bluebird

Last night, Ry drove down for the Yeasayer, The Impossible Shapes, and Frog Eyes show at The Bluebird. The entire evening was surreal considering my mental state the previous night. I wore a vintage zip up hoodie to hide the seven slices on my right arm.
Indie rock chicks that I'll never touch, much less speak to, wandered about with beers in their small hands -- not that I was looking; I make eye contact only when necessary.
Once Yeasayer took the stage I shut my eyes and attempted to let their sound remove myself from myself. Throughout the night I felt so displaced.
The Impossible Shapes were next and played a loud, tight, and relatively short set.
Before Ryan and I left for the 'Bird I had three whiskey and cokes, and at the show I had three New Castles, but I couldn't shake the melancholic glow of sobriety that seemed to hang over my head throughout night.
Frog Eyes closed the show, and the emotional vocal stylings of Carey Mercer capped my night perfectly.
Ry spoke briefly with one of the band members, I drove us back to my place, and Ry headed home. Roommate wasn't home and the apartment was eerily silent -- a silence that screamed loneliness.
I prepared a bowl of apple and cinnamon oatmeal and called it a night, the slices on my arm reminded me of so much yet so little.

mc

Go here to listen to Yeasayer on MySpace.