Why I love living contemporary

Okay, so let me get my bearings. This story needs orientation.

Front and center stage. To my left, some short, squat girl in a blue dress was grind-shaking her fists into my side, glancing up to me with some sort of drug-riddled excitement. To my right, some typical Bay Area darkwave kid a few years younger than me was popping his Commie-capped head back and forth to the rhythmic sirens and bass slaps. And in front of me, not twenty feet away, was the culmination of months of waiting. And it came in the form of a big, lighted cross.


There they are. Justice: The French band that took Christianity's symbol of redemption and salvation and twisted it into a beacon of their own design. They've crafted the fast-paced soundtrack of my life for the past year. I haven't been alone since.

This all happened at Treasure Island Music Fest 2008, a Bay Area indie wankfest that rivals Austin City Limits in terms of pretentious 20somethings oozing with cred. I flew out to San Francisco with my girlfriend, Cristina, to see Justice and the other top-billed Saturday acts that I've salivated over for a long time. TV on the Radio was there, performing tracks from their new album Dear Science. And those wacky Brits from Hot Chip were there, too, mixing things up for a spectacular live show.

The festival brought out your typical spectrum of San Francisco hipsters. Every group was represented, from the newest incarnation of goth shoegazers to the bright and flowing, handcrafted hippie culture. Instead of ridiculing them, though, I've lately been able to bottle and swallow my sardonic nature and instead just watch as they enjoy themselves in their own perticular way. Because anyone willing to endure the gauntlet of blinding wind and $7 glasses of Heinekin must have some common string with the rest of the concert-goers: We're all hypocrites, and we're all pretentious, and we all love music. And they all deserved to have fun.

Even if they're cannon fodder for really, really great jokes.

Pretentions aside, the festival crowd was aching by the time Justice took the stage. I was pressed up against the guard rail, grinding my teeth and trying my best to push back to keep my lungs open. Everyone was freezing despite the squeeze; coastal winds plus the semi-predictable nature of cool San Francisco nights equals zipped up black hoodies and frozen toes. I had to throw the concert T I'd picked up earlier over my white oxford. I looked incredibly out-of-place in a sea of pierced, gothed-out heads. A French reporter stuck a microphone in my face and started quizzing me on my thoughts about the band.

And when they did take the stage, hell broke out before a single beat let loose. Glow-sticks, water bottles, and concert schwag flew through the air onto the stage. A unified scream from behind me, then suddenly I felt like I'd been flattened against the guard rail. I yelled, too. My eyes bugged out and I saw them take to their throne.

Then,"Genesis."

I can't recount song-for-song how the entire night went, but they hit all my favorites. "DVNO," the Auto remix of "Stress," a souped-up mix of "Phantom," and a finisher of "One Minute Till Midnight," before an encore of "NY Excuse." Fucking incredible.

The night will be forever dog-eared in my mind. It was not only a spectacular musical experience, but it also possesses a certain personal duality. The concert was a culmination-- a culmination of months of waiting. I bought the tickets back in July and had been marking the days off my calendar like a little kid eager for his birthday to arrive. It was also a beginning of sorts. It was my first visit to the west coast and my first big trip with Cristina.

This past weekend was an awesome reminder that I still have a lot of world to see. And to write about.