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Gonzo Report: Theory of a Dead Man and the cold facts of a lonely Valentine's Day
Heartbreak songs were the order of the day at Magnolia show
Live from your grandparents' basement!
Valentine’s Day came and went. The origins of this chocolatey, flowery holiday remain unclear to your humble correspondent. But one old tale about the Hallmark holiday claims that drunk and naked male Romans used to sacrifice dogs and goats; they would use the hides of the animals they’d just slaughtered to whip women. These women believed it would make them fertile. The ancient Romans were — allegedly — wildly romantic like that. A far cry from a dozen roses and and a clumsily rhymed poem for your pretty one. But judging from what I heard at a recent Theory of a Deadman show at The Magnolia, there are plenty of folks who seem to accept the abysmal darkness surrounding the holiday, whether or not they had any thoughts on whippet whips or Fido floggers.
The show took plae was a few days after Valentine’s Day, actually. But it was still close enough for the band to bring up the subject for the audience. Theory of a Deadman proved a perfect group to see if your Valentine's Day did not come with any valentines, given their string of corny break-up songs. Tunes like “Not Meant to Be,” “Bad Girlfriend,” and the timeless classic “Bitch Came Back.” One guy told me he and his girlfriend had just split over Valentine’s weekend. Fate, have you met irony? He did say the breakup was mutual: they both agreed he was getting dumped. Time to move on.
Video:
Theory of a Deadman: "Bitch Came Back"
When the doors opened, I spotted only about 25 people hanging around. Would the audience show up? Could the band put meat in the seats on a Tuesday night in El Cajon with an “unplugged” show? Things didn’t look good at the gates. “I’m going to feel bad for the bands tonight if nobody comes out,” Sagrado said. The only thing lonelier that a dateless Valentine's Day: an empty auditorium during a concert.
Following two opening acts (Mick Blankenship and Ayron Jones), an interesting stage was set up for the headliners: sort of like the set for That ‘70s Show. The band walked down a flight of stairs onto a platform scattered with old sofas, puke green chairs, and an onstage bar: the kind of basement rec room in which a fledgling band might have conducted its first rehearsals. “Do you want a love song or a heartbreak song?” frontman Tyler Connolly asked the now-packed house. The crowd asked for the latter. Love was not in the chilly air that East County night.
Over at one of the venue's bars, I asked Cassie from Alpine what her most memorable Valentine’s Day was. “When I was pregnant with my oldest daughter,” she said, “I was on my way to work, and I got T-boned. My car spun around, and I woke up in the hospital. The next day was Valentine’s Day. My husband at the time was like, 'At least we get room service.' Fuck that guy.”
Cassie wasn’t the only one with a sour story. Another woman told me how her man took her on a surprise date one year. “I dressed up in a nice dress and heels, and this fool right here,” she said jerking a thumb at her husband, “took me down to the Bay. I thought we were going on a yacht, but we got on this little-ass motorboat where he drove me around the water, slow as hell. You’ve got to at least let me know what kind of clothes to wear!”
The band egged on the heartbroken crowd with a barrage heartbreak songs. Love seemed a distant memory, or a rumor of the sun in an underground cavern. Some people didn’t even want to speak of the subject. “I don’t have any stories, not even a shitty one,” one guy griped. “I didn’t have a valentine this year, or last year, or the year before,” another woman remarked. Then a fellow named Big Mike stepped up out of nowhere and revealed his story. “One time I dressed up in a thong with breast tassels and laid a flower trail leading to the bed. It wasn’t much, but there were rose petals on the bed, and I was holding a teddy bear looking all stupid. She was like, ‘What the fuck?’ I had a little mini tux on, too. It was great.”
Who says love is dead? We should all strive to be more like Big Mike.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Theory of a Dead Man and the cold facts of a lonely Valentine's Day
Heartbreak songs were the order of the day at Magnolia show
Gonzo Report: Theory of a Dead Man and the cold facts of a lonely Valentine's Day
Heartbreak songs were the order of the day at Magnolia show
Live from your grandparents' basement!
Valentine’s Day came and went. The origins of this chocolatey, flowery holiday remain unclear to your humble correspondent. But one old tale about the Hallmark holiday claims that drunk and naked male Romans used to sacrifice dogs and goats; they would use the hides of the animals they’d just slaughtered to whip women. These women believed it would make them fertile. The ancient Romans were — allegedly — wildly romantic like that. A far cry from a dozen roses and and a clumsily rhymed poem for your pretty one. But judging from what I heard at a recent Theory of a Deadman show at The Magnolia, there are plenty of folks who seem to accept the abysmal darkness surrounding the holiday, whether or not they had any thoughts on whippet whips or Fido floggers.
The show took plae was a few days after Valentine’s Day, actually. But it was still close enough for the band to bring up the subject for the audience. Theory of a Deadman proved a perfect group to see if your Valentine's Day did not come with any valentines, given their string of corny break-up songs. Tunes like “Not Meant to Be,” “Bad Girlfriend,” and the timeless classic “Bitch Came Back.” One guy told me he and his girlfriend had just split over Valentine’s weekend. Fate, have you met irony? He did say the breakup was mutual: they both agreed he was getting dumped. Time to move on.
Video:
Theory of a Deadman: "Bitch Came Back"
When the doors opened, I spotted only about 25 people hanging around. Would the audience show up? Could the band put meat in the seats on a Tuesday night in El Cajon with an “unplugged” show? Things didn’t look good at the gates. “I’m going to feel bad for the bands tonight if nobody comes out,” Sagrado said. The only thing lonelier that a dateless Valentine's Day: an empty auditorium during a concert.
Following two opening acts (Mick Blankenship and Ayron Jones), an interesting stage was set up for the headliners: sort of like the set for That ‘70s Show. The band walked down a flight of stairs onto a platform scattered with old sofas, puke green chairs, and an onstage bar: the kind of basement rec room in which a fledgling band might have conducted its first rehearsals. “Do you want a love song or a heartbreak song?” frontman Tyler Connolly asked the now-packed house. The crowd asked for the latter. Love was not in the chilly air that East County night.
Over at one of the venue's bars, I asked Cassie from Alpine what her most memorable Valentine’s Day was. “When I was pregnant with my oldest daughter,” she said, “I was on my way to work, and I got T-boned. My car spun around, and I woke up in the hospital. The next day was Valentine’s Day. My husband at the time was like, 'At least we get room service.' Fuck that guy.”
Cassie wasn’t the only one with a sour story. Another woman told me how her man took her on a surprise date one year. “I dressed up in a nice dress and heels, and this fool right here,” she said jerking a thumb at her husband, “took me down to the Bay. I thought we were going on a yacht, but we got on this little-ass motorboat where he drove me around the water, slow as hell. You’ve got to at least let me know what kind of clothes to wear!”
The band egged on the heartbroken crowd with a barrage heartbreak songs. Love seemed a distant memory, or a rumor of the sun in an underground cavern. Some people didn’t even want to speak of the subject. “I don’t have any stories, not even a shitty one,” one guy griped. “I didn’t have a valentine this year, or last year, or the year before,” another woman remarked. Then a fellow named Big Mike stepped up out of nowhere and revealed his story. “One time I dressed up in a thong with breast tassels and laid a flower trail leading to the bed. It wasn’t much, but there were rose petals on the bed, and I was holding a teddy bear looking all stupid. She was like, ‘What the fuck?’ I had a little mini tux on, too. It was great.”
Who says love is dead? We should all strive to be more like Big Mike.
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