"I WOULD PAY THIRTY-TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY CENTS TO WATCH THEM PLAY"
[28/1/2025]When I was eighteen, one of the things I wanted to do most was to go to an underground gig, just to say I have. I didn't even mind who I would see play, because I was living in Victoria at the time and I knew no band from America (or probably even Canada) would even consider taking a tour detour to an island. So, I was willing to settle for a show - no more, no less.
That's what I told my coworker at the time, because I knew he was In-The-Know for whatever scene was around, because there's always a scene around. He humoured me for whatever reason that I'd rather not contemplate, and told me to bring some extra clothes to wear after our shift one night the following week. It seemed like he was already going to a show, and didn't mind bringing some anxious teenager with him. So I got ready.
I brought a jean jacket to wear over my work shirt, and that was it. We swung by his apartment, where he threw on a leather vest he'd studded by-hand himself, and after he had some bizarre tiff about rent with his partner, we were on our way.
Before we got there, two random guys also on their way who I did not recognize had recognized me: "Hey... you're Blake, right? From █████████ High School? Sick... you're old enough to buy beer, right? Can you run in and buy us some drinks? We're not old enough."
I said no. I immediately knew that this was going to be a shitty night.
The venue wasn't too far from downtown - near the harbor and behind the liquor store in some old, unmarked warehouse. My coworker said "The show hasn't started yet, come with me though; I'm gonna say hi to some friends of mine." He lead me back to the warehouse behind the venue warehouse, where he waltzed in, argued with another guy, handed me a pair of earplugs saying "You'll need these," then sat me on a couch where a metal band was practicing and left me alone.
The band stank, like, literally. They actually played pretty good, or what I assume was good based on the 110+ dB noise rattling my brain while I was sitting right next to them. The green room was covered in stickers and 18+ objects, and the couch was falling apart. I sat there for thirty minutes. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I tried to alleviate the awkwardness of being some random kid in the greenroom by saying to the band, after a song I actually liked a lot, "That was a sick song." The lead responded to me, only saying "That song isn't ours." I felt like I was going to implode.
My coworker picked me up after what I could only assume was an eternity in my punk purgatory. He said, "Okay, show's starting." We went to the front where I saw those guys from high school again. I did not say hi to them. We went into the venue. Earlier that night, after repeated anxious questions about who's paying when we got there, my coworker said, "Don't worry, you won't have to bring your wallet, I got you." He then argued with the doorguy saying neither one of us had money, which was a complete lie. I wasn't going to call him out on it unfortunately because I had no spine or wallet. The doorguy, rather irritated, miraculously let us in. I felt awful.
The first set was a harsh noise set. I laughed and cried without anyone hearing me over the volume and stepped out early. Out of some now-alien obligation to not seem rude, I waited outside until the set was over. My coworker was chatting with two other random people, found me over by the dumpster, and the four of us talked while waiting for the next set. One person, what I assume was also out of some obligation to not seem rude, offered me a hit of a crackpipe she pulled out of her jacket pocket. I said no, to which she shrugged it off and took a hit. All my years of listening to "Just Say No" campaigns had all paid off in that moment, which probably says something about the nature of peer pressure campaigns versus reality. Either way, it wasn't funny in the moment, but getting offered actual hard drugs out of the blue like that added some bizarre and dark comedic timing to the already awful night. But I know the offer itself and that woman who offered me a hit were not jokes. What was even less funny was when my coworker's drunken friend in line for the next set, in some bizarre attempt to make me angry, insulted my jacket and limply shoved my shoulder.
I'd never tell my old coworker this if I ever saw him again, but despite how awful that night was overall, I was glad I stayed for the second set, because I walked away from that experience on a positive note. A drummer and guitarist got set up on stage: two women in loose tank-tops who introduced themselves as "Spike Girls from Vancouver." The lead had a curiously soft and kind voice, the only one I'd heard that night. They then played the most killer twenty minute set I will always remember as being one of my favourite experiences of all time, where the lead erupted out with entire lungfuls of screams from somewhere deep in the soul, and my soul felt them in return. I cheered and cried from the back, as every two- to three- minute song came and went, and as the pit circled violently in front of me. It was amazing, and I will always regret not bringing my wallet so I could buy a tape.
Until last Saturday, I never saw another show again. Until last Saturday, I probably never wanted to go to another show again. Until last Saturday, I had no reason to go to another gig. That was, until last Saturday, when my favourite band of all time was playing their very first show in Edmonton.
I can't really tell people "My favourite band of all time is Teen Suicide" for reasons that I feel are self-explanatory, and reasons that are more personal. When asked that infamous question, "What kind of music do you listen to," I usually respond with, "Uhh... electronic?" since saying the words "My favourite band of all time is Teen Suicide" would, assuming, to say the least, leave anyone above twenty-four with some shocked notions of my person and create a rift between any personal or professional relationship we could share. So I don't say that because I hate answering bad reactionary questions, and I can't say something like "I like Sonic Youth" instead because that would be a lie.
There is no one artist on earth who's music I've listened to more than Sam Ray. And though I have less familiarity with her music, I'm now a fan of Kitty as well ever since she joined the band. Even if someone asked me a good, thoughtful question like "Why do you like the band Teen Suicide so much," I realize I would probably come to a dead halt and not know how to respond, because I have a hard time explaining out loud just what this music means to me. Sam Ray has made up a significant portion of my musical diet via many monikers over the past ten years, which feels crazy to say - I've been listening to one guy's music for ten years as of this year - yet I still can't quite put my finger on the magic that captures my attention in each song he's touched.
It almost makes no sense to me that I haven't seen much casual conversation about Sam & Kitty outside of the passing "Have you heard their band name?" because I feel they are some of the greatest musical minds of the times (which is totally not an entirely biased opinion). Yet their names and projects come up in the weirdest places. My fiance, completely unbeknownst and separately from me, also came to find and love Sam Ray's "Ricky Eat Acid" electronica project, which was one of the strange happenings that we bonded over and keep us together now. My best friend from Boston randomly said to me one time that they envy Sam Ray for an extremely funny reason that I won't mention. Hell, I remember that time Sam Ray randomly decided to drop a completely unserious diss track about Will Toledo of the band "Car Seat Headrest," to which Will dropped a completely unserious diss track in kind (and these two tracks were completely bombarded with replies asking "Is this real? Do they actually have beef?" to which I will say: no, probably not, because from what I remember, it was a joke).
So when my fiance and I were standing outside in the cold while waiting for The Starlite Room to open its doors to the public on Friday, January 24th, 2025, and we overheard some teenagers in front of us saying "Like, have you even heard of Teen Suicide before?" I think my fiance and I both felt a certain kind of old. This was an all-ages show of course, and I'd never scoff at a teenager for existing as a teenager. It's more this overwhelming feeling of age came with a sense of growth; seeing a new generation of people love their music at the same age I loved their music. Although, it was jarring seeing parents come with their kids to the show, because I desperately want to know how THAT conversation went. I certainly never could've asked my dad something like "Can you take me (a teenager) to see this emo punk band called Teen Suicide?"
My fiance and I got a good spot on the back balcony because we were pretty early in line. Our expectations were high and so were we. But seeing them play live was fantastic. They played their damn hearts out. I won't try to describe the moment the world melted away, but for fifty minutes, I was in a room with my favourite band of all time playing songs that I listened to for all my life, and it was perfect. They had this self-spoken confidence in playing that oozed off the stage; they were there to have a good time and bring a good time to others, and I received it graciously with hands open. It made sense to me, to be in there in that moment, like there was no other place I could be. They played a lot of old songs, songs about taking pills and feeling lost in a scary world that seems like its against you, songs that I've personally grown out of in the time since I've found them. But they were there, being played and sung, and I was happy to hear them. I was blown away when Kitty sang and yelled with a tongue of fire on a new song, a song she declared was "about a bitch that I hate." These emotions, old and new, flowed through me in a cascade, but the one that I stood there holding tightly to, the one that I walked away with, the one that I touch now when I look at the photos and videos of that night, was joy.
If I had to say what this music means to me, it'd be about the fact that this music from both Sam & Kitty, have been beside me through all my growing pains. An escape from pain some days, a reminder of healing on others. When I was fifteen, I listened to "the same things happening to me all the time, even in my dreams" through dollar-store earbuds in the dark of many late and sleepless nights after my parents' divorce. When I was sixteen, I was listening to "The Body Descends" when I █████████████████████████████. When I was seventeen, I listened to "It's the Big Joyous Celebration, Let's Stir the Honeypot" religiously after I left home to live with friends and away from the pain of a religious household that wasn't my home. When I was eighteen, I listened to all of "i blew on a dandelion and the whole world disappeared" after moving away from Victoria, and away from those now ex-friends, to live abruptly alone in an empty house. When I was twenty, I listened to "am i happy, singing_" on many walks I took to help me realign and meditate after work. When I was twenty-two, I left an unhealthy relationship not knowing if I could ever be happy, and after many visits to the therapists' office, I listened to "honeybee table at the butterfly feast" and still didn't know the answer... but I knew then that I could leave all my baggage behind.
I'm twenty-four now, and I'm doing good. I'm in a good relationship, and I'm building a healthy relationship with my emotions and my work. I feel like I have to write that a lot to reinforce the concept to myself, and it seems to be working. Yet at twenty-four, I went to a Teen Suicide gig. Why? I needed to say thank you to Sam Ray. Not for sharing in my pain, and not for telling me that it was going to be okay - far from it! For all of this music throughout the years, it's made me feel known in a way that has kept me alive, oftentimes in an ephemeral way that I never quite got. Sam Ray has said the band name started out as a bad joke; I never laughed. Teen Suicide so unabashedly, for better or worse, stared the hard, dark, and somber mirror of self-loathing in the face and did not flinch. That act of that lyrical boldness so unafraid to cry and yell and laugh and be laughed at, said to me, "If your life sucks, don't pretend like it doesn't; embrace the pain, because it's part of you now, and you can't run from yourself."
I do not share in the specific experiences of pain that Sam or Kitty have, nor do I desire to; my life is my own, and theirs separate from mine. But what strikes me so much is that these paths and point of pain and experience, so distant and separate from mine, affect me and change me continually throughout my life. The pain and emotions take on new textures, new perspectives, as they pass through foreign hills and valleys. Sometimes the lyrics feel so distant, and other times, it feels like they are being sung somewhere nearby. I don't listen to much pre-2016 Teen Suicide now, if at all, because it is records filled with such drowning depths of illness that it's hard to listen to. Despite this, some distant part of me felt lost down in a similar swamp; a black and muddy hole where I'd listen to Sam sing, behind noise and fog, "Death does not come graceful / What if faith can not save me?" and I'd swallow those bitter words as easily as cough syrup. But I listen to the new album fairly regularly, and a chill passes through me as Kitty sings "On a good day / I do the laundry / I forget my phone for hours but no one calls me;" blunt desperation becoming wistful and vacant.
I have new problems now as an adult, new pains to work with. "I have the mind of a housecat these days I feel / I can barely crawl my way through until six / Taking on new frustrations like tired unsellable homes / Paranoid and ghost-dense / And all the time endlessly dreaming." But I'm not going to be too cynical about them, because I have to be brave and face them head-on. My back hurts all the time, I feel barely employable based on the state of the job market, and I'm trying out new medications at the recommendation of my doctor. But I can't very well run away from those facts, even if the new meds give me headaches. I find this makes me a more content person overall.
On Saturday, I saw my favourite band of all time play some songs about pain, and I faced it head-on (and I got to wear that same jean jacket that I wore six years ago, newly equipped with patches). When all was said and done, and the edibles were wearing off, my fiance and I stepped outside. I saw the band outside too, and my fiance helped hype me up to go say hi because he knew I wanted to. There I was suddenly, that anxious and awkward person I've always been, looking at the exhausted face of a person I have utmost respect for as he and the bandmates awkwardly stared back at me. I managed to stifle out words in the brief silence of interrupted small-talk, and said to Sam, "You played a killer set, and thank you for playing here; you mean the world to me. Can I ask you to sign something for me?"
Maybe I wish I could've said more, or said hi to Kitty after she was done talking to someone else, or recommended them our favourite poutine place that we'd go to after the show, but I couldn't handle being next to their overwhelming presence for very long without coming to anxious tears, and I'd said all I needed to say. Hopefully they can come to Edmonton again; they'd certainly have at least one huge fan buying tickets.
THE SETLIST:
- [???]
- Living Proof
- God
- everything is fine
- cop graveyard
- suicide
- [??? - New Kitty Song?]
- Euphoria
- dead bird skeleton
- the same things happening to me all the time, even in my dreams
- skate witches
- See the Clown [Unreleased]
My own Bandcamp review of "honeybee table at the butterfly feast":
There is no fantasy in this life. There are no characters on a screen. There are no panes of glass between us. There is no solace in an epilogue to a story. Life marches on and it stomps down hard with its bootheel with every step it takes. It has taken away from me and it will do so again. I don't believe anymore that it'll spare me the time to say my goodbyes before it crushes me flat. I wouldn't have it any other way - I couldn't have it a different way, even if I wanted to.