The Rintrarian Archive

On Thursday I was lucky enough to visit the prestigous, beautiful Royal Albert. Today I realize that sarcasm does not come through on the web very well.

The Royal Albert is a collage of images that do not mesh. From the formerly beautiful moldings to the current mold, nothing fits. Except the disco ball. I find it fitting that the disco ball had mirror pieces missing and a hole from which, when the light hit it just right, looked like a mouse that died as it crawled out. But as it spun looked more like cotton candy or pink insulation. The dieing disco ball, for me, represents the death of disco. The mirror ball hanging next to the ceiling fan (which was installed as a after thought – which the bolts and the brace holding it to the ceiling can attest) did not fit. Neither did the ceiling fan being positioned below and to the side of the stained-glass arched sky-light.

The classic construction of the building did not match the band stickers stuck on the square pillars holding the roof up. As the rock-y bands raised the roof the Olympic figure skaters on the TV were bringing down the house. Again, the pieces did not fit. The trendy, hip, all-together rockin’ out youth did not jive with the daily crown of those who are down on their luck or are the “regulars.” And the VLTs did not add the ambiance that one would expect.

The bands, there were three, were good at what they do. If that is suck then they were great. If it was blow then they were experts. If it was rock then they did. If it was roll then we all were.

The first band, Dragon Dragon Dragon, was decent but not great. I know the words to the song “60 Minutes” but what they performed was nowhere even close. The words of the original ring true for everyone of any stripe, color, or creed. Plus they appeared to think they were cool because they were on stage rather than being put on stage because they were cool. I just did not feel the music. It’s a shame. But here is the original “60 Minutes.”

Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick Tick

The second band was trippy. Too trippy for most. I can’t recall the band’s name. I also can’t remember any of the song titles that they gave the songs. But I remember my own. “Carnaval Ride on Acid” “Inside Mary Poppin’s Head” and “Sex on a Keyboard.” I found the band facinating. The noise produced did have a musical quality. It was not melodic. It was not lyrical. There were no words. But I enjoyed it. What left me scratching my head is how a person wearing a large-ish pair of children’s sunglasses could not be smiling.

The third band was why I was there. That and I was invited. The band “You Say Party! We Say Die!” was delightful. They were energized. They were the only reason to go to the Albert. Indy music is where it is at. YSP!WSD! is something to watch for. Something to get. Something to open your heart of hearts to. What I don’t understand is the hoodlums in the back yelling out obscure words and phrases. I don’t remember them but it sounded like “William Lyons Brier” or something. “Desktop Lampstand.” Or something. “Or something” or something.

Anything I say will not be sufficient to describe and the band was better than my words. All I can say is that if you ever have the chance to see, hear, gawk, buy or whatever you happen to be able to do in relation to the band – do not pass it up. They are everything that you are not.