Cruel Reflections
Music festivals in an interpandemic world
Adult Beginner is approaching dangerous territory. On my current trajectory, this will become a Substack exclusively about Jay Leno. I don’t want that and you certainly don’t want that. As such, I’m going to pause for a moment to talk about something else (a chorus of masked readers chant talk about literally anything else, the Gods demand it so).
Last weekend, I made the trip down to Pasadena for Cruel World Festival, the long-delayed goth/New Wave event from Goldenvoice. I don’t much care to do a full festival recap or review — that’s not quite what we do here on Adult Beginner, oh no. We’re going to use this prompt to explore other ideas and I hope I’m nimble enough to tie it into a nice bundle at the end. Here we go.
Goth Exposure
It was a hot May weekend in Pasadena — 93°F/34°C, humid, and not a cloud in sight. The noontime sun, “no shadow time” as the Rugrats so eloquently called it, left only internal darkness, a darkness on full display as goths of all ages broiled on a golf course just outside the Rose Bowl. Melting white makeup and soaked-through Siouxsie Sioux shirts paraded the Cruel World festival grounds as fans slowly yet devotedly made their way from one stage to another to catch glimpses of retro idols like Morrissey, Devo, and The Psychedelic Furs.
I clung to what little shade I could find near the Lost Boys stage as Christian Death, an influential and controversial deathrock band with no original members, struggled to overcome debilitating technical issues that cut their short 25 minute set even shorter. I sympathized with their public struggle against the elements, against the clock, against signal flow. Guitars were silent, vocals levels fluctuated widely, loops came in off-time. At one point, Christian Death’s DJ Kota left his post at the back of the stage to wave a flag with the band’s symbol, a Christian cross with pirate-like cross bones. It was the only counter-attack available to them. They were legends, symbols of a revered time long past, more than these mere human difficulties.
If the COVID-19 pandemic taught us anything, it’s that we are all members of the influential and controversial deathrock band Christian Death. We were all suddenly and inescapably humbled by matters completely beyond our control. Those of us fortunate enough to escape death, chronic illness, and financial devastation were set adrift in our own ways. Our cruel world had become so clearly different — our good times, be them 2019 or 1979, had slipped away.
I found this to be the most difficult part to reconcile as I tried to enjoy my first full interpandemic music festival. I was surprised at how normal things felt, a quality I imagine is ideal and celebrated by many. We did it. The virus is over. We can all go back to the way things were. When given the opportunity to reshape our world and collective destinies in the wake of a universal traumatic event, we chose to keep things the way they were. The past is cruel, nostalgia is marketable.
That said, I can’t begrudge the typical music fan this fantasy. For many, myself included, live music was and remains a critical part of our identities. There is magic on both sides of the stage. I should celebrate the return of live music and music festivals with full enthusiasm — why am I holding back?
Life is So Strange
Dinah Cancer, the singer of deathrock pioneers 45 Grave, summed things up nicely from the same stage where, an hour earlier, Christian Death raged against the dying of their allotted time. Things have been brutal for everyone in their industry. Speaking for the extended musical family the festival represented — bands big and small, venues, promoters, stage tech and sound, the hot dog guys outside the parking lot — they are all attempting to get back in it. So much pain had been experienced at every level. We are each trying to do our best given cruel circumstances.
I observed another shared sentiment this weekend: gratitude. Dale Bozzio of Missing Persons, Peter Murphy of Bauhaus, and Debbie Harry of Blondie all delivered similar messages of appreciation to their audiences, beyond what one would’ve typically heard at a pre-pandemic concert.
For Debbie Harry, she could never imagine taking such a long absence from the stage. To be back with her band and thousands of cheering fans was a liberating feeling and she stressed that everyone within earshot of her was also free. The tide is high, but we’re holding on.
Peter Murphy, the gothfather, the originator of an entire genre’s worth of existential dread, was “delighted” to be there in Pasadena, and applauded his audience as they joyously echoed back the refrain of “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” Having seen Peter Murphy numerous times in the past, this was the arch-goth at his most energetic, his most enthusiastic, and his most grateful undead state.
Sweetest of all, Dale Bozzio repeatedly told her audience she loved them, recognizing the extreme heat we battled to share a few minutes with her, and ensuring us that it was all worth it. “Life is so strange. I know that down deep. So, I’m all with ya, babe.”
Things were not as cruel as they appeared, though our Destination is Unknown.
I ask myself: Where do we go from here? It seems so all too near. Just as far beyond as I can see, I still don't know what this all means to me.
Let me know in the comments: am I just jaded? “Getting too old for this?” A forever COVID extremist lib crybaby? For all my shitposting about festivals, I will be heading to Primavera Sound in Barcelona in two weeks time. How will this experience be different? Subscribe now for updates from the road and of course more prime Jay Leno-centric content.
We're all getting too old for this, but how could we miss the Woodstock of our goth/alternative generation?