do not kick the women in the head!

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dateline: oZhausted

10 november 1996 1:07 a.m.

Although I actually managed to program my stupid VCR to tape "The Tick" tonight, I think going to have to wait until my ears stop ringing before I can enjoy it. It's technically Sunday. I can't hear a thing. I smell like sweat, cheap beer and a variety of drugs. And I love it. On exactly two and a half hours notice, I talked Derek into a ska concert tonight. Before the poor man knew what hit him, he was shoulder to sweaty shoulder with a few hundred jumping maniacs in a dark warehouse in Kaka`ako. I couldn't help myself... and I wasn't procrastinating. I've just been so out of it, the first thing I heard about the show was when I turned on the radio this morning. "The Toasters" and "Reel Big Fish" were playing. Still smarting from the Mele, perhaps, I decided I was not going to miss another good show. Though it'd been a while, I was glad to find I still knew how to get to The Groove, one of Honolulu's few concert venues. Fittingly enough, Derek only understood my directions after I said, "Well, it's next to Sensually Yours." After weaving through a narrow road crawling with people with nose piercings and funny hats, we ended up parking half a mile away at HCC. By the time we walked to the place and figured out where to buy the tickets -- a very pricey $15 -- "Red Session," the opening band, was almost done. (They've actually gotten better... and we were fortunate enough to miss their famous dead elephant song.) The place was literally rocking. I don't know what was keeping the walls from falling off. Even outside, the bass made my earrings buzz. As we ducked in, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Welcome to my world!" "Not as cute as you," he hollered back. Ah, it brought back memories. Really old memories. It's obviously been a few decades since I last went to a show at The Groove. First, most everyone there seemed to fit snuggly into the fourteen-to-eighteen demographic. Being surrounded by a thick crowd of mid-pubescents in ska-wear is a surreal, mildly creepy experience (I knew I shoulda held onto those red-and-black bowling shoes). Second, there was a whole second floor that I didn't remember ever seeing before. It took a while before I got the nerve to try and figure out what it was (Derek's a big chicken), but I'm glad I did -- it turned out to a sanctuary for grown-ups. There were considerably fewer people up there, and I didn't feel quite so old surrounded by the balding ska set (who were, in a way, even creepier than the kids below). There was also -- hallelujah -- a bar. I asked the bartender -- a spiky-haired guy with a British accent -- how long the upper area had been around. "One year today," he said with his mouth, and asked with his eyes, "What planet did you just get back from?" More snooping turned up a glass-enclosed balcony type thing -- an air conditioned room with a conveniently unoccupied couch in the back corner... We reluctantly dragged ourselves back downstairs into the fray when "Reel Big Fish" came on. The permeating herbal odors gave me Kalaheo stairwell flashbacks and the mosh pit, though small, was already churning away. The floor was entirely lit by black lights. While my teeth only managed a pale shade of green (not a good sign), my top glowed like it was radioactive. Derek was highly fascinated by the effect. "Shiny things excite me," said he. Although most everyone (including I) was there to see the Toasters, the Fish were awesome. I liked all their songs... even the ones they've had on an every-fifteen-minutes rotation on Radio Free Hawai`i. Few things in this world get me going like a skilled and skankin' brass section. I think Derek was feeling out of sorts for a while. Back on the floor, he was at least a foot taller than some of the other brats flailing and wiggling all around him (except for one white-haired guy who I swear was RFH's Norm). Although he was feeling conversational, there really wasn't much to say. "Damn, it's hot," he said (or rather, gently yelled in my ear), almost as many times as I did. "Damn, that's loud," he said, noting my fondness for standing in front of the Groove's wall o' speakers. "That girl's just wearing a bra," he said, pointing out one of many clever ways of keeping cool we witnessed tonight (spraying water on strangers turned out to be another). "Don't ask me to cut my penis off for you," he said, as I cheered at a particularly touching Fish lyric asserting otherwise. Thankfully, our respective Red Dogs kicked in (not bad for a domestic), and in no time Derek was groovin' and I went nuts. When everyone yelled, we yelled. When everyone started jumping, we jumped (I have no idea why ska fans jump -- at least rap fans can blame a song). It was great. I think I stepped on twenty, thirty feet tonight. After the Fish were finished, we tried to take refuge upstairs again but it seemed everyone else had the same idea. They also weren't letting anyone outside between bands, and for a while there I was gasping for some space. We ended up waiting in something resembling a line to pay $2 for a few ounces of water and ducking around back to watch a very bad pool game. We had barely caught our breath when they started giving away autographed toasters (yes, the stainless steel, dual-slice variety). Then, the Toasters took the stage. Of course, they were incredible. Their brass was so strong, they didn't need their microphones. They pulled people up from the audience (over the heads of some very grumpy looking security guys) to dance with them on stage. The lead trumpet player -- a dead ringer for Ving Rhames, I thought -- held one note for a good 90 seconds. And the bassist, instrument and all, took a stage dive. They played a lot of songs I didn't know (I've only got one of their albums), but it was hard not to get into it anyway with the energy they had. I think my only complaint would be that they played every song, even their normally reggae-esque skankable stuff, at superfast punk speed. By the fourth song, I'd run out of steam. I just leaned against a very damp Derek and we only swayed appreciatively the rest of the night. The finale, for me, was worth the entire ticket. As a hana hou, they pulled both the Toasters and the Fish onstage to play together. It made a brass line that was to die for. Each one took turns on a solo, and the Rhames look-alike did a variation on the Hawai`i 5-O theme. Everyone spilled out onto the street and collectively sighed at the cool night air. We were greeted by the usual assortment of absurdly colored glow-in-the-dark lowriders who were there to cruise past everyone because, on some planets, that kind of stuff actually impresses people. Trying to avoid having a night of top-notch ska ruined by 2-Pac, Derek and I walked briskly and were rewarded by a very short line at the Jack in the Box drive through. I was very happy to discover that those ham-and-egg Breakfast Jacks and coffee were on the menu, even at midnight. Of course, now I'm completely restless and would up. I'm not complaining, though. Xena is on now. (One question... how do you "forge" a princess -- in battle or otherwise?) I almost invited Derek -- a Xena virgin -- up to watch, but he looked pretty worn out. I'm kind of thinking I should have, but... something told me it wasn't a good idea. Well. Tomorrow -- late tomorrow (or, to be accurate, late today) -- we're seeing a movie (yes, another movie -- we're aiming for at least three a month). I'm not sure yet if we're going to see "Set it Off" or "Sleepers" -- but the former has Brad Pitt.