I walked toward the entrance of The Pageant, Carefully crossing the street, passing colorful and intriguingly geometric totem poles. There should be a line, right? It was almost 3:30 p.m. and I was about 2 ½ hours early; by The Pageant’s standards, 2 hours early is practically late. I looked around desperately hoping to see a bit of tattooed skin, or at least one person with an AFI t-shirt on. The endless brick wall leading up to the Suite 100 coffee shop remained barren as I hastily made my way to the front doors.
I rounded the corner, swiftly walking past the Suite 100 window that was already littered with black t-shirts in preparation for show-time. I was oddly relived at the sight of a line just outside the Halo Bar doors. It seemed that AFI fans were a bit more seasoned and mature than the teeny-boppers I was used to standing next to at shows like these. I looked back at the line for minors, two young girls lazily sat themselves on the edge of a brick windowsill. I had a feeling this would be a different kind of show, and I was right.
The small line of bodies before me was covered in mostly black cotton with the occasional bits of leather and denim. It was safe to say that there was tattooed skin. These concert-goers put my modified white AFI tank, faux ripped jeans and black high tops to shame. I nervously looked for a spot to place myself as inconspicuously as possible. After walking to what I thought was the end of the line and quickly being shooed away, I found my spot against the brick wall at the real end of the line.
I tried to not let on how out of place I felt. I awkwardly pulled my long brown hair over one shoulder and earnestly twisted and pulled it until I felt some semblance of comfort. Desperately I prayed that someone on the younger end of the spectrum would show up looking as un-edgy as myself and make me feel not so alone. Somehow, though, I found it in me, somewhere past all the self-doubt and loathing, to strike up conversations with the “edgier” people around me. It didn’t seem to matter too much to them that I wasn’t some kind of straight edge punk rock kid; I always have to remember that my anxiety likes to lie to me in these cases.
I am allowed to be here, I reminded myself as rain drops hit the ground. People quickly and delicately, so as not to lose their place in line, moved their way under the cover placed above the doors and the outdoor seating area. The rain left and came back a few times even as we rotated the line around in preparation for entering the Halo Bar. Minutes before we were to be let in, the rain made one last encore, this time with a bang. I felt little pricks of cold rain drops hit my shoulders as I huddled my way toward shelter. Looking behind me I could see miserable and soaking wet faces look back.
my instagram photo of the rain.
Once the security, notable for their light blue polos, opened the doors to the bar, those of us in line trickled our way inside. The line began by the door leading into the actual venue and wrapped its way through the middle of the tables set up near the bar. People made their way to the bar to order drinks possibly to numb the boredom of waiting in line for another half hour or so. Some sneaky individuals walked up to the bar, as if to only grab a few drinks, but decided to take the opportunity to also find a better location in the line. My faced flushed with annoyance but I kept my cool even as angered whispers from behind, “did they just cut?”, begged me to do something more. That is literally all that happened in that span of 40 minutes, other than counting the number of times Rise Against and Thirty Seconds to Mars came over the bar’s speakers (it was about 3 times each).
The Pageant is quite literally made of layers. There’s the “pit” area located in front of the stage. This is where much of the younger crowd chooses to go to dance and beat the crap out of each other. It’s pretty small, maybe holding 100 people or so, and is heavily monitored by a blue polo wearing security guard standing at the top of the railed ramp leading in to the “pit.” There’s the I’m-here-for-a-good-time-but-I’m-too-cool-for-or-too-afraid-of-the-pit section. This one is really two layers of rails and tables and chairs, the higher layer being placed in front of the bar and restricted to the 21 and over crowd. Last but not least, there’s the balcony which probably has the best view but is closed off completely 90 percent of the time. At this particular show it is covered by long black tarps hanging from the ceiling. As soon as I was let inside, I heeded the advice of the people I met in line and quietly found a spot in the “pit” portion of the venue two rows from the stage and skewed a bit to the left. It was perfect.
The first band, Coming, made their way, somewhat awkwardly, to the stage. The lead singer picked up his red and white guitar and began to play. The rest of the band joined him blasting out noisy punk-style riffs. The music had a lot of energy and certainly got a few heads bobbing, but the majority of the audience remained flat throughout the bands performance; some eyes even seemed a bit skeptical. I personally could not get into the bands raw, static and occasionally messy sound, but I put on an optimistic face and gave the band my respect and attention.
Touche Amore, the second and last opener of the night, played with a sound similar to the first band, but improved on it in every way. The guitars were mesmerizing and beautiful, the rhythm was pounding and pulsing and the vocals were aggressive and more than capable of grabbing my full attention. I must point out that this music was, for the most part, not my style, but I found myself enjoying the band’s set. They had what the first band desperately needed: polish and presence.
Finally, AFI was set to hit the stage. I looked at the black backdrop draped behind the band’s instruments with “A Fire Inside” written on it in a simple white font with a strong anticipation that I hadn’t felt in a while. I was out of my element and in it somehow all at once. I felt like a novice standing in a sea of experts, even though I knew better. I’d never seen AFI before and I was more than ready to change that.
The lights went down and the crowd chanted, “Through our bleeding! We are one!” The band took the stage, not in any stylized or dramatic fashion, they simply walked out and placed themselves on stage like they owned it. The band quickly broke out into “The Leaving Song Pt. 2” off their 2003 album and my personal favorite, Sing the Sorrow. The crowd bobbed and danced eagerly, but from where I was standing not a single person shoved, elbowed, or even threw a fist. It was wonderful.
AFI!!!!
AFI’s set varied in song choice ranging in new and old. To no surprise, most fans seemed pleased. Every song, it didn’t matter which one, the band threw themselves entirely into the performance. Lead singer, Davey Havok, had an eternal burning look of passion in his eyes and bassist, Hunter Burgan, danced around the stage seamlessly and flawlessly. Everything about their performance made me, as part of the audience, want to be just as physically and emotionally involved as the band members themselves. It was truly thrilling and enthralling.
The show wasn’t complete perfection either, though. There seemed to be an issue with the bass during “17 Crimes” off their upcoming album, Burials. From where I was standing it sounded out of tune and Burgan appeared a bit frustrated, but the band carried on regardless.
The band ended their pre-encore set with “God Called in Sick Today” and quietly left the stage. The lights remained dim as the audience again began to chant “Through our bleeding! We are one!” This was kind of a theme for the night, but was certainly fitting for the encore. It didn’t take much for the band to retake the stage; Playing “Silver and Cold” and closing things with an epic performance of “Dancing Through Sunday.” The crowd jumped and pumped their fists with enthusiasm, and, as I said in my article for my school paper, this wasn’t just because we were fans, the band put on that incredible of a show. No one could get enough.
For the first time since seeing Green Day in March, I decided to pick up a t-shirt. It was expensive and I had to patiently wait in a mob of frenzied fans, but I felt the need to reinstate this tradition that I had all but abandoned. I walked out of the Suite 100 with my new “A Fire Inside” t-shirt in hand wearing a huge smile. As I walked past the endless brick wall, every single colorful totem, carefully crossed the street and located my car I contemplated waiting after, not wanting the night to end but not wanting to do a single thing to ruin it. I’ll let you see my decision for yourself…
Me and AFI drummer Adam Carson
***I know I haven’t been posting as frequently as I was before, just bare with me. With school and the newspaper in full swing, my time is a bit more crunched. I will still try and post here every week or at least as often as possible, so stay tuned!
The Tracks At Christie Road 