by donald dusinberre imartsyfartsy@gmail.com
This is a story that took place at the Dinosaur Jr. show at Freebird Live on December 1st, but it's not about the music. It's about a guy named Brian and his uncanny knack for attracting trouble.
He's not the kind of guy who goes looking for trouble, and he doesn't ask for it specifically, but he's got some sort of magnetic force that unwittingly draws it to him or someone with him. For years, we've remarked on his Curse, recalling instances in which one of us was involuntarily drawn into a bad, bad situation with Brian.
At first I didn't believe the stories. I was told that while at a Jesus Lizard concert, someone ripped Brian's shirt off. When he was hanging out with friends at a local pub, (EU Managing Editor) Jon Bosworth got punched by a skinhead in the bathroom. As the skirmish moved outside, Brian tried to break up the fight and got stabbed in the back. Doctors later confirmed the stabbing, but the cops refused to believe him. No charges were filed. On a road trip to North Carolina for a weekend of camping, the car Brian was in got a flat tire and almost wrecked. Watching Reverend Horton Heat at club 618 several years ago, Brian got thrown out under threat of arrest. As he tried to give his friend the keys to the car so they could stay at the show, he got into an argument with the cops. They beat him down and took him away. He was riding with me on the way back from Built to Spill and Modest Mouse in Atlanta when we got pulled over. He stumbled out of the car asking odd questions, and I got arrested. Then I believed in the curse.
At the Dinosaur Jr. show, an inebriated Brian was upstairs with my wife and I, catching up and exchanging pleasantries. He headed downstairs, and when Dinosaur took to the stage moments later, I immediately spotted Brian weaving his way to the front of the stage. By the way, he's easily 6' 5" tall and furry.
Heading directly up front, Brian probably pissed some people off, even with his innocent-but-intoxicated appearance. I chuckled to myself as I saw him, but was quickly distracted by all the amps they were going to use to rupture my eardrums (which are still ringing a bit).
Watching a show at Freebird Live is a fascinating exercise in people-watching, especially from upstairs. Throughout the two opening acts, I was on the rail of the balcony, watching a terribly drunk, obnoxious, overweight man with a Black Flag T-shirt. He couldn't keep his hands off the mic stands or the monitors, tugging them back and forth, harassing the players. Black Flag Guy doesn't figure into the rest of the story, but he was really pissing off the girl next to him, and she plays a very important part.
She, wearing a Dinosaur Jr T-shirt, was holding fast to her spot at the front of the stage, enduring pushes and bumps from drunken morons. Suddenly, my wife tugged on my shirt and directed my attention to a ruckus below. "Go help Brian!" she shouted, and I tore downstairs, preparing to engage in a fight do defend my unlucky friend. When I reached the scene, nothing was happening and Brian was happily bobbing his head at the front of the stage, standing right next to a really pissy Dino-Shirted Girl.
I stood behind him for a moment in bodyguard mode. Perhaps his bad luck had gone away. Maybe he had finally exhausted the curse. But not everyone was enjoying good luck. As I scoped out the scene at ground level, trying to decipher where Brian's bad luck could come from, I saw Dino-Shirt Girl getting punched in the face by some shaved-headed bulldog. I, along with a few other guys aghast at the sight, pulled Bulldog away from Dino-Shirt Girl and subdued him so that Security could take him away.
The mob turned angry by this point, because it's never acceptable to hit a woman, no matter how bitchy she might be. Someone even jumped down from the balcony to join the vengeful fit of punishment on Bulldog. It was surreal. The crowd pummeled him, threw him to the ground and held him there, once again assuming that Security would soon come to take him away. With all of this misfortune looming, surely Brian was mixed up in it, but Brian was oblivious to it all.
I helped Dino-Shirt Girl to her feet. She gave me a look of vitriol and drunkenly lashed out at anyone who tried to help her. Preferring to bleed in solitude on the floor, she held fast to her precious spot in front of the stage. But where was Brian?
Security never came to get the pinned Bulldog because they took Brian instead. They must not have noticed Bulldog being held down and beaten. Or maybe Brian's curse was more pervasive then the omnipresent violence that was consuming the crowd. Either way, Brian was kicked out of yet another show.
Even though the incident took place directly in front of Lou Barlow, less than three feet away, the band seemed disinclined to do or say anything that would help the situation. You could feel the crowd searching for resolution, but none came from anywhere. It was disappointing and frustrating. Oh, well. That's life, and none more than Brian's.
Although Brian is a dangerous friend to have, after being with him, I almost always have a good story to tell.
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