I recently adopted dogs. After hundreds of dollars of vet bills, it turns out one apparently has bad allergies and is scratching himself so silly that people will probably think I’m a dog fighter if they see him.
But I’m not. But he’s all I can think about. But I want to enjoy The Fretliners in Boulder tonight.
They might not literally be medicinal, but if music is the second best medicine next to laughter, The Fretliners might need nurses in the audience. The Fretliners played two sets of bluegrass music with an intermission in between. Their music was competent yet humble – whereas in aggressive music, people take solo opportunities to showboat and rockstar themselves, The Fretliners don’t. They do their jams, no matter how impressive (and some shit was quite impressive), and move on like it’s no big thang.
They gave the audience appropriately long breaks in between songs and sets, which is a weird way to describe an event of entertainment. But if my baby boy was there, he would have no time to think about his allergies or about scratching himself silly, and not just because he’s a dog. He wouldn’t have the opportunity to.
The Fretliners are a calm, mesmerising, skillful, and modest group. If I was physically hurt tonight, my pain would be forgotten. But because I’m mentally fucked thanks to, well, obviously everything, all I got to do was enjoy the show while being thankful at least I’m not physically injured again.
Shout out to the dude painting at the Fox Theatre!
I’m pushing my merch hard this year. Because my merch is sick and more people should have it. Also, vet bills.
