Two nights ago, after a six-year hiatus, Blake S. premiered his latest lurker's love letter to the abyss—Thorns of Life. Aaron Cometbus on drums. Eden B.'s ladyfriend on bass, (apologies, I didn't catch her name Daniela Sea). The former Eagle Rock Library was packed, which was nice.
As Mike P. said, "It was great, I'm glad I came. They were fine, but, like, I wanna see youthful energy... not a bunch of fucking receding hairlines holding up their iPhones... getting every shot, every song, every everything. I don't wanna see that. Nostalgia, man. Fuck, nostalgia."
Fair enough. The crowd felt like a real 'I was there, man' crowd, ready to hang on every note, and just as ready to damn it all for not being nearly artsy or combative as it was the first time around (Jawbreaker) or as catchy and soft-served (Jets To Brazil) as it was the second. But to these eyes and ears, this was not so much the point. Unfun and Bivouac it was not, but nor should it have been.
It was simply good to see a fella trying to find a place for his words and sensibilities in the public sphere again. It is the doing in the now that does it for me, not some half-hearted return to form or an all out attempt to anticipate other's expectations.
Welcome back, Blake. You're every lyric, capo'd chord and obscure Heidegger reference will find its way to youtube... well before you've even had time to figure out whether you really want to enter the fray again or not.
Enjoy your post-post modern return.