You Can't Sexy Dance To Punk Rock

You can't sexy dance to punk rock.

It's true, sort of. Being 6'5" I can't sexy dance, well, ever. It's just too much elbows, knees and feet to ever fit an acceptable definition of sexy.* But rare is the day you see me dancing and rare is the day that Superchunk plays a live show, so when I got word of the latter, I figured anything was possible.

The show being free was an added incentive to my sexy dancing potential, as it gave me that much more money to load up on drinks at the bar in the pre-show lead up. And in the crowd during the opener, Versus. And on the way back from a nearly-too-late run for the nearest bathroom, inconveniently located on the other side of the crowd, up a ramp, into a waterfront mall entrance, up an escalator and wound round a maze of stores. But with success (and more beer) in hand, I arrived back just as the 'Chunk finished their guitar tuning. Wasting no time in passing out beers to the crew that included DJ, L3K, the jaded scenester, Miss Annie and a couple others, I had one thought on my mind.

Sexy dancing.

Wait. No. Definitely no.

Superchunk.

Yes. Oh yes.

And the North Carolina quartet didn't disappoint. Setting the tone with "Throwing Things" to open, they pounded out hit after hit from their 20 year catalogue of rock and roll goodness. Heads bobbed, people jumped up and down, women swooned.** As the sun gently slipped down behind the skyline opposite the band and simultaneously illuminated the seaport pier on which the band was playing, the lights from the stage struggled valiantly to keep up with the spectrum of color before asserting their dominance as night came on. When the band played "Driveway to Driveway" it was enough to make a man feel like...well...like sexy dancing.

But alas, as everyone knows, you can't sexy dance to punk rock.




*Apologies to Kai Landry, who I'm sure could easily provide an acceptable definition of sexy.
**Apologies to the screenwriter of Dead Poets Society for the blatant rip-off.