2014 :: 2013
2012 :: 2011 :: 2010 :: 2009
2008 :: 2007 :: 2006 :: 2005
2004 :: 2003 :: 2002 :: 2001



I touched Bob Pollard last night.

The 'Spaceships had finished their set at The Bluebird and were streaming back to the rock room for a quick breather before Encore No. 1, conquerers of sobriety returning through the sweaty horde. I reached out for a high five ... and he grabbed my hand, holding on for a bare, fleeting moment.

Way fangirl, but way worth it. Pollard's songs have permeated my dreams for well nigh unto two years now, and my memories of the period are inextricably bound to memories of each new GBV album. That moment wasn't about anything other than sheer, divine impulse. Though he did play "Crutch Came Slinking" —a song I thought I had zero chance of hearing—next, so perhaps some sort of telepathy transpired. (In truth, it's on the set list.)

For me and for so many others, Pollard's status as a scion of the league of professional underground rock gods is, well, unquestionable. For the faithful, this show was a little slice of heaven—a beer-soaked, 41-song salute to all that is transient and good.

And the crowd's call for a second encore? By no means was it "improbable." Pollard is known for obliging his fans. Not that we take it for granted that he'll oblige—not on your life—but if you think the request was improbable, well, you don't know GBV fans. Or Pollard. Go back to Belmont, ya hipster freak.

P.S. To the owner of the Missouri plates "DRIVR8": Rock on.

- - -

"Disarm the settlers ... The new drunk drivers have hoisted the flag. We are with you in your anger ... proud brothers ... do not fret. The bus will get you there yet, to carry us to the lake. The club is open. Yeah, the club is open. Hey, the club is open. C'mon, c'mon, the club is open."
—Guided by Voices, "A Salty Salute"

9:12 pm, October 11, 2008 :: the rock room

You should follow me on Twitter.