Sars: It all started when my friends' band, Daytona, sent me an email saying they had a gig at Brownie's in the East Village…with FLICKERSTICK on the bill. I immediately forwarded the email to Mr. S all "DUDE, WE'RE SO SEEING THIS SHIT" and then dashed over to the ticketing site to get tickets.
Fast forward to the night of the show. I'm on a downtown bus, and I get a call on my cell from Alex Richmond, reporting on her show experience when she saw them in Philly the evening. Among the gossip I gleaned from the lovely and talented Ms. Richmond: 1) the entire band is short, 2) Rex is now going out with Rayshele from HARLOW (or was, or something -- their deal is sort of unclear at this point), 3) FLICK's manager rounds up hotties from the crowd and pimps them to the band. Ew. And yet, heh.
Meanwhile, at street level, Mr. Stupidhead runs into FLICK on the street…
Mr. Stupidhead: So I come around the corner from my old apartment, and while I'm heading up Avenue A towards the club, I see Cory, Dominic, and Rex walking in a flying wedge down the street, just like they do in all those slo-mo shots on the show. Sure enough, they're all tiny, except for Rex, who's totally tall and gangly. So, I get that feeling in my stomach that I always get around Los Famosos, and the first thing I think to say is "Yeah, FLICKERSTICK! ROCK!" They seem totally unimpressed, but Dominic gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder (which really hurts, because Dominic's arms are huge).
So, I get to Brownie's, and start waiting for Sars. As I'm waiting, I survey the crowd. There are a lot of thirty-something guys in tight Armani shirts on cell phones, and oodles of attractive young ladies with one common goal: to somehow end up in the tour bus (if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do). A few minutes go by and I'm all, "Not, Sars, where are you?" But she eventually shows up, we get in line to get our tickets, and we head inside. And by "inside," I mean "crammed into the farthest corner from the stage possible."
Sars: It's packed. Packed. There's a strangely large contingent of Jersey Guido types there, but mostly it's betties, and the betties are kitted out big-time -- halter tops, skin-tight black pants, pints of lip gloss, blinding amounts of body glitter, the whole rock-skank deal. Given that a lot of these girls look like book editors or buyers for Sotheby's -- the kind of girls who usually wear twin sets and pearls -- it's kind of weird. And I'm wearing a baggy "Summit Diner" t-shirt and black khakis, so I don't think I'll end up on the bus (if you know what I'm saying, and I think you do).
Anyway, the crowd is totally pushing towards the stage, so Mr. S and I manage to score a wobbly table and two wobbly bar stools. It's about ten billion degrees in the club. We're drinking beers. A Jackie Jr. walks up to me, and I think it's one of the forum folks, but it's actually a guy who wants to tell me that his dad used to eat at the Summit Diner every morning. Then another Jackie Jr. stands in front of me just as FLICKERSTICK takes the stage, and when I raise my lighter and flick it Styx-style to pay tribute to the band, I almost light his gel on fire. He turns around to glare at me and I'm like, "Hi. Dork-out. Sorry, dude."
But of course he doesn't hear me, because FLICKERSTICK is setting up, and the amount of deafening squealing that attends Brandin's entrance makes it impossible to hear anything at all. And now here's Mr. S with a non-in-depth non-analysis of the show musically.
Mr. Stupidhead: Okay, so, they totally rocked. Dominic is a really tight drummer, and the sound guy certainly wasn't sleeping. They sounded excellent, and I was pretty psyched that a) I actually knew some the lyrics so I could sing along and b) they decided not to cover "Fade Into You." Sars told me she'd pay me ten clams to scream "I want to lick Dominic's nipples" between songs. I declined, even though it was ragingly my idea to begin with (tee hee). Anyway, Fletcher and Rex bounced all around the stage. In fact, from what I could see, the whole band had a lot of energy. Then again, I'm not totally sure because I was so far from the stage I may as well have been in Guam. Basically, if you watch BOTR, you totally already know what the show was like. The only discrepancy was that FLICK was not wasted at all. However, it was the first of two shows that evening, and Sars and I didn't get to see any drunken shenanigans because we left to get drunk elsewhere ourselves -- but not before talking to Brandin a little sumpin'.
Sars: I totally hate barging up to famous or semi-famous people, because I don't want to bother them, and also because I freeze up and don't have anything to say. But Alex Richmond had told me that she'd given Brandin a heads-up that we'd be at the New York show, so I pretty much shoved Mr. S in front of me and hissed, "Go introduce us." We had to wait for the betty contingent to clear off, and then we presented ourselves to Brandin, who is very small, very cute in person, and had no idea who we were or what we were talking about. We refreshed his "memory" about the site, and then I basically started babbling about how everyone on the forums likes FLICK a lot, and doesn't like SOULCRACKER. He laughed and said that he hears that a lot. After a bit more polite chit-chat, we got out of his way and headed out of the club, passing Cory (just as cute in person) and Fletcher (ditto), who were surrounded by admiring girls. Dom was chilling with a beer and talking to some band geeks, and we complimented him on the show on the way to the door; he thanked us really nicely. I hate to say this, but I can see why the girls go for him. He's got amazing arms.
And then we went to a German beergarden and got plastered.
1 2 3
Mr. Stupidhead: I mean, I had a vision of buying them shots and bringing them to the band on the stage, HARLOW-style, but after seeing the crowd and realizing that that would be about as easy as portaging an elephant through the desert, we decided ixnay on the ots-shay. So we raised many a glass to the band -- just not literally to the band while they were there.
1 2 3