words. The band were yelling the whole time, the drummer was fat and sweaty, the riffs were perfect and propulsive, the solos gloriously cheesy, the kind of tongueout, front-stage-knee-sliders that got Dewey Finn kicked out of his band in School of Rock. Needless to say, the crowd is going ape-shit to the call and response shouting the band is orchestrating, the impossibly high tempo, these guitars just hitting so hard. I’ll just say my world was rocked and leave it at that. There is an after show. Diarrhea Planet is playing there. This house seems a little less crowded but only because there are more rooms for everybody to be in. I’m still recognizing people. The show is in the basement, which probably shouldn’t be holding house shows. The ceiling is about six feet high and there’s quite a lot of exposed fiber glass raining down on this stuffed crowd. This is extremely dangerous. There are way too many people in a tiny space and it’s super hot and there’s not a lot of air in here. Diarrhea Planet starts playing after getting the crowd to take a few steps back and it’s awesome (see above). The crowd is swaying emphatically and people are still trying to crowd surf even though they’re cutting their noses on the ceiling and inhaling a lot more fiber glass than they’re supposed to. They play “Born to Run” and that’s just incredible and the whole crowd is screaming and hugging and shaking their fists because these are all “born to run” kids, washups and burn-outs, over-educated thirty year olds who never “made anything of their lives,” and people who have never felt comfortable anywhere. But now they’re yelling and none of that shit matters because they’re all together and by now people are learning names and making out in the back before they go out on the porch to talk about their lives and during this song it really seems like Macrock is happening, you know, like it’s hitting its climax and the fiber glass is raining down like fireworks and twinkling in my eyes, not burning them, and everybody is united under positive energy and glory and Bruce Springsteen, and I stop moving for a second and just stand still and stare into people’s backs, arms clutched around adjacent, once foreign now familial shoulders, and I feel like this all matters a lot, like we are really a “we.” Maybe I was just drunk, but that was a really sweet cover. I went home and lay down on that disgusting couch and took a really deep inhale and smelled sweat and beer and cigarettes and weed, but I heard rock and roll. I spent the next three days in a daze of exhaustion and I thought about how I didn’t even see that band Dads whose set was apparently mind-blowing. I didn’t even steal anything or do anything crazy or see the de facto festival headliner, Waxahatchee. But I still slept soundly for three days straight because it’s impossible to go to Macrock without going to Macrock. 19
WCWM 90.9-FM's semesterly music journal, featuring concert write ups, album reviews, and more.