I Saw Lydia Loveless on Saturday & It was Fucking Amazing

At one point on Saturday night at the Turf Club Lydia Loveless’ band exited the stage leaving her alone with her guitar. She started into the song “Crazy” from her album Indestructible Machine and I was frozen, goosebumps covering my body.

It was so beautiful and heartbreaking and amazing that I couldn’t even cry.

Me. I couldn’t cry. That never happens. I’m tearing up right now remembering it, but in that moment I was on some other plane of existence and it was wonderful.

Sadly, I had to come right back down to earth on the next song because I was next to the chattiest motherfuckers on the entire planet and had to spend at least half my energy during Loveless’ mini solo acoustic set wishing weeping sores onto their penises.

Though they gave it their best shot the trio of chatty Charlies couldn’t ruin the show. They were the worst space-hogging, spot encroaching chatters I’ve encountered in a long, long time. Fucking dudes at concerts can be the worst things ever sometimes. I had to deliver a few well-placed elbows to backs at one point. Damn those guys.

It was totally worth it, though, to finally get a chance to see the lovely Ms. Loveless, whose Somewhere Else is my very favorite album of 2014 (which I wrote about way back in March). It has been a shamefully long time since I’ve seen a woman up on stage pouring her guts out to an audience. I’m glad it was Lydia who broke this streak. Damn she was amazing. Seriously people, why aren’t you listening to this record all the time every day?

I almost didn’t make it to the show. See, I’d been with people every day since Wednesday and had all four of my nephews spend the night Friday. Actually, today, Monday, is my first day to hermit since Wednesday. This is not a complaint, rather an explanation of why every cell in my 77-inch body wanted to stay home and hermit Saturday night.

But even this introvert couldn’t come up with a legit excuse to bail. Like zero reasons. It was warm out (for November in MN) and no snow in the forecast; my friend Ted from Ohio not only drove in for the show, but he gave me a free ticket, which was so appreciated because tis the season for slow ass freelance work and thus zero dollars and zero cents to spend on concerts (he also bought me a gin & tonic later in the evening which means he’s pretty much my favorite person on earth at the moment); Wolfdogg & Heather were going to be there. . . and really I just needed to stop being a big fucking baby.

She opened the show with “Head” and I thanked every single one of my lucky stars for not wussing out. I could have walked out of the club right after that song and it would have been worth putting on pants and a bra and shoes with laces and driving to St. Paul when it was dark out. Of course I stayed and the very next song she played was “Wine Lips” and I developed a case of permagrin that not even the chatty fuckers couldn’t turn upside down.

I’m getting awfully close to six hundred words now and I haven’t even told you about meeting Ted’s friends from Green Bay or how Monkey, one of the Westernerds, surprised us at the show or anything else. I haven’t even come close to actually capturing how hard Lydia & her band rocked. Or how in the middle of the show Heather came over and tried to put into the words the intensity and passion the band played with and failing that she fell into hand gestures and interpretive dance. If you’re curious you can read a review by someone who is good at writing concert reviews. Clearly, I am not that person.

There will be more later. I’m gonna be pretty annoying this week because I have a lot of words to get out. You’ve been warned.

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