So as a young head, and when I say young I mean, compared to how young I am now, which is still young.  Actually, let me clarify better, so as a dude who wore the same Grateful Dead Maize Your Face hoody (ed. note: coolest sweatshirt ever) and jeans for like 3 weeks at a time, I was really into shows that were populated mostly by wookies and wookets (ed. note: They’re like juggaloos and juggallettes only they smoke weed and patculie instead of meth and Faygo, and they eat more granola than Del Taco).  Since moving to Los Angeles I have been to fewer and fewer shows where the crowd is made up solely of this type of heads.  The type that wear Teva-sandals with socks.  The type of that knows what their favorite micro-brew is and why it’s their favorite.  The type who I don’t really like to stand down wind of, or talk to, or  get stuck in an enclosed area with at all (ed. note: I know a show is an enclosed area, but they just listen to the music, dose, and spin at shows, so that’s cool to watch).

                This lack of headiness has come from a combination of living in Los Angeles, where you have a much less dense population of wookies than in say a Beer City or a Ann Arbor.  I have maybe seen one pair of Tevas on a person in Los Angeles, so you’re digging from a thin barrel to begin with, and then the other thing is, that the only head bands that trek through here on a frequent are the big dawgs, and I either catch them at festivals or when I’m back on the east-coast or their too old and they toodle out for too long on the guitars for me to want to go spend mucho cheddar to catch them at the bowl.
When a decent head act comes to town and plays one of the smaller/cheaper venues I’m always game to check it.  So when I saw that Jerry Joseph and the Jackmormons were playing the Mint I said “mother-fucker better play North,” and I went.

                Mother-fucker didn’t play “North,” but I ain’t mad at’cha Jerry, shit was good all the same.  It had the desired effect of making me remember why I love watchin’ heads head-out at head-shows (ed. note: see what I did there?).  For starters you had the two chubby old dudes next to Go-rilla and I (ed. note: see abstract image above) who just killed it so fucking hard on the air guitars.  I swear to you I have never seen anyone kill it this hard on air guitars.  We offered to let them into our show for free if they could bring that kind of heat.  Unfortunately the dude who was rockin cargo shorts and a too-tight polo shirt had some kind of Boy Scout event to attend on Friday night (ed. note: I’m really hoping he had a kid)(ed. note: also really hoping that kid gets to see his old man kill it on the faux-ax) and I think his counter-part was planning on coming straight home from his H & R Block job (ed. note: just guessing from the TJ Maxx-fresh look he was rocking) and trolling Craigslist for the spank-bank.  So that was upsetting, but they made me smile.  So did the massive cholo-head that was fist-pumping and thrusting like he was trying to break an imaginary wall.  If you’ve never seen a 6’5’’ Latino man do a hippie spin, you’re missing out. 

                There were all of the other usual head-show favorites milling about the intimate room.  You had the granola-mama with the boy haircut, also killing it on the dance floor.  You had the Jewish dude who probably might have sold you weed in the dorms sitting there listening very critically, a real connoisseur.  Then with that of course comes the chick he brings, who inevitably tries too hard to dance to the music, but just comes off looking a bit out of place.  Also, you had me, in my usual repose, my closest friends nearby, dozing in and out of headiness, smiling all the while, because all that shit is fun to watch, and the soundtrack was pretty damn tasty too.

                If y’all don’t know Jerry Joseph, I say check him, live if possible.  Last night It was just him and a bass player and  a drum kit on the little ass Mint stage, and it sounded like there were about three guitars going on, and a whole lot more ampage than what was actually there.  He’s a veteran, he’s played all sorts of venues, with all sorts of people, and it shows in his performance.  He does his own thing on the stage, rambles incoherently (ed. note: which I’m a huge fan of musicians doing), makes up the set list as he goes along, and innovates songs into his own versions, as he did with a Beatles tune at this show.  In summation, it was just an all around good performance, even if there was no “North,” or rather if he played it after I left.  Because oh yeah, one other thing about head-shows, they tend to go perty dern lengthy, and my ass was sleepy.  Nevertheless, Mr. Joseph, you’re welcome to come and play me a personal version of “North” in our Jam Van any time you’d like. 

Track for the Day:  “Climb to Safety” by Widespread Panic, because shit is bad-ass.  Find it on Til the Medicine Takes.

Links for the Day:

Local Tribute… (via Paste)

Jigga’s Main Ho tribute… (via Pitchfork)

“Delaware’s Finest” (via Prefix)

Emo collaboration shit… (via Pitchfork)

Damn it’s been a minute since I done seen Mr. Mystical’s name on anything... (via The Fader)

Should have said screw the pun and just named himself the real thing, would have been more gangsta... (via Pitchfork)

Damn I bet they smoked hella L’s during this studio session... (via Stereogum)

Pretty sweet ittle mix-tape… (via RCRDLBL)

Damn , dude was cool... (via Captain’s Dead)