Muchness and Light

Come a little bit closer before we begin.

 

Growler and I went to a show this week at the Masquerade in Atlanta.  We were supposed to be there to see In This Moment, but there was a 6:00 door, which we didn't realize until 7:15.  We got there just in time to see the stage being broken down and set up for the main act, Stone Sour.  (They were okay.  I'm not a huge fan, but it was a good show.)

I was surprised, though, that even in this environment—music show, my ideal demographic—the only guy who talked to me was in his early 20s and gay.  I got stared at a lot, but not one other guy really spoke to me.  I still had a great time with Growler, as always, but I was a bit flabbergasted, if totally used to it.  I was dressed down—black sundress, Chuck Taylors, and pigtails—so I wasn't even really trying to attract anyone.  Even when I do get really dressed up, though, it's rare that men actually approach and talk to me.

It's starting to make me feel like a freak.

It's not that I'm so enamored of myself that I'm appalled that men could turn down this hot chick.  (Really, I don't think that at all, at least not of strangers.)  But several men as of late, when I've mentioned this, have said that I'm a bit intimidating.

Me?  Seriously?

I can understand it if you've actually talked to me.  I'm bawdy and loud and smart and sarcastic—generally a big ball of glittery batshit.  But until you get to know me, I'm often just that quiet blonde over there. 

According to this informal survey, the fact that I am tall and blonde and busty in my general Amazonianness leads men to think they'll get shot down.  One woman told me that a guy once told her that men are actually more afraid of rejection than women are, if only because they've been more likely to be rejected than a woman. 

So I started thinking about this idea of women having to attract men.  In social situations, there's a definite expectation that women act a certain way.  There are all kinds of blogs and articles advising us to tone it down when we are meeting men, to be a little coy and pliant and make them feel special.  I see women, especially younger women, playing this flirty game of dumb blonde that drives me insane.  I know damn well that girl won't be anything like that once you get into her head, unless she really is that stupid.

Fuck that.

I can be quiet and coy and even pliant, but that's almost always reserved for the guy I'm actually with.  I am who I am (see above), and I've been adamant that I refuse to hide that from anyone, especially from myself and from potential romantic interests.  It feels dishonest for so many reasons. 

But are men actually afraid to talk to me?  Why?

I'm a nice girl.  Really.  I can carry on a conversation about almost anything.  I'm pleasant and funny and do know how to be socially appropriate most of the time.  (I know the inner circle will laugh at that, but they also know they're most often the direct target of my inappropriateness.)  I have a nice smile, and you might even get to see my dimple if you make me laugh. 

I'm also very sociable and will at least try to chat with almost anyone.  The worst thing that happens is that I don't hit it off with you and we say goodnight and move on.  Big deal.  But if you want my attention, you'd better be willing to at least meet me halfway.  Be nice.  Be funny.  Be pleasant.  Show me your smile.  Don't expect me to do all the work to put you at ease.  I'm just as nervous at the thought of being rejected—and maybe moreso given my personal history. 

And the truth is, I expect to be too much for most men to handle, so I do tend to kind of stay back and revert to my natural introversion until I feel like there's something worth exploring.  Maybe it's standoffish on my part.  I'm really no damn good and just walking up to a guy and introducing myself, especially when I'm surrounded by non-Amazon girls.  I'm not that tiny, cute thing and never will be.  I still constantly compare myself to those women, even though I know I am and have so much to offer. 

Dating is weird.  Men are weird.  Women are crazy.  How the hell this thing ever works and relationships can move forward into something longer-lasting is just baffling to me.  If you don't actually talk to me, you'll never know if I'm worth your time.  And vice versa. 

So make your siren's call and sing all you want.

I knew the first time I heard "Little Lion Man" that I really liked Mumford & Sons.  It was a darkly catchy little tune with huge, open harmonies, and I love nothing more than a great harmony to hook my voice around.  The entire debut CD, Sigh No More, is really fantastic, with its heavily-accented British folk sound. 

When Brits use a banjo, is it bluebloodgrass music?

When tickets went on sale for Mumford & Sons at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta, I was in the midst of Spring Break travel.  I knew I wouldn't be available to get tickets during the regular sale time, so I opted to buy presale tickets a couple of days before.  In theory, they were shitty upper-tier, dress circle seats.  In reality, there's really not a bad seat at the Fox.  The acoustics are so good, and you really can see everything going on.  Yes, I would've preferred to be closer to the stage, but I'm glad I even got a ticket to the sold-out show.

I got to the Fox in time to see the opening acts, Matthew and the Atlas and The Low Anthem.  It was more if the same indie folk pseudo-rock.  Both acts were very talented, certainly, but it wasn't enough to blow me away.  Except for The Low Anthem doing a song called "This God Damn House".  Singer Ben Knox Miller asked the audience to use their cell phones to call the person next to them when he gave a signal toward the end of the show.  It created a beautiful multi-lights effect, but it also created this strange reverb/static/noise/feedback that was breathtaking over this hauntingly sad song. 

 

Mumford & Sons took to the stage to thunderous applause.  I don't have the set list (I never keep up with that, you know.), but I think they played the entire album during their two-hour set.  I couldn't think of a track they didn't play.  Marcus Mumford (Marcus Yumford) plays guitar and a kick drum at the front of the stage.  He took to a full kit for one of the last songs of the evening, and it was amazing.  (Beware, Kevin Martin.  I may have a new singer-drummer groupie love crush.)

They did several new songs, as well, including one during the encore that I really wish I'd been able to record.  It was a still-untitled track that Mumford said they were still in the process of writing.  He said they'd been working on it during sound check and that the crowd would become part of the writing process.  Spin me 'round/just to pin me down/on the cover of this strange bed/Spin me 'round/just to pin me down....  Everyone leaving agreed it was the best new song of the night.

The most amazing part of the show was when they managed to quiet 8,000+ people to perform two songs, "Timshel" and "Sister", totally and perfectly as acoustic songs.  No mic, no PA—just Mumford, his guitar, and four interwoven voices. 

 

The sound was great, the light show was fantastic, and they worked the crowd into an intimate frenzy.  It was truly like an 8,000-person drunken pub sing-a-long.  The energy reminded me a lot of the first time I saw Dave Matthews Band, in Birmingham in 1995 or so.  Under the Table and Dreaming had just come out, and he was playing with Dionne Farris, half of whose band was from Alabama.  They collectively did a ten-minute version of Bob Marley's "Exodus" that was mind-blowing.  I was on the front row for that show.

I've been to a lot of concerts in my life, and this Mumford & Sons show has jumped high on the list of best shows ever.  Nothing will likely ever beat Leonard Cohen at the Fox in October 2009, but what the hell could, honestly?  There's also a LIVE show, the week The Distance to Here came out, and we were on the front row.  It was the last night they were touring with Jimmie's Chicken Shack, and it was a ton of pure, raw fun in the steamy, pouring October-in-Alabama rain.  And then there's that Gracious Few show in Chicago, but it's special to me for so many other reasons that have nothing to do with the show itself, so I don't know if I even include it in my list.  (Sometimes my love for The Gracious Few has nothing to do with my fandom, you know.) 

If you get the chance to catch Mumford & Sons on this or any tour, do it.  I will be there next time they're close, and I will do whatever it takes to be in front.  I'm at a point in my life where I can afford to be elitist and spend too much money for better seats, and I fully intend to do so.  It was a spectacularly wonderful musical evening that I will remember for a very, very long time.