Jonny Numb

Symbiosis is the goal.

When you’re in a room – no matter how packed or sparsely-populated – where live music is emanating from a stage.

That symbiosis. That mutual exchange of energy between musician and audience.

Where sound, guided through the air and rendered intangibly in the mind and body of the observer, makes a powerful connection.

It’s about the musician and their music, absolutely.

It’s also about the audience’s decision to take time out of their evening to show up and bear witness to a wall of sound.

As the song goes, “you can’t have one without the other.”

This is why assholes at shows annoy me.

You may not be the guy or gal who’s pillaring into people when the band starts playing their most popular song (which happened at the L7 show in Asbury Park).

You may not be doing anything to physically hurt someone or infringe on their space.

Space – the final frontier. That unspoken spot of floor you claim as your own to move around and dance and bob your head in rhythm with the music.

Not sure if it’s a generational thing…or the changing climate of live music in general…but the more time passes, the more people seem to understand this at the shows I attend.

Granted, space is contingent on the show itself not being a sold-out armpit in desperate need of some Old Spice.

But I found myself annoyed at the November Psyclon Nine show at Lovedrafts Brewing Co.

While the show was sparsely attended (which seemed even more noticeable since a large section of the bar had been removed several months prior), the turnout was better than P9’s previous outing at LBC in summer 2022.

There were a group of maybe a half-dozen (split evenly between girls and guys), maybe in their 20s or early 30s: the girls had on stylish attire, while the guys looked dressed for a Dave Matthews concert.

And that’s fine – outside of putting on a black T-shirt, it’s been years since I’ve tried to be “fashionable” in order to garner attention. (I never considered myself enough of “Goth’s Gift” to keep it up for very long.)

The important thing is – they came there to see some live music and enjoy themselves, right?

And maybe it’s me getting curmudgeonly. While I certainly hate the beer-pounding drunks who feel obligated to yell conversation while the band is playing, I can usually tune them out (or move away from them completely).

Indeed, this was an instance where there was plenty of room to spread out.

What I disliked about this group was the distracting showiness of how they responded to the opening bands: Corvin’s Breed; Guillotine; and Clockwork Echo.

The guys did goofy dance moves and occasionally raised devil-horns; sometimes they collaborated with the females for some joint action – one girl had an obnoxiously large Japanese fan that she used on herself, her friends, and the singer of Clockwork Echo (who spent the set running around onstage and screaming his lungs out).

At another point, the group sat down on the concrete floor and mimicked a rowboat.

From what I gathered, the other patrons were bemused by these unusual reactions to the music, but I found myself actively averting my gaze.

First: after the novelty wore off, I found the group’s activity distracting as hell.

Second: fuck you, you’re not there for symbiosis – you’re there to draw attention to yourselves and act like jackasses. And

Third: just fuck you for acting like jackasses.

Once Psyclon Nine took the stage, the group seemed to be attempting more of their goofy shtick, but I’m not sure whether fatigue had finally settled in or they took an unsubtle hint from (singer) Nero Bellum’s manner over the course of the first few songs, but they seemed to “fan” away from the modest crowd huddled in front of the stage.

In an out-of-character moment, I found myself moving closer to the stage, just to get the group out of my peripheral vision.

They were also whistling obnoxiously and singing back nonsense lyrics while the opening bands played.

Yeah, fuck them.

Sometimes the tone of a show calls for jokey reactions or laughter on the audience’s behalf. This was not one of those shows.

The fact that this group seemed so diametrically opposed in their processing of the experience from everyone else led me to conclude: you’re not here to see these bands play; you’re here to draw attention to yourselves.

And that’s what was so off-putting about them.

It was like the inverse of the guy who pillared into the front rows at the L7 show; or the skinny, short girl who was whiplashing into people during Goblin’s performance at Underground Arts many moons ago.

But I found my symbiosis as I listened to the music, whipped my head around (my neck still hurts), stomped my feet, and occasionally glanced at my friend doing likewise.

I was glad to see Psyclon again – a stone’s throw from where I live – and their energy, no matter the crowd, is incredible. As an aside, I love the nonplussed baritone of Nero’s normal voice juxtaposed against the “swarm of locusts” distortion the lends him his signature singing style.

And I thought Clockwork Echo – who I’d seen open for Tim Skold in July (also at Lovedraft’s) – put on a high-energy set that just kept moving. I was reminded of the times when a band really connected with the crowd at the late, lamented Kinetik Festival. I even picked up one of their albums after their set.

I wanted to mention some of my sadness toward the not-good changes that have affected Lovedraft’s since August, but perhaps that will wait for another post. Sorry for the anticlimax.

And remember, kids:

Symbiosis!

(Header photo nicked from Wikipedia)