Showtime

I woke up at 3 am to the sound of Chewbacca whining. My shih tzu is spoiled and anxious and after 10 years together, he knows I’ll get up. I did.

We padded downstairs and I checked Facebook and an announcement for one of my favorite bands popped up. Sleaford Mods were playing at my favorite venue, Pappy and Harriet’s in Joshua Tree. The venue is amazing. It’s in Pioneertown and the feel is more small county fair than rock venue. Plus, they have an amazing restaurant with killer barbecue.

And the band. Punk meets rap meets electronic with social commentary. The lead singer Jason’s voice reminds me of the first time I heard John Lyndon sing. It was love. It is love. I know all their lyrics and sometimes they’re not easy to figure out. That guy is a master at puns. Almost better than James Joyce. Almost (there is Finnegan’s Wake ya know).

I adore the band to sum it up my friends. Like my espresso in the morning adore. They’re butter on toast for me (margarine for you vegans).

So don’t judge me, but I screamed! Then I literally jumped up and down, like a teenager. Unlike my teen years, where money was always the issue, I bought my tickets and even disregarded that it’s on a Tuesday. Mentally, I said fuck it. This is my band.

Tossing and turning back in bed, I couldn’t even go back to sleep. That’s how excited I was. I started thinking about all the shows I’ve seen, since that first Loretta Lynn show in elementary school that my dad took me to.

In high school, me and my besties went to shows as often as our pizza restaurant paychecks would allow. Yes, I saw The Smiths live on stage and Siouxsie and many others. Music is memory for me. It is life. It is happiness.

It is where I lose myself then find myself all over again. So here’s to finding myself again, one show at a time.