I had to see Santigold’s show at the Roseland Ballroom on Saturday, 10.13.2012. I figured that since we met in Providence (click here for my Providence experience), and then again in Boston a month later (click here for my Boston experience), I needed to do anything I can to maintain her memory of me and the friendship in my head.
I was behind a group of younglings in line. They seem college-age as they were quite college-outfitted. This is where I start to overhear conversations, which sometimes can be entertaining, but mostly annoys me. Probably because I want to join in, but don’t want to be a Buttinski. They kept using “mad” as an adverb over and over again. “I was mad tired; It was mad cold, etc.” When did mad become the new “very”? It’s been around forever! Did it take over “hella” or is that still a west coast thing?
So I decided at that point that I didn’t like them. Mostly because one was a little to overly dancey in line. Now I love the dance, always have, always will. But my experience as an under 21 dance club denizen taught me that people who over-dance sometimes do it to create space, deliberately pushing people. Which segues into a conversation about moshing. Call me old-fashioned, but there’s something disconcerting about young, petite girls talking about mosh-pit dancing. What finally sent me over the edge was when I overheard the over-dancing princess say “I’m really into collars.” I don’t know why I care, but to me, if you have to call out a trend, consider its course run.
Although I’ve never been to Roseland, I instinctively find my way to the stage, front and center. Like a salmon in heat swimming upstream. My hope was that Santigold would see me, and remember me. She came on, I waved at her, and I think she waved back to me. Who can tell.
To my delight there were new costumes. Her costumes are like works of art in that I stare at them forever trying to figure out what they are, how they were made, and what was used to make them. I kept asking myself after each reveal: Who is her designer/stylist????
An Adidas one-piece swimsuit with a shear mini-dress over it, with some partial side peplum thing, with bobbie socks.
A ruffled jumpsuit in what appears to be traditional African fabric.
A plain black jumpsuit with these baroque-like decals.
I was pretty secure in my space, but I new what was coming. Santigold invited people on stage to dance for Creator. I stayed put, mostly because I couldn’t get over the steel barrier 2-3 feet from the stage and about 4 feet in height. But also because I didn’t want to lose my space. So let the bum-rushing commence! At one point this guy tried to squeeze in between me and fellow front person to my left. He said “I’m trying to squeeze in, is there room?” Although I appreciate him asking, my response was a resounding “NO." I like to think I’m a nice person, but when I’m standing for an exhausting 3 hours, denying myself a drink or bathroom break just to save my space, I’m not willing to give it up so easily.
Santigold comes down from the stage for Shove It, and puts the mike in my face. Instinct takes over and I sing the chorus:
We think you’re a joke
Shove your hope where it don’t shine
A career as a backup singer flashed before my eyes as I heard my voice echo through the venue. But I’m not good with spontaneity, so I wasn’t at my vocal best. But it was exhilarating, and was validated that Santigold remembered me because she came down to me first! Suddenly I wasn’t so exhausted. Energized, it was 11pm and my night in NYC was just starting…