Remember kids, 'good music speaks louder than words'

In class, we start discussing some short stories from James Joyce’s “Dubliners.” Another student throws out a comment about the Irish being self-loathing. I think the Catholic correlation is given.

For some reason, the same comment comes up again when I’m watching TV with some friends. Catholics are self-loathing. While I’m not Catholic, I make it known that I’ve been through years of Catholic school.

At 3 a.m. on a Saturday, I tell my roommate it’s really weird how people approach me and recognize me from my column. They tell me it’s good or something. My mom does too. But I tell him I must have a lot of self-loathing because I want everyone to know that I’m an elitist asshole and my writing is only halfway decent. The point of the column isn’t about writing it or having a lot of people read it and tell me I’m a good writer. I wish people knew I’m creatively bankrupt in comparison to the stuff I cover.

The fact is that the Arbouretum and David Karsten Daniels show is mostly filled up with devout attendees. It’s Saturday night and the promise of independent music until 11 p.m. hampers plans. By the time Arbouretum begins playing, the show has begun to clear out.

And sometime after that, my friend tells me that Arbouretum is one of the best bands we’ve booked in a while. They howl away, tapping wildly and crazily at their guitars as the place gets loud as hell. The lead singer sounds like Bonnie “Prince” Billy and the instrumentation is filled with quick plucking and an intense surround of sound. And the applause after each song becomes louder than when the crowd was bigger. And they tell us their guitars aren’t going to be getting any quieter.

Somewhere after this madcap guitar wailing and destructive eardrum vibration, one of the members of Arbouretum tells me they have played 10 shows in a row. Every show has been like a party. But at this show, he realized their songs were really depressing. And the mood was all different. Not that it was a bad show. Just different. And here we are, locked in self-loathing again. But it’s just that Arbouretum makes good art of it and I just want attention from my marginally good college writing. I’m riding home on my bike from a party I went to after the show. Everyone recognized me as that guy who writes the column in the paper. It’s 5:30 a.m. and I’ve been trying to figure out how to write my column for this week. And James Joyce and self-loathing hit me as a frame for the show.

But then I realize that I’m a jerk and every column I’ve written has become increasingly about me and decreasingly about music. I decide to go ahead with it Sunday night because I want the whole population of the college to know that there’s something a lot better than me.

The gold in the column comes from what I get late night on my feet at the Steynberg Gallery. Band members from Arbouretum let their fingers dance all over the guitar. And I’m the only one standing, dancing and continuously looking like an idiot. But I’m loving it in the most self-loathing and Catholic way.

Show tip: The Twilight Sad will be playing with Aereogramme and a Northern Chorus at Downtown Brewing Co. next Monday. Moody Scottish music equals a perfect date.