2003-09-25 - 3:05 a.m.

The air outside is getting thick with chill and promise and nostalgia and all those nice things. Whenever it gets like this, I feel good about something I can�t remember, and although I believe it a little less each with each retelling, it�s nice to at the very least remember that there�s something I could once almost even name.

A good friend of mine is leaving for San Francisco tomorrow, by the way. I think he�s the millionth to go, although I don�t remember ever being friends with that many people. Not (of course) including family members, there are now, to my knowledge, four Bostonians that I�ve known since September of 1997 that still live in these parts.

The Quasi show, by the way, was a nice highlight. Since the statewide smoking ban (don�t get me started) is set to start on October 1st, that was probably my last opportunity to see a band they way they should be seen, and that is in a smoke-filled bar. You just don�t tamper with that dynamic. It just does not work otherwise. Hate smoke, hate smokers, or not, you gotta agree that seeing a band in a smokeless bar, or even just heading out for whatever�s cheapest at the closest dive you can find and being greeted by a frigid smoke-free atmosphere, is like finding yourself suddenly taking the T-Mobile, getting on at the Starbucks train stop and taking the Gatorade line to Sony Square Station, and if you don�t agree or at least see my point, you�re on a wavelength I don�t care to ever be on, and enjoy your tapered-leg chinos.

But the show itself was great--I never, ever, ever get pumped up about stuff. But I had to sit through terrible opening acts to get to Quasi, and when they finally got on, I was beside myself with joy. They brought the house down and what�s best they schooled some kids about what music is (which is, by the way, music, as opposed to here�s a stupid dance song that�s already been done to death, and whoops, my COMPUTER broke and we need fifteen minutes to fix it, so here�s some stupid jokes, oh great it�s back on, here�s some more completely uninspired dance songs, isn�t this fun, now clap your hands like obedient audience members, as if this were a VHS workout tape, oh, and remember that fifteen minutes where our COMPUTER broke, and since we�re PLAYING LIVE, we couldn�t proceed, well we�re still gonna play our full set and eat into the next band�s time).

Sorry. Had to get that off my chest. Also, for the love of God, if you�re in Boston, do not clap your hands whenever the band tells you to do so. We�re smarter than that, OK? The band has to earn it, first off, and then there�s the fact that the handclaps never last more than a verse or chorus, depending on when they�re requested, so what�s the point? If you�re new here and you didn�t know, that�s fine. If I sound like a pompous windbag to you, move.

As I mentioned in another entry, I spoke with Sam Coomes for a little bit after the show. He was a really friendly guy and actually wanted to talk, despite my gushing. I wanted to prove how much I loved his band, so I told him the order, which is Robyn Hitchcock, Quasi, Guided by Voices (which was a bit of a lie, and it�s always subjective, but after that excellent show I really did mean it at the time), and the intent was to demonstrate to him that someone who really loved music thought his band so important that he would sandwhich Quasi between two such venerable bands in terms of importance--the intent was to encourage him to continue to aspire to write excellent songs in the face of mediocrity, to tell him that someone�s listening. I guess. I dunno--I�d take it as a compliment. We then proceeded to chat a bit about our favorite Robyn Hitchcock albums (his favorite is Black Snake Diamond Role, which surprised me �till it made sense) before I tore myself away, and even then I didn�t feel like I needed to. I felt that if I had asked him if he wanted to come over to my place for a few beers after the show, he would have at least mulled it over.