Daybreak

I rang in my dirty thirties with a transformative, ceremonious event. Every birthday is notable, a celebration of oneself, and meant to be with family and friends as a memorial for your experience. & there is something extra significant in the dawning of a new decade. As 2021 was most famously “when the world reopened” after a year of quarantine, I turned 30 with the optimism of a place feeling like year 1 AD, especially because my story with being sober really launched around this time. By the time you’re 30, you oughta have personal anecdotes so unique and profound, your blend of youthful zest and learned maturity should be the source in which you thrive. You gotta be done blaming your parents for things, hold yourself accountable for every decision, and surround yourself with folks who look good on you, from the inside out.

Since the bonanza that was my 23rd bday surprise party, there wasn’t a candle in the wind that could be held close. I had a few years of dinners with my twin, a golden 27th which brought me to the commune club, a boyfriend who kindly spent my day with me twice, and then finally - a concert by my all-time favorite band in a nearby city.

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania is about 2 and half hours from my house. Because road trips were a dominating theme of my then partner and i, it was an easy call to plan a night out a bit far away. Also, my perception of time and distance is unlike most; i will travel hours two ways to an open mic for a 5 minute time slot, be in a distant relationship with my own car, and consider trips many would simply say isn’t worth all the driving. Over time, I became emotionally connected to my 2015 Nissan Versa Note. I’m like a vanlife nomad, who got a house to shower at too. We took it to Oregon. To Springfeild, Missouri. To Maine. NYC, Montreal, Florida. The roads between rural Virginia and south Jersey as a lifestyle. All the while, the reality of all my drives is none other than streaming Spotify of the best music in the world.

  I had been on an intentional hiatus from listening to the band who I named a clinical obsession, after my schizophrenic episode wherein their lyrics were heavily involved. It wasn’t personal against my musical heroes, or a denounce of the positive sculptures they made in mind at the time. I left behind, temporarily, just about everything Ventura was for me, in landing back home post my adventure. Many people say to the effect, “this album got me through my breakup”, or “this artist was my main squeeze when i started exercising”, and “if it wasn’t for Echo and The Bunnymen, i wouldn’t have healed”. I relate to such points of view. Much in the manner I used the band to hype myself up and build my identity, I could easily reverse myself, quitting their vibrations for the similar sake of slowing my roll, as a means to an end, to calm me down. Still to support my evolving form, of course. 

It was 2018 when my ole buddy and bud dealer Dominic and i were hangin’ out in our hometown Hainesport. You already know the vibe - smoking two joints and talkin’ about music, man. 

“Dude check out Clams Casino. on youtube. They’re my latest guys when i draw my silly lil pictures.” i said to him.

“Word will do. I’m into this one band but i think they kinda sold out. Do you know portugal. the man?” he said to me.

“Oh snap! Yes and it’s been a minute. What’s good with them with you?”

“It’s the songs 1989 & And I. Those jams get me everytime.”

“Oh damn you are from their rock opera era. Couple songs from that record are mine; I love Salt… a lot. And Colors speaks to me as well. But to be honest, i’m an in the mountain the cloud girl.”

“I can see that.” said he.

One of the best aspects of the band is that they wear many hats. There are people who prefer their more “hardcore” sound, and those who like a good chill synthesizer. Over the course of time, I’ve met colleagues from Emo Night who talk smack about the band after their earlier stuff, and folks who only appreciate them for their most recent productions. Somewhere in the powerful middle, a true fan like myself recognizes their persona and talent, spanning 20 years, and truly admires the totality of their style(s).

Dominic gifted me the Woodstock CD. it was the last CD i ever had. Like a relic, like a cassette tape or vinyl record. I played the cd in my Honda only a few times, and when the car broke down on me, i went back to the junkyard they towed it and removed the cd from the car stereo. I have many prized possessions. The cd lived on my bedroom’s alter until the day i packed up and moved to twin oaks. These days, it’s a lost fossil.

Forward flash to the day me n my bf are roaming the internet side by side, and my algorithm delivers an offer to a p.tm concert in nearbyish Harrisburg PA. I would go for Salt alone. And what’s up, guys! Looks like since I fell off, the bandwagon got on, wow. My instinct does not feel them as “sellouts”, despite multiple punk rockers comments on the video of the song which won a Grammy. Listen, as a standup comedian who ate exposure the whole time, the wisest move you can make as an artist is taking your ticket into financial capability and community. 

I actually hate the concept of a sellout artist. If you are performing without factoring your time, energy, talent, and sacrifices made to be there, as a top tier service, your self-love game is too low. We all deserve money for likeability, we earn status because it’s nurturing to be recognized for your nature, we need everyone to play their part in the beautiful makeup of society, and have that be the standard. Accessible entertainment exists worldwide as a function of daily livelihood. It’s a feature of every personality alive. The world is casting for 1800 people going out on a Saturday night, to make up a concert for the cause of our culture- socially, economically, and spiritually. The band is like, we will happily do that job. Better than working at Castle Windows lol. 

I would make the assertion that if you aren’t growing as an artist- overly repetitive, losing audience rather than gaining, getting stuck in creative insanity rather than properly channeling your ideas- then you ain’t the real deal. I can tell who’s calling the Band sellouts, their stories representing the unfortunate side effects of the generation: those who got in trouble with that damn music underneath their skin. Like me hadn’t i gone on hiatus. Pretty much the sentiment like, “yea that band was a reason my friends and i got arrested partying. Then my mom liked their top 40 radio song. They're just like an ex of mine.” While i empathize, and believe it's comparable to blaming rated R movies for an unhealthy mentality … I for one, in fact, can only say my trip with them qualified an Intermission, then a bounce back.

I, identical to my Band, became the richest in my life financially as a result of me being likable in the mainstream. With my babysitting career in full swing, plus the cashflow I earned as an entrepreneur balloon artist, I bought a ticket for Harrisburg immediately. It just so happened to fall on my 30th birthday weekend. An ideal way to reinitiate my loving fandom, and be reborn with their energy, yet again.    

This show was outdoors. The evening weather was perfect. I looked cute, as per usual, and my boyfriend around my arm always felt amazing to me during this chapter. The show started with an opening act around 7pm & I was too excited to feel hungry for dinner. The production was put on a college radio station in harrisburg; the emcee of the show greeted us, and promoted the next show they’re putting on, with Cage The Elephant. The host introduced Dandy - 2 brothers with guitars. The opening act was fine, but I really had butterflies for who was to come.

Something incredible about p. tm is how right before they get on stage to play, they always feature a mini monologue and original songs from Indigenous People of the local land.

Zac comes on stage,

“We are from Alaska. So we believe in the rights of native americans. We have with us, members of a tribe around this pennsylvania area. Lets welcome them!”

Everybody applauses. Tribe members are traditional - their outfits are super reflective of who they are, in headdresses, homemade earth tone gowns, beaded jewelry, and moccasins. Their instruments are hand drums and interesting stringed bows. Their poetry is heartwarming, and their fierce enthusiasm against the patriarchy has everyone riled up supportively. 

It really is an example of successful artists using their platform to show us diversity and not only normalize it but embrace it. Fuck racism!! Fuck war and genocide. Eliminate the idea that one system, construct, or mode of operating is superior to the next. Sustain all healthy elements in humanity / let people be who they are. Believe our shared globe is an interactive display of unique souls, and respect everyone’s inborn freedom to do any possibility. Allow each and every heritage to thrive, and don’t let the bastards drag you down. Imma be a follower of that message, chief.

Okay, so we got a coupla guys with guitars who never even heard of the main band, then an awesome preach about indigenous righteousness, & then drumroll plz- the lawds a portlandia.

As the audience clapped, i cheerleaded. I honestly do not know and did not expect what came over me. I wanted to let the band know their number one fan was present, but got inadvertently got carried away. While I like to brag that being schizo is a part of my genius, really it is my slight autism that sometimes expels in an episode. I lacked regard for social rules. My wooing was ear piercing, as they all appeared with their instruments.

“PLAY DO WHAT WE DO!”

In hindsight, had one person kept me in check, nicely nudging me to quiet down the way a teacher would a rowdy student, I would've. But I lost a track of thought that was my current self, replaced by a subsurface inner track, a voice I forgot was in me, a voice from my clinical OCD dazey days with them. It was like when Eric saw Lady Gaga and barfed a bit on his glitter shoes from enthrallment, or when Jason was jumping and whirlwinding in the front row of Excision, or when millions of young ladies screamed and cried hysterically at The Beatles show… It's just a phenomena whereby we lose our composure at the spirited wave swept upon us washing our hearts out, pouring out of our trained containers, from the personal tie associated with creators of artistry so dearly compelling inside us, it has a physical reaction.    

“YOU GUYS ARE BETTER THAN THE ROLLING STONES!”

“PLAY PEOPLE SAY! THE ORIGINAL HIT SINGLE!”

“ILY 😍”

By the middle of the second song, i felt fatigued from cheering. Ok, imma sit back in enjoy the show. Really what knocked sense back into my body was that I realized I was starving. I never feel hungry until I do, then I start to entertain the idea of food; only when it feels physically necessary. Classically me, the music infiltrated my audio pallet to the degree of subsiding my low blood sugar levels. Starvation for me is occasionally a fun game I like to play with myself. I'm an emotional storyteller, sometimes aiming to act for moments when being ravenous is the main story, and life around me happens. That’s just me and my autism tho nbd. To this day, the hunger I felt at my 2nd p.tm show was the most serious pang I'd known, ever, of all time. That night, I learned a new scale to gauge my appetite and homeostasis with. On a scale of 1 being ‘i'm bored and this cookie is cheap and yummy’, to 10 being ‘at 10pm when this show is over i'm going to raid Wawa spending triple figures on food and inhale a whole weekend’s worth of calories in one sitting’. Bellies Are Full :).

Zac chugged whiskey on stage, and that was the first instance I thought to myself, iont like that. That’s not cool anymore, bro. Sorry maybe i'm just baby steps into sobriety here but my rock bottom hit so bad I can't ever see the drug as anything but destructive, detrimental, and demonic. I get that you are a rock star and it’s fitting, but I'm not at all resonating in my former self’s toxicities. Can’t have nostalgia for it, and won’t place it anywhere in the present or future. My life depends on it; it’s not a joke or stunt to show off, or a tool for your mind n body. I will love the art forever, but separate the artist from it if appropriate. Like Kanye’s a fantastic hip-hop icon BUT an anti semitic, thus, fans drift away. Shoutout to my homie Zac, for being a turning point for me. 30 years old now? I’m coming out of the closet as a recovered alcoholic.

  I knew more songs at my second rodeo than the first one 8 years prior. And hadn’t known just enough to have new fun too. Got my Modern Jesus video clip. Danced with my bf’s hands on my hips all tall behind me. Put a muzzle on metaphorically because I did get embarrassed halfway in when I meditated on myself there. Oopsie, just another manic birthday. Most importantly, I warmly sensed a connection to my one night stand friends, the concert-goers. This one was an all ages show, and I literally nearly shed a tear at the woman breastfeeding her baby during Got It All. We out here! Wherever you go, there you are; the Revolution you wanna live in doesn’t follow you - it rides on your back.

I couldn’t have imagined a more satisfying birthday. It’s like ever since I became a modern jesus, i can’t shake the sense that the Universe has got it out for me, in the best ways. Paranoia is when you think the world is conspiring against you; and the word pronoia is the opposite, when you think something is going on in support of you. I walked away from the amphitheater setting the intention that I'm going to keep on keeping up with this band. Everything about that performance won me, including the rekindling of my Self Love from a personal generation long gone but ever the essence in everything I do. They made their way into my present lifestyle after swimming back into it from my past one. While i don’t still listen to Good Charlotte (my kid band), or Modest Mouse (a band i graduated from), or Passion Pit (outgrew / shed from), the timeless relevance of The Portuguese will remain in the rhythm you catch me in across galaxies, & in a city near you soon.