Bright Eyes? More like, there is poop in my eyes. Luckily, I came to the show last Sunday in disguise: Life & Art credentials, a pair of trusty black plastic-framed glasses, low top Chuck Taylors, and a classic, pretentious “scenester” attitude. I slipped into the enemy’s lair undetected; plus, I still had money to get drunk. But wait, they don’t sell beer. What a waste of the Sabbath. Bright Eyes, known in my circle as Donkey’s Ass, farted on stage for a good chunk of my Sunday night. I thought I was here to see a rock show, but instead, I was treated to a poor rendition of a high school band recital. Connor’s “rock opera” did little to stir excitement in my pelvic region, especially since I was confined to seats. Every word that came from the little prick’s mouth resulted in a massive uproar of laughter from the audience. I woke up after the fifth song and walked out of the show, expecting to find colleagues of similar tastes outside the venue, talking dung about the band. Nope. With the crowd safely seated at bay from the band, I didn’t have a clean shot to hit the lead singer in the head with my shoe. Trust me, I would have and become a hero for the ten people left in this city who still care about the values of rock. If you honestly liked this concert, you must either: A. Be a pointdexter, B. a XX chromosome under the age of fifteen or C. the mother of one of the band members. The “cred” this child actor has received has all gone to his noggin’. I must admit he has a wonderful gift, but it’s not yet developed to the level he may think it has. Throwing 15 people on stage does not equal a good rock concert – it just equals hundreds of little girls and wimps saying that it was.
Dan Ruth can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.