The Old Edison’s Farewell Show
The Old Edison / The Pity Whores / The Radicals / Jared Hart / Mikeston Graton
Midway Cafe, Jamaica Plain, MA 1/3/15
This is The Old Edison’s farewell show and where else to have it but at the Midway, probably the place they played more than anywhere else? And for a band that played “hood/folk” or punk/folk how loved they were from the hardcore punk community and yes, tonight this show has easily sold out. I know that I didn’t want to miss this one.
So Mikeston Graton is the first act to perform. He’s from Down To The Well. Okay, I must be honest, I didn’t notice too much about him. I’m busy saying hi to old friends and new ones. Like Rachael from the Cape, who is a bundle of energy and does not like punk but embodies it. And Anne who is bright and optimistic and is involved with the underground show place Whirlybirds.
So I don’t recall Mikeston’s acoustic act real well.
But Jared Hart, from The Scandels, a popular New Jersey punk band leaves more of an impression. He has a great voice, an engaging personality and makes me take notice. I think it’s pretty neat when someone can slip “American Girl” by Tom Petty into one of their songs and it doesn’t come off sappy. I’m gonna give him a thumbs up!
Now, The Radicals take the stage and they start roaring straight out of the gate, quite noticeably after two acoustic acts. They really rev up the energy in the room and show why I say they’re one of the best live acts in Boston to see.
Aria, the bassist/singer has a new band with CJ from The Old Edison. Will they be called The New Edison? Nope, they’re called Live Nude Girls and have vowed only to play strip clubs.
The Radicals sound just as good as when I saw them last month at our Xmas party. Andy Bang, who hadn’t seen them for awhile, was mighty impressed. And tonight they do the same, playing a fun, energetic set.
And talking about the Xmas party- Unfortunately, The Pity Whores are here as well. Those unsanitary, unconscionable, unsportsmanlike, undesirables who came from Mongolia to pillage our villages and rape our livestock.
From protected sources I’m informed that the bassist, Rory, is wearing a purple thong made by Rachael who designs woman’s lingerie. I then proceed to check out the veracity of this statement by inspecting his backside before he takes the stage.
The Pity Whores, as they are wont to do, proceed to tare the roof down, tare the roof of the mother sucker and continue to tare our assholes a new one.
During a song I notice that someone has pulled Rory’s pants down. (I later find out it was Viviam). Unfortunately, his t-shirt/ sweater hangs far below his waist.
There comes a time in everyone’s life when the meaning of why they were put here on this earth becomes evident; a reason, a divine plan.
I realize what I have to do.
I leap upon the stage and proceed to lift up his t-shirt/sweater from behind. Therefore giving full view of the purple thong for all eyes to witness and I feel that my duty in this world is now done.
Well, it’s time for The Old Edison’s final set. I’m pleased to see they’re going out in a kind of “dignified” way. Less shenanigans or tom-foolery and nary a hi-jink to be seen. Just laying the songs our there the way they were meant to be.
Liam in his familiar Bukowski t-shirt, CJ plucking fiddle to the side, Will, moaning and bleating in the center, Squallie playing his low slung bass stage left, Rory strumming his banjo behind.
They run through all their best tunes like “You Can Go Fuck Yourself” and end with perhaps their best “RPM.”
And as they play this song Viviam notices me at her side and that my face is wet. “I’m crying,” I say to her and she tries to console me by putting her arm around my waist. And I know the reason I’m crying is because I can plainly see CJ, strumming her fiddle, crying during this, their last song and that’s what did it for me.
But what I’m shedding is not tears of sorrow, I think, though I might be sad that The Old Edison might not be a band anymore. I’m shedding tears of happiness that I get to witness such a glorious site, a vision of people embracing truth, guts and passion- a band wailing against the restraints of life and the sad, sad truths. A band rejoicing in crazy lustful passions and drunken reverie and dismayed by the vast part of the population missing such gems of life.
I see a band, a community, raise as one, against- C’mon, raise your glass!- the mad, cruel acceptance of the “way it has to be,” and offer small glimpses of which we wish to see, some hope above the sorrow.
And it’s not sad how this night ends for me, but glee, of how privileged I am of what I witnessed. And somehow, this just seems right…
(Slimedog)
