The only thing I can possibly imagine doing tonight is going to the Soul Asylum concert at the Fine Line–but of course, I will not be going. I’ve already noted how little I like standing in place for hours on end. And I do tend to dance at these things. I just haven’t been moved to do so by any one alternative rock band as of late, that’s all.
Where be my Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain CD when I need it?! Range Life was a pretty groovin’ tune, if I do say so myself. Anyone care to pipe in with their favorite danceable indie song? Is there a specific Soul Asylum tune? The closest thing to dancing that Soul Asylum has ever inspired, at least in and about my apartment, was some flitting about to the tune of Someone to Shove. But that wasn’t so much dancing as it was human metronome activity, if you ask me. In any case, I’m so glad my snobbish ex-boyfriend left behind his Grave Dancer’s Union disc, accusing it of being some such Soul Asylum sell-out. He had no more use for it, he said–basically the same thing he was then saying about me. He was a real jerk, that guy! (An aspiring, but failed, musician if you’ll believe it!) And if you must know, no, he did not dance. Just banged his head a lot.
Don’t trust anyone who doesn’t dance. That’s my mantra now that I’m older, wiser, and subsisting as I do on a diet of public radio and Louis Armstrong re-releases.
Another reason why I won’t be attending tonight’s rock show is that my cultish running club will be engaged in its regularly-scheduled Wednesday night activity: working the legs and then flexing the biceps, so to speak. But given the strong current of grups, ripsters, and all other manner of fat-phobic Gen Xers, I’m sure I could talk ’em into having a little Soul Asylum with their Amstel Lights.
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