On Thursday night I dragged James to see Toad the Wet Sprocket at the Gallivan Center. I like Toad, but it was one of those experiences that just made me feel a bit old and a bit of a dork. James, I think, was bored out of his mind, even though he made no comment in support of boredom or the opposite. He just made no comments . . . adding to my feelings of total dorkdom.
My sister and I saw Toad when I was still in high school. They played at Abravanel Hall, barefoot, standing on rugs. It sounded excellent! I have seen Glen Phillips alone a couple of times (at different ends of Bricks, In the Venue, whatever else it is called), with Nickel Creek once (at the amazing, but no longer Zephyr Club), and with the Works Progress Administration (at the State Room). I think I also saw Toad on their first reunion tour (also at In the Venue). They're okay, but I have enjoyed Glen Phillips alone and with other artists more.
This one was pretty uneventful. I've never actually paid money to see a show at the Gallivan Center and well, its nothing to write home about (does writing on a blog count as "writing home?"). It's kind of cool to see a show in the middle of big buildings,
but that's about it for the positive. There is a big concrete wall behind the audience as you stand and watch the performance (I think the wall actually houses the restrooms). All of the sound kind of claps against that building and falls harshly back towards your ears. The vocals echo. The bass drum sounds like clanging a metal can. I wasn't impressed.
I know my sister has sworn off concert going in her old age, and this one made me think that maybe I should too, even though I don't want to. I'm just not cool anymore. Oh wait, was I ever? Probably not. I'll never miss a Guster show and I won't swear off concert going all toghether, but it just doesn't have the appeal and excitement that it used to. That's ok. I think I'm content with that.
I did have fun changing my cool cell phone pictures into strange colors.
