Club Folk
Ever since I changed the colors on this page, people have quit commenting. Oh sure, it's the colors, eh deano?
OK, more probably I haven't been writing very commentable stuff recently. Whatever. It's cool.
Anyway, here's a subject I think I'd like to write about. Maybe at length. We'll see how it goes. Thank Jim, for unintentionally pulling it out of me.
I'm going to discuss club folk, for a little while.
Specifically the club folk of a little music venue in San Francisco. Near the bottom of potrero hill, ok got it? I spent almost 3 years of evenings there. Why...is for another installment. I have nothing but fond memories to show for the time invested. And I'm pretty sure the memories started out - and have always been - fond. This isn't some nostaliga trick. I think.
The club folk I want to pay hommage to aren't the people paying to get in. God knows, they too are wonderful. Without them there'd be no scene anywhere. But after the bands, the audiences get more than enough attention in the press. But you don't see much about the people who work the door. The bar staff. The sound people. The slobs, the grunts, the jerkwads who put on the shows and collect the empties. They are a bonafide subculture.
Road crews are part of it, but even they have an appreciative, yet mostly diseased, fan-base. The real club folk I'm talking about don't get on the bus. They hang out at the venue, day in, night out.
Club folk have perfected certain skills; while other seemingly normal abilities have completely atrophied from non-use. One quality club folk exhibit exceptionally well, is the doctrine of acceptance of your fellow man. Judge not, lest yee be judged yourself? This is deeply inscribed into the club folk canon. Why? Well, my guess is if you work in a club that attracts all sorts, you begin to slowly realize there are billions of human options out there. From night to night, it's just a different sub-set of these options strolling in. Trying to be hip, hipper, hippest. Next night, nothing new. It's a repeat. Different looks, different sounds, different preferences in alcohol and drug. But that's just the glossy wrapper. Underneath everyone is honest to god the same. No one is different. Many people say the words, but the club folk *know* this.
You might think this would encourage a haughty lording-it-over the masses attitude. That happens. But given enough time, that too fades. I don't think there's any one reason why. But given enough nights in a bar, everyone will at some point make a complete asshole of themselves. Once that happens, it's not as easy to be the lord. Club folks live for entropy.
I can hear someone saying, 'oh yeah? well how come Frankie Gams, over at Fish Fry is always such a dick to me?' Easy: Gams is not real club folk. Either he's still new to the game, like we discussed above, or he believes he's above it. He's not a doorman, he's a....Whateverfuckalldream he still holds onto. You can't gain club folk knowledge, until you first accept and understand you are club folk.
Maybe some more on this later.
Ever since I changed the colors on this page, people have quit commenting. Oh sure, it's the colors, eh deano?
OK, more probably I haven't been writing very commentable stuff recently. Whatever. It's cool.
Anyway, here's a subject I think I'd like to write about. Maybe at length. We'll see how it goes. Thank Jim, for unintentionally pulling it out of me.
I'm going to discuss club folk, for a little while.
Specifically the club folk of a little music venue in San Francisco. Near the bottom of potrero hill, ok got it? I spent almost 3 years of evenings there. Why...is for another installment. I have nothing but fond memories to show for the time invested. And I'm pretty sure the memories started out - and have always been - fond. This isn't some nostaliga trick. I think.
The club folk I want to pay hommage to aren't the people paying to get in. God knows, they too are wonderful. Without them there'd be no scene anywhere. But after the bands, the audiences get more than enough attention in the press. But you don't see much about the people who work the door. The bar staff. The sound people. The slobs, the grunts, the jerkwads who put on the shows and collect the empties. They are a bonafide subculture.
Road crews are part of it, but even they have an appreciative, yet mostly diseased, fan-base. The real club folk I'm talking about don't get on the bus. They hang out at the venue, day in, night out.
Club folk have perfected certain skills; while other seemingly normal abilities have completely atrophied from non-use. One quality club folk exhibit exceptionally well, is the doctrine of acceptance of your fellow man. Judge not, lest yee be judged yourself? This is deeply inscribed into the club folk canon. Why? Well, my guess is if you work in a club that attracts all sorts, you begin to slowly realize there are billions of human options out there. From night to night, it's just a different sub-set of these options strolling in. Trying to be hip, hipper, hippest. Next night, nothing new. It's a repeat. Different looks, different sounds, different preferences in alcohol and drug. But that's just the glossy wrapper. Underneath everyone is honest to god the same. No one is different. Many people say the words, but the club folk *know* this.
You might think this would encourage a haughty lording-it-over the masses attitude. That happens. But given enough time, that too fades. I don't think there's any one reason why. But given enough nights in a bar, everyone will at some point make a complete asshole of themselves. Once that happens, it's not as easy to be the lord. Club folks live for entropy.
I can hear someone saying, 'oh yeah? well how come Frankie Gams, over at Fish Fry is always such a dick to me?' Easy: Gams is not real club folk. Either he's still new to the game, like we discussed above, or he believes he's above it. He's not a doorman, he's a....Whateverfuckalldream he still holds onto. You can't gain club folk knowledge, until you first accept and understand you are club folk.
Maybe some more on this later.
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