04.26
Recently it became necessary for my wife and I to wade back into the swamps of Florida. The tales spawned by that journey are many but this post is about just one: a sojourn to The Haven on Monday the 19th, where I took in the phenomenal experience that is a performance by The Protomen, and had a fine chat with a couple of them besides.
Last Summer, I made a similar trek to Nerdapalooza with Bryan (that’s Autopsy IV to you) and was disappointed to see The Protomen’s efforts undermined by all manner of sound problems. Especially after, as Commander graphically retold at the recent show, they risked life and limb to get there; piloting their tour van, Jesse Christine, on a nervy course down the peninsula with a near-total lack of braking ability.
With The Protomen’s recent appearance at PAX East, YouTube has been flooded with (often crap, sometimes not) videos of their performance, reminding me that my previous experience was not representative. So when I discovered, my appetite already stoked, that my visit to swamp state would coincide with that of our freedom fighters, my excitement was …frothy.
And so it was that I found myself broiling wetly in the cell phone waiting lot at Tampa International Airport this past Monday afternoon, soon answering my brother’s signal to retrieve him and dash as swiftly as we dared through searing sun and relentless rain to land at dusk upon the threshold of The Haven, nodding and grinning foolishly to an amused Panther as he strode to the door, amused by my stupor.
A guitarist co-worker of mine told me to expect excellent sound and lighting at The Haven (the fortunate result of Full Sail University’s immediate proximity) and his words were true. The technical production of the show was flawless excepting only the volume of Panther’s Protoman helmet mic, which probably should have been set up separately from what he used for the rest of the show.
I wish I could give you a set list, but I’m terrible about that. I can’t interrupt my intake of the performance to take notes, and I’m simply unable to remember which songs were played unaided. Just pretend that, whatever your favorite Protomen songs might be, they were played. It was an energetic performance with few lulls, and a thoroughly engaged audience. There was clapping, stomping, more clapping, fist pumping, yet more clapping, indeed more fist pumping, and sometimes too much singing from the crowd.
When the music stopped, I turned to find the entire bar had filled behind me. Dazed, I made my way through the crowd, found my brother who had backed away when a sort of mosh pit sprang up even as I pushed through it to the edge of the stage, and left the bar. As I considered whether to find and attend the after-party at A Comic Shop (allegedly not far) others filtered out and conversations began, eventually including several of The Protomen.
I approached Commander and struck up a conversation that grew and mutated as other participants came and went, including Sir Robert Bakker and Nerdapalooza’s Hex. We talked about upcoming shows (they’ll be playing Nerdapalooza again this year, if you hadn’t heard) and Act III, which Commander was exceptionally cagey about and from which I took away two clues. But for the safety of The Protomen, I will maintain silence on those planned operations.
Yours truly surprisingly struck a nerve when asking why the Father of Death single was not made available digitally, sans accompanying physical media. Commander expressed, let’s say, passionate umbrage and some chagrin at my complete disinterest in owning CDs and records. So much that after our conversation had tapered and he’d disappeared into the bar again, he soon came pounding back out the door toward me, Act II case and its booklet open in his hands, perplexed album owner trailing after.
“This is what I’m talking about!” he proclaimed, going on to describe the art on every surface of Act II’s packaging and every page of its booklet, front-to-back, while swiveling and turning the subjects of his narration to ensure my maximum ocular intake. I smiled, nodding and returning comment with each new vision. “And here’s a train, ’cause there’s a train in the song!” “Oh yeah, Light leaving the city. Sure!” A less hardy soul, one who perhaps had not been on the front lines of humanity’s fight for survival against an army of oppressing robots for years now, may have felt satisfied that his message was communicated after a few of these exchanges. Commander soldiered on, stopping only when there was nothing more for him to show me.
The subject’s owner looked on, having eased slightly but still alert. Apparently Commander would provide the second-to-last autograph required for his complete set, decorating the interior of his Act II case. But when my tour of the Act II art was complete and Commander found a place for his scrawl, the marker was found to be dry, having sat open for the duration of his sprint and explication. Another marker was produced, black rather than the silver of all the other autographs, and the collector’s request was fulfilled.
I hadn’t simply been placating him with my responses to the narrated journey through Act II’s physical aspects. I was totally unprepared to defend my digital-only music consumption, giving only a lame “uh, portability…” when prompted to provide some excuse for it. But all of the usual arguments for physical media, though brought up, are not why I found myself agreeing with Commander. The thing about The Protomen is that their songs are a soundtrack for their story, which is delivered in whole in the CD booklets.
Before my brother and I decided to call it a night and make our way back to Tampa Bay by a reasonable hour (I’m not as young as I used to be) Commander decided I needed my own Act II package, retrieving it from the merch booth and delivering it himself. Whether he did it out of kindness or to challenge my anti-CD lifestyle, I don’t know, but I gladly accepted it with the anticipation of devouring the booklet’s contents as I eventually did during my flight back to cool, green Seattle.
