mekons, waycross, cake

Thursday, sep. 12, 2002   |   0 comments

So I went and saw the Mekons last Friday at Slims. (Did I ever tell you about the surreal dinner Jill and I had with Boz Scaggs? Where he introduced himself as “Boz” and I thought he was kidding? Like the whole night? And then we drank a lot of wine and ate desserts and oysters and I showed him my ass-crack tattoo? I’m pretty sure?)

I’ve seen the Mekons before, though never under my own volition — Paul was always crazy-into them, so I got carted along to a few shows, but I was always just a passenger. I don’t know what it is about the Mekons. I mean they’re good and fun (and Sally Timms is all kinds of foxy), but the people they seem to attract are totally “fans with a pee aitch,” all jumping up and down and shaking their heads and hands and sweating and just LOVING the stuffing out of those Mekons. Meanwhile, you’re nervously trying to keep yourself out of range, wondering just what it is that you’re missing, exactly.

Mostly I was there to see my pals in Waycross, who opened for the Mekons and really, really sounded good. Caroleen, who was wearing an exceedingly cute top, belted out the songs like never before. They had an extra bass player, allowing Doug to (pedal) steel the show, and that sounded awfully pretty and deep and … thick. And of course Sunny and Bruce burned up the stage, as always.

The Mekons put on a righteous show, too, with lots of funderstated, between-song banter. I actually recognized some of the songs, especially the one where they made the crowd flap their arms to the right and the left. Of course the phans were all over it, arms waving with the ferocity of girls in the finals of a cheerleading competition, but I was impressed by the civilian crowd’s willingness to join in — though maybe it was just the sun-salutation conditioning that we all eventually receive here in San Francisco. Oh and I ran into friend-since-junior-high Erin and friends, which was a bonus prize inside.

I also went to the Mekons book-release-25th-birthday-party-thing before the show, which was at the pirate store. (Again! I know! The pirate store and I are totally dating now.) And you know what that meant? Fucking CAKE! The good-bad grocery store kind, with that extra-thick brown-fat frosting, guaranteed to keep you warm through the winter. There was also some singing and lyric-reading, which was really relaxed and made me smile (British accents!). And some guy giving out bunches of overripe flowers. And some surprise person from my high school. And Matt and his cute, nice friend from Chicago, Annie. Then Richard showed up with a box of Krispy Kremes, which I couldn’t possibly eat regarding the pile of cake I’d just stuffed away (plus I haven’t yet forgiven the two Krispies that dismantled me, in a non-loving sense, in Vegas six months ago). So we called “up for grabs” on those donuts and they WENT LIKE HOT CAKES.

I took tons of pictures throughout the night, but most of them turned out really brown and far-away looking, except this this self-snapped one of Caroleen, her super-fine Jeff, and me:

(I suspect that this pic only turned out because Jeff and Caroleen are so hott. Or maybe it’s my freaky wig-hair, floating there, one earth centimeter above my head.)