Time Crush

As a proclaimed megafan of all things 90s rock bands from formation until now (yes, their shit is still legit people!). Sorry, a pet peeve of mine is when people say things like, “Really - is Pearl Jam still around?” Or, “Oh yeah, I remember the Foo Fighters from their Mentos music video.” Sigh. I digress… 

For the hardcore fan that I am, I came into this concert game late, for a few reasons. One being that I was stuck in a cult-like mentality that my music and expression was wrong based on attending a life-consuming church group that almost obliterated my personality traits. More on that in a post to come. But, it was mainly because life was in the way and I simply wasn’t aware of the music community that existed. I was also broke AF for a long period of time with little to no disposable income (concert tickets are expensive, y'all). Once again, I digress…

Because of time lost, once this true love returned and rekindled, I overindulged and became insanely fascinated by the music scene from back in the day, specifically the “grunge scene.” Its pure, organic and humble beginnings, its cross-breeding of bands to form the craziest concoctions of the most talented of musicians, its grassroots guerrilla-style marketing system, its self-madeness, its overall lack of corporate ownership…I could go on. But, of course at the helm was The Fuckin Music! Oh, the glorious melody mix of grit, consciousness, rebellion and poetry.

Watching and re-watching grainy youtube videos of Pink Pop and Lollapalooza 1992 or rewinding the Soundgarden scene of the movie Singles brings me a painful sense of nostalgia, false as it may be. 

I WISH I could have lived it, but in reality I would have been 11 years old and doubt my overbearing, strict evangelical household would have approved. Again, I’ll save that for another blog post. 

But, the longing to have been part of such a time in music’s memory pains me. I can only compare it to an unattainable crush of youth. Remember wanting someone so bad, your actual physical core ached because you knew the connection would never happen? Whether it be due to distance, age, because they were famous (queue Growing Pains Kirk Cameron and the Karate Kid - he-llo Ralph Macchio!), or maybe because they liked skinny girls and you have always been blessed with an abundance of layering. Whatever the case, it hurt, right? And it was a crushing pain.

But, I’m an adult and can obviously handle the reality that time travel is not a real concept…yet. Honestly, who knows what that crazy Bill Gates has up his sleeve. Again, another digression...

But now, I feel another very real pit-in-the-gut sense of longing, one I can only compare to a held-back cry.

I’ve built this very personal version of my own concert life - my fun, my therapy, my hobby - which includes the bands I’ve always loved and almost lost, apart from the ones I’ve actually lost (RIP Chris Cornell & Dolores O’Riordan; Kurt Cobain too but he died way before he was even an option for me). 

Now it’s gone and I’m crushed once again. You see, the main bands I love, well they are older now and so am I, so there is an appreciation level there that youth could not understand. But, I do. I miss it. But more than that, I need it. 

This yearning is heightened with each concert that gets canceled or moved to year from now. And, as the world looks worse and my faith wrestles fear and confusion, I need my live music. It feels so far. The skin of my soul is sore and chaffed and it wont be long until its cuts bleed. I need its soothing. 

I know I will find it once again, but for now what I want, what I'm crushing on is not a fantasy life. It’s my own. 

The Brandon Spell

My view in Nashville, TN 11/27/19

I first saw Incubus when they co-headlined the SEA.HEAR.NOW Festival in Asbury Park in 2018. After losing touch with the band for years, I was immediately drawn back to their sound, vibe and creativity. 

Lightning struck and I was a kid again exploring their entire music catalog, feeling out the band’s energy, personality and sound. I needed to see them again. 

It was announced that they would headline The Innings Festival in Arizona alongside Eddie Vedder - what?! I purchased those tickets immediately, of course. 

A week before that show, stars aligned and I learned that the band’s lead singer Brandon Boyd was having a signing for his memory game, "Two Doors," at Bookmarc in NYC. 

I was pretty cool as I waited in line that mild February day to meet Brandon, not fan-freaked out or anything. But, once I got a closer view of him, the heart flutters and hot flashes began. 

His vibe was cheery-chill and style California rustic-hippy chic in his vintage Zeppelin tee, worn brown leather laced boots, and tan cardigan. His thick, long hair was tucked into a mustard beanie and he wore matching mustard socks peeking out from his hand-cut cropped black pants.

His complexion was clear and smooth like he wore tinted moisturizer, though I knew he didn't. Maybe he just came off of a juice cleanse or something. 

He took time (like real time) to talk to each fan. I had practiced what to say on line with a new friend I met there but like…was it cool enough? Was I going to stutter? Be a dork? Why is he so cute in person?! Are my palms sweaty? Ugh! 

I grabbed a glass of the complimentary champagne and gulped it down. I don't even like champagne. I bought the memory game and his book, So the Echo, to get signed. Still nerves. Shoot should I have another champagne?

Too late. It was my turn. I approached the table. He’s boob level. Perfect. 

“Hi, I’m Monica,” I cheerfully announced as I cupped his shoulder. Nice - his shoulder cap was solid (the result of many years of yoga handstands I’m sure). His tan sweater was cashmere. 

“I’m Brandon,” he said with a smile. We shook hands. His hands were softer than cashmere.

I shot him a look, “Um, yeah we all know that…” I said as I motioned my hand to the crowd in the bookstore. 

(I respond to nerves by being a sarcastic asshole. Noted.)

Be cool, Monica…keep the conversation going… “So, I’m going to see you guys next week at The Innings Festival in Arizona.”

He lit up. “Oh. It’s going to be a special set. We’re doing something unique.” 

I loved that he was giving me some scoop. I requested that they play my favorite song, “Warning.” He paused with his finger over his chin as if he was working through the set in his head. Wow, he loves me. 

“Hmmm…maybe. That might work. It’s going to be a great set.”

He’s very articulate and pronounces the consonants at the end of his words like a poet at a reading. I dig it. 

“Well, good, then it will be worth the trip to Arizona,” I responded, reaffirming my nervous sarcasm.

He gave me a slightly bewildered look. Did I make him uncomfortable? “Well, at least the weather will be better there,” he said as he looked down to sign my book.

“Yeah, I guess…but it isn't even that cold today.”  

“No, it isn’t.” He’s writing my name. 

“Huh, must be that Cali blood in you,” I teased.

"Please get this girl away from me...
she won't stop touching my shoulder..."

“Yeah…I’m silently suffering,” he shot back. Yes! He’s sarcastic too!

We both laugh. I die.

We take a pic. I touch his shoulder again and maybe again. I didn't wanna leave.

One last question. “How did you get all of your hair into that hat?”

“Oh, with these sticks.” He lifted his hat to reveal the thickest most perfect low bun held together by 2 symmetrically aligned baby chopstick-like hairpins.

Even his hair is art. Swoon. 

So thrown off by his hair art, I lose my edgy sarcasm and thank him for being so cool because “celebrities can be weird sometimes.” Wait, what? And, that was the tone of the look he gave me.

Then he announced, “Well, I think it’s time for a wardrobe change,” and removed the two hair sticks and tousled his hair loose from the bun. I never felt more like a teen boy in an American Pie film as I watched him toss his hair side to side. Swoosh, swoosh. Whoa.

Stuck in a dream-like haze, I lingered there for a moment. I finally snapped myself out of it and walked away so I wasn't embarrassed by being asked to step aside. I did realize, however, that I forgot to get my $50 memory game signed. Shoot!

After the show in Arizona, I was full on INCUB-SESSED and saw them four times in 2019, including shows from their killer '20 Years of Make Yourself' tour. As much as I genuinely loved the band and their music plus the energy of the shows, one thing become glaringly clear. We (the fans) are all under what I refer to as, “The Brandon Spell.”  

Female fans at the shows go bananas over Boyd. I mean, like seemingly stable, respectable, beautiful women, lose their whole shit over Brandon Boyd. The electricity he exudes through movement and sound casts a spell on those in the room. We are all one now - swaying, singing, dancing, smiling, drooling… 

I’ve seen ladies stop mid song to give each other an OMG-did-you-see-that look during his hair tosses and sweaty torso thrusts. His lean yoga body has also filled out nicely over the years, like he just came out of a Calvin Klein underwear shoot. Do you even lift bro? Yessir, you do. 

At the Ohana Festival in California, I nearly choked when I heard one woman behind me scream, “Show me your TITTIEEES!!!!” at the top of her lungs towards the end of the show when Brandon was still fully clothed. I mean, let’s be honest here, a MAJOR highlight of an Incubus show is when he removes his shirt, revealing intricate tattoos that seems to come alive during his flow. 

I got to meet him two more times this year. The band performed on The Colbert Show in June which is right across the street from my job, so naturally I left work at lunch, made friends with the head security guard, Jose, and scored sound check details for the show. 

Jose, initially tried to tell me that “fans” had to stay across the street. Oh, sweetie. That's not happening. 

“Jose, I am not standing across the street and screaming to the band from there. That’s demeaning. Plus, I came to get my game signed. Look at me, I’m not a psycho. I’m a business woman,” I said pleased with my look - biz casual but cool in a navy sleeveless top with an embroidered detail, dark faded jeans, tan wedges, round Ray-Bans and flowy hair.  “Here’s my card. I work across the street.”

He was still unsure. I had to convince him. 

“Okay Jose, haven't you ever met someone working here, like a musician that you totally respected and admired?”

“Well, yeah. I had to try and keep it cool when Lady Gaga was on the show.”

“Lady Gaga?!” I exclaimed. But, I kept my composure to not make an enemy of him. “Well, then you see where I am coming from?” 

“Fine,” Jose agreed. “But just act like you are walking by when they come out which should be around 4:45pm.” 

Perfect. I went back to my office and came back at the right time, chilled in the vicinity and played it cool scrolling through my phone. But, my stomach was in knots as I heard the band rehearse behind the stage door.

Jose looked over and gave me a head nod to let me know they were coming. I was ready.

“Hey Brandon!” I yelled as he exited the stage door in a mustard yellow button down short sleeve shirt. His hair was loose (yes!) and he wore perfectly round John Lennon sunglasses. OMG we’re sunglasses twins!

“Can you sign my game?” I asked as I quickly approached him.

“Sure,” he replied so cool and calm you would never know I just yelled his name and completely ran up on him. 

I thanked him and handed him the the game and sharpie. He went to use the marker and quickly realized it was capped. He flipped the capped side towards me in a motion for me to pull it off. 

“Oh,” I giggled and pulled the cap off as he held the marker and signed the game. Yo, did he just sharpie shame me? Ha! I was cool wit it. 

I went on to wish the band luck on the show that night as they were piling into their blacked out Sprinter van. They were gracious, smiled and I scooted off. I didn't want to cross the line of being an annoying fan or have Jose judge me any more than he already did. But, like Lady Gaga? I’m judging You, Jose.

I crossed paths with Brandon once more at the iconic Ryman Theater in Nashville directly after their ticketed pre-show jam/soundcheck. My best friend Glori and I were walking to the restroom and I spotted Brandon 50 feet away. I swiftly glided to him Twilight-vampire style, said what’s up and went for a hug. Yes! He smelled like fresh laundry. Like straight up Downy not some vegan lavender patchouli shit. The fact that he smelled like synthetic fabric softener brought me comfort.

That was the perfect pre-game to the show that night. It was incredible, of course, but we ended up having the absolute BEST view of the band.

And, I made friends with more women that were under the spell. One was with her man and he couldn't help but agree about Brandon. 

The exact time he removed his shirt, one woman screamed with such sincere relief, “Finally!” I couldn't help but give her a damn high-five.

Soon after another woman literally tried to climb past me to stand on the chair in front of me for a better view. Thankfully, she immediately fell and busted her ass. I mean she was fine and all, just embarrassed. As she should be, but damn that Brandon be driving bitches crazy out here.

That show in Nashville was by far my favorite Incubus show. The venue was iconic and intimate and the views were pure insanity. Check out these videos. Ultimately, I just want to thank God, Brandon’s abs, and the band for a year full of exuberant fun and amusing tales. Until next time, fellas!

Anyone else experience the “Brandon Spell?” Share your stories below!

Photo op after meeting Brandon at Bookmarc in NYC.

Glori and I after hugging Brandon in Nashville. O-M-G!