Journeys of Jack Tripper

So thatsmyjew rings me at like 5:00pm needing a ride to the Hot Hot Heat concert. I really don't want to go, considering how I've only listened to their records a few times, but I relent and quickly shower and head out the door, wondering if the long-sleeved navy shirt and bluejeans with shitkickers are the right ensemble for a show at the State Theatre. I head to Carrollwood, pick Jackie up, and we make our way through sparse traffic to downtown St. Pete. The doors are scheduled to open at 7, but it's 7:15 and the line isn't moving. Then we're told we're in the wrong line to begin with, so we trudge down the street and park ourselves in front of one of St. Petersburg's many vintage stores. This one has two ancient Singer sewing machines priced at like $5,000 each. It's no wonder they have a thick coat of dust indicating their having been on sale for quite some time.

We wait.

This teenaged kid in a pink t-shirt with the word "VIRUS" written on front rides past on a 1970s-style women's bike, back and forth, ten times. He's doing this bizarre dance with his fists while he rides by. At some point he just stops riding the bike and leaves it in the middle of the street. We're thankful for the entertainment, as it's becoming more and more clear that we aren't getting into this place. The doormen keep saying, "Sold out." Meanwhile, my bladder is about to explode. I run across the street to this dive bar where I buy a Coors Light that lasted about as long as it took me to relieve myself. "Light My Fire" blasts from the jukebox as four men prepare to play darts; one of them is far too excited and keeps yelling, "DOUBLE IN, DOUBLE OUT!"

I go back across the street, stand in line another 20 minutes, and finally get into the club.

We enter just in time to see the last song of the opening-opening act, World Leader Pretend whom as far as I can tell sound nothing like R.E.M. from whom they got their name. They do have some showmanship, though. I get a beer and start observing.

Faithful readers of the Journeys of Jack Tripper (that's the name of this LJ, kids) know I often lament the male/female ratio at the various venues I tend to populate. Well, I can shut the fuck up now. It's easily 75% women at the State Theatre. Half are scenesters; half are wearing black plastic emo glasses. I am a big fan of the black plastic emo glasses.

The place is packed tight and hot as hell. The State Theatre's a small place; it's laid out almost exactly like First Run w/a balcony (never minding that only thechuck_2112 will know what that means) ... that is to say, short stage, boxed-in dancing area in front of it, etc. thatsmyjew and I get beers and head up to the balcony to watch the second act, Eisley. I've never heard of this band, either, but they're so good we go back down to the floor so I can see them more closely. The lead singer has short blonde hair and an Apple sticker on her giant Rickenbacker guitar. The other lead singer has long brown hair that covers her face as she moans, mumbles, and plays a Rhodes piano in the middle of the stage. The lead guitarist is the hottest one, also a blonde. Two guys play bass and drums behind them and nobody really notices them.

Anyway, Eisley reminds me of the old band Star 69 which no one remembers. They rock out, I have a good time, and they're hot.

Jackie and I push our way near the front after their set to get up close to Hot Hot Heat. I'm somewhat uncomfortable with this. I don't like being up front for bands whose songs I don't know well. It's embarassing to have a lead singer looking at you and you just sort of stare back and chew your gum. But, considering how she's five feet tall, it's good for us to be up close. Two cute girls stand in front of us, and everyone starts filing in behind, careful to avoid the pile of vomit in the center of the floor. We're in the center of the theatre, about six "rows" back.

A group of very large, very loud people fill in behind me. This one woman begins grabbing my ass. She was large, black, and had several pieces of metal in her face in locations I had never previously seen as piercing choices. I shuffle forward to avoid her unwelcome advances. Of course, if she'd been a brunette with black plastic emo glasses, it would have been a different story.

After an hour or so, Hot Hot Heat takes the stage. A giant sign behind them is revealed: it reads "Hot Hot Heat." I've never understood why bands have giant signs or displays with their names on them at their own concerts. It's not like you're going to forget which band you came to see. However, I decided that in this case the sign was appropriate. After all, you might walk in and hear the music and think you might be watching Franz Ferdinand or the Killers so the sign is a helpful navigational device.

It's about 100 degrees and 1,000 of us are smashed into the place like the proverbial sardines. Hot Hot Heat melts my face off. Lead singer Steve Bays has on far too many clothes for the heat, but, then, maybe that's why the band's name is HOT HOT HEAT. He's surprised by the crowd; this is the first time they've played in St. Pete. Well, I'm not surprised. No decent bands ever come here.

He loses more and more clothes as the night goes on. The show is solid, tight, and a real rock n roll concert. The lighting, the stage, Bays' antics, everything. Hays is a true rock star. He demands every ounce of your attention, and is really the closest living thing to Freddie Mercury I've ever seen. Also, I discovered I knew quite a few of their songs. These guys are all over the radio.

Halfway through the show, Bays announces "This song is called Bandages" and the crowd goes nuts. Bandages is, of course, their big hit, and when the song hits the chorus, a massive mosh pit breaks out. I'm thrown into the cute brunette in the red tank top dancing in front of me, and then against the woman who keeps grabbing my ass, back and forth. It's odd, because while most of the people around me are small women, the people engineering the whole slam are great big football player types. As the pit grows in ferocity, I begin to feel the flow of adrenaline that accompanied my old participation in slams. I loved that feeling of being thrown around in all directions, and the randomness of it all. I'm digging it, but worried for the girls around me, which I guess is either very feminist or very misogynistic of me.

The song ends and it turns out to be the last evidence of moshing there would be for the evening. Hot Hot Heat continues to melt my face off with a loud, hot, noisy rock concert, the likes of which you just aren't seeing much of these days. Why this band is playing a tiny club but the Killers are playing the Sun Dome is beyond me. I cannot fathom the Killers being a better performance than Hot Hot Heat.

The night ends on "Goodnight, goodnight" followed by an encore capped with "Running out of time" which i find clever. Both great songs and ones I know pretty well. I am soaked in sweat and my ears ring with the slight tinnitus a good rock concert leaves you with. We filter out, and after grabbing some merch we head back to thatsmyjew's place. I drop her off, and head to the L.A. Hangout.