Tuesday afternoon Oz and I made the two hour journey down south to see a few bands play. We did the same thing we always do when we go down to Boca Raton: gawk at rich people. Their cars, houses, offices, boats. Nothing is safe. After walking around the mall and laughing at all the things we can’t buy, we decided to take a drive down to Deerfield beach.
Then, to kill some time before the show, we went for a stroll through Target. A Target that has two stories (!). At the risk of looking like a country bumpkin, I had to snag a picture. Don’t worry, I hid in the candle aisle. I don’t think anyone saw me.
After that, we hopped in the car and headed to Nick’s house where we dumped off our stuff and got pretty:
From there it was a quick car ride to downtown Ft. Lauderdale to Revolution Live where Emory, August Burns Red, an Underoath were playing.
Once we got our tickets scanned and wristbands attached, we headed into the mouth of hell. It was about 120 degrees inside the club and the air was so wet and heavy it felt like it would crush you to the floor. The first band was finishing its set, but it already smelled like sweaty hair. As we pushed through the crowd, I started taking mental notes on all of the ridiculous people that were there. I noted several different types of people:
- 12-year-old girls with fake IDs, miniskirts and black hooker boots. They mostly tried to look cool while getting pushed around and spilling their beer on each other.
- Long-haired, sweaty, shirtless guys who were moshing on the lower level.
- Tall, gangly guys wearing baggy ’90s Jnco jeans, black mesh T-shirts and as many chains as they could physically carry.
- Emo losers with multiple lip rings and black hair matted down to one side with sweat.
- A random high school math teacher who was there by himself.
Once we’d pushed our way to a spot where we could see the stage, the drums started beating, the band was on stage and the crowd went insane. The whole room reverberated with the sound of August Burns Red and you could feel the bass in your heart. The crowd pushed back and forth while people flew through the air.
Unfortunately, all we had was Oz’s camera phone to document the concert with. Our favorite band member was the chubby guitarist, Brent Rambler, who was wearing a light blue polo T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. He rocked the shit.
August Burns Red had a really clean sound. The bass was tight and there was very little distortion on the vocals, which were much deeper in person than on the album. While the breakdowns rumbled, Jake Luhrs, the lead singer, swung his microphone around on the wire and jumped up on the front speaker. He screamed as loud as he could and beat his chest to the beat of the double bass. At one point during the set, Rambler even broke a guitar string, but the other guitarist picked up his part and the performance was seamless. They saved the best two songs, “Back Burner” and “Composure” for last. A stellar performance.
After their set, we pushed our way outside to get some air. What really sucked was that the “porch” was a twelve by twelve foot space with about 40 people crammed into it. Everyone was smoking and ashing on each other. Then it was back inside for Underoath. Neither of us were super thrilled about seeing them, but we stayed for a few songs. However, when it started smelling like a hot pile of garbage, it was time to leave. I really think somebody shat themselves.
After the concert we got some much needed Slurpies at 7-Eleven and drove back up to Boca. There we saw my favorite sign of the day:
When you just don’t care anymore: Phuket Thai.