As I walked up the alley leading to The Smell I noticed what looked like an in-between-set alley crowd of a smallish variety; strange given the year of popularity New York’s, High Places has enjoyed.
I soon found out that was because
Ponytail was mid-shred and the fucking place was packed; SOLD OUT sign on the door. “High Places is playing for free at Family Bookstore, tomorrow”
Jim was assuring turned away show-goers.
“FUUCCKK, I shouldn’t have stopped for that burrito”, I thought.
We stood around in the alley contemplating for a moment when a drunk-ass Blaque Chris, in his constant effort to con me into making him an Afrika print spandex bodysuit, gets us some looks in the door.
Inside, we were bummed that we only caught the last two songs by Ponytail but
Abe was next and they were fucking loud; like super-loud for The Smell.
This was their last hometown show before heading on tour with
Diplo and
Telepathe and you could tell that they are fucking fluffed. Such a good set bringing new intensity to old songs and executing new ones flawlessly. They really are LA’s finest.
As Abe exited, my ears were noticeably fucked but High Places were already setting up a fence of flight cases along western border of the main stage. I posted and watched Mary and Robert, the boy/girl duo that comprise H.P. fine tune many knobs, pedals and drum pads necessary to what they do.
Soon the crowd flooded back in and I couldn’t help notice how fucking young this band’s fans are, like
Menudo young!
So, High Places tweaked and twittled, the music constantly chasing Mary’s vocals like a kindergartener chases a kitten in the sunroom; almost catching up, only to have the thing once again spring away. It’s child-like only in it’s refusal to wear a cloak of contrived seriousness that none of us were looking for that night in the alley.
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