There are few better feelings than crawling back into your own bed after a long time out on the road, though having the bed be warm is one of them. And even though it was 3 in the morning, I was glad to be back, as was the wife. After sleepwalking through work on Thursday, I pulled the old-man routine and hit the hay at 9pm that night to catch up on some direly-needed sleep. Friday was thoroughly uneventful, and after a day full of running long-since-forgotten errands on Saturday, we pointed ourselves down 93 en route to the Roxy for show 5 in 8 days.
The Roxy is BT's newest stop in finding a decent venue to play in Boston - they're a little too big for the Paradise (plus they had their gear stolen there at a gig in '91, and thereafter didn't play it again until last summer's Pilsner-sponsored gig), and a little too small for the Avalon. Actually, other than the Pilsner gig, it had been a full four years since they played a show in Boston proper, so really, we were just glad to have them back. The Roxy, unfortunately, suffers from the same affliction the Avalon suffers from - eurotrashitis. That is, after 10pm, anyone who actually enjoys music is broomed out of the place to make room for the boom-tiss-boom-tiss crowd. So doors were at the odd hour of 6pm, show at 7ish. It was almost like early bird hour at Grassfield's; I half expected bluehairs wandering around the place asking for an extra Jell-O cup with their overcooked haddock fillets.
After a rousing set by no opener whatsoever (for the third show in a row - two "an evening with" and one "oops, our van broke down in Delaware"), BT took the stage shortly after 7. John opened by saying how great it was to be in Boston, then apologized for not playing Boston proper more recently. He said it was because he'd moved to Seattle and got caught up in the whole "alternative" scene, and hoped it hadn't changed their sound at all. So of course they open with what they call "Fucked Run" - an angry, grinding version of Run-Around, played in a minor key, that usually succeeds in confusing the hell out of the casual fans. The show itself was average, nothing special, though they did do a good bit of sandwiching - Gina>GBU>Gina and Brother John>Run-Around>Brother John (which was part of a five-song Four ending to the set, including Stand and The Mountains Win Again), followed by an old-school encore of Dropping Some NYC>Crash Burn>Dropping Some NYC.
One bizarre moment - some extremely sweaty, extremely overzealous guy came dancing out of the crowd during the end of Gina, and then went absolutely batshit fucking loco when they started playing Amber Awaits. I mean...who loses their shit over Amber Awaits? The dude pulled up his shirt and toweled himself off repeatedly, cleared about a 5-foot radius around himself for dancing, fist pumping, and general woohooing, then tookhis jacket, toweled himself off again, tossed it over the rail behind him
(on top of a friend's jacket...I think he went home and burned it), picked it up, then walked off when the song ended. Mrs. Dave was unfortunately a close-up party to this whole episode, and she just kept edging slowly away from him, a step at a time, fearing for her life, or at least fearing being splattered by this guy's copious sudatory production. As he walked off, he tapped her shoulder - I guess to apologize, but we'll never know - and she moved about as fast as I've ever seen her move. A wise decision.
And then it was back to the illegally-parked car, just in time (there was a meter maid making the rounds less than a block away) and we were back home by 10:30, even taking into account a stop at Espressospleasehold on the way home. A very odd feeling. Five down, one to go.
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