The second law of thermodynamics
Or, Punk Rock Entropy
I was so excited to see the Pogues last night. At the end of a beautiful day I pulled on my motorcycle boots and headed to Hanta Haus for a pre-show beer and to play with the outrageous industrial equipment Iko is building for the Z [cro]K game. We had a great time, laughing and talking as only he and I can together. In defiance of the fact the last time I saw Shane MacGowan it was pathetic, and the fact that I really don't like the Showbox Sodo as a venue, I hoped the show would be a good one. Alas, there is risk inherent with any hope.
We drank our $12 each beer and a shot as the band took the stage. It became immediately apparent that once again Shane was so loaded as to be unintelligible. The musicians did well, but it was window dressing on a dilapidated house with their front man mangling the lyrics and, eventually, disappearing from the stage all together. We stuck it out through most of the show, but long story short is the legendary Pogues have fallen from such a great height. I wanted a little taste of the old 'Sally Maclennane' and I was sorely disappointed. The show was tragic and terrible.
We wound up prowling the diamond-plate hallways of the recently opened Tully's building artist spaces, which are kind of cool but dizzyingly labyrinthine and have all the charm of a college dorm, then and going back to Hanta to drown our disappointment in loud music from big speakers. Also, I cannot capture what it is like when Iko and I are together. We are trying to reforge our relationship to one another in a crucible. It is at once hilarious, heartbreaking, simple, bloody and unresolved.
The second law of thermodynamics outlines the irreversibility in nature. You cannot go backwards. Ash does not reform spontaneously into trees and heat, the state of a thing is always changing and the best an equation can show is the numerical measure of uncertainty. So it is with math and fire; and so with Irish punk bands and my fool heart.
I was so excited to see the Pogues last night. At the end of a beautiful day I pulled on my motorcycle boots and headed to Hanta Haus for a pre-show beer and to play with the outrageous industrial equipment Iko is building for the Z [cro]K game. We had a great time, laughing and talking as only he and I can together. In defiance of the fact the last time I saw Shane MacGowan it was pathetic, and the fact that I really don't like the Showbox Sodo as a venue, I hoped the show would be a good one. Alas, there is risk inherent with any hope.
We drank our $12 each beer and a shot as the band took the stage. It became immediately apparent that once again Shane was so loaded as to be unintelligible. The musicians did well, but it was window dressing on a dilapidated house with their front man mangling the lyrics and, eventually, disappearing from the stage all together. We stuck it out through most of the show, but long story short is the legendary Pogues have fallen from such a great height. I wanted a little taste of the old 'Sally Maclennane' and I was sorely disappointed. The show was tragic and terrible.
We wound up prowling the diamond-plate hallways of the recently opened Tully's building artist spaces, which are kind of cool but dizzyingly labyrinthine and have all the charm of a college dorm, then and going back to Hanta to drown our disappointment in loud music from big speakers. Also, I cannot capture what it is like when Iko and I are together. We are trying to reforge our relationship to one another in a crucible. It is at once hilarious, heartbreaking, simple, bloody and unresolved.
The second law of thermodynamics outlines the irreversibility in nature. You cannot go backwards. Ash does not reform spontaneously into trees and heat, the state of a thing is always changing and the best an equation can show is the numerical measure of uncertainty. So it is with math and fire; and so with Irish punk bands and my fool heart.