My friend invited me to two concerts of bands she really enjoys and was itching to go see live. I hadn't really heard or listened to them, but I accepted her offer all the same, and it turns out that I wasn't disappointed at all despite all the hardships it put us through. For example, on the way to the Grizzly Bear/Here We Go Magic show, her car started doing weird things. The transmission kept getting shaky between first and second gear and we got very worried. We managed to make it to the show with a little faith and determination we arrived safely to a long line in front of the theater.

Shows are notorious for making their patrons wait, so we waited in line for the doors to open, waited in the lobby for the actual theater to open after confirming our tickets, and then waited and waited listening to Jenny Lewis' new album while the venue promoted her upcoming concert before the first band. When they came out, I saw them and said to myself, "Oh no. They're old. They're not going to be any good!" But their sound was decent and when no one was singing, the music was downright enjoyable. However, we noticed that every song ended the same way, with all the instruments going into a frenzy until it sounded like noise, then they stopped and everyone clapped.

Grizzly Bear was good, much better live than I had expected. Their recorded stuff was quite mellow but their performance was upbeat and, for some, even danceable, but it was way too hot and crowded to even think about that. Almost everyone in the band looked like someone I knew: the drummer, like a Swiss guy I knew in Arizona; the singer, like a bass player from middle school; the bassist, like Conan O'Brien. The other guitarist didn't look much like someone else, but my friend referred to him as the one with the pretty eyes.

It was so hot that if we had ice cream, it would've melted before we could get it in our mouths, so we opted to exit through the mass of humans. I could feel the beads of sweat running down my back and when we got out and went down the alley, two kids got up and followed us. I was self-conscious about the sweat on my back, but soon they backed off. We decided to risk more auto damage by taking a detour to Whataburger, and I got the most delicious shake I've had in a while.

Then off to the St. Vincent/Pattern is Movement concert where we faced more resistance from automotive arena. Did I mention I hate cars? My car started overheating, and we had just picked it up from the shop where they supposedly fixed that exact problem. By the way, the new antenna they install didn't really fix much either. Luckily, we were able to move the car in one-mile legs until we could swap out cars with my parents, then off to the show we went.

But when we got there, far less people were waiting for the doors to open than at Monday's show, and there wasn't even a line. However, by standing there, people queued up behind us and in front of us. I've got that innate ability to rally just through my shear presence. And to my expectation, they were promoting the Jenny Lewis concert again and we listened to her entire album again. So I might as well promote it, too.

The first band, Pattern is Movement, was a pair of chubby men with righteous beards. Not only that, they exuded musical talent. The drummer had complex beats and rhythms, more than 10x that of Jeff Green, and the singer and keyboardist (and closet accordionist) was funny and talented. His rendition of Crazy in Love was so much better than the original. (Side note: why do covers of songs usually have such a higher success rate than sequels of movies?)

And during the entire performance, this girl and her friends, but mostly, was dancing to each and every song no matter the beat. At least she wasn't tall so I could look over her with contempt. But when Pattern is Movement finished, her and her friends left, probably for some more imbibing. And I could breathe again; there weren't as many people around to steal my air.

Then all of a sudden I found myself crowded into a corner. First, a tall photographer and his friends shoved their way into the middle, then, more of his friends showed up and I found myself struggling to get noticed again. A guy and his girlfriend were the main offenders. They insisted on bumpin' and grindin' to every song and it seemed like either they refused to recognize my existence or the guy wanted me to join in by rubbing up on me, too, "accidentally".

St. Vincent was very good and a lot more rock than I expected. But it was good rock, not like all that riff-raff you hear on the radio. The songs were varied and the crowd was electric. And I'm pretty sure I caught Annie (the singer) looking at me a couple times. She was probably trying to make eye contact with all the other creepy guys at the show, and believe me, there were a lot. Maybe it was to keep them coming back or maybe it was to show them that she's not afraid.