When the decent folks dance a two-step revival.

Speaking of folk singers, I had a bit of a folk injection last night at the Bowery Ballroom. Went to a Melissa Ferrick show with a bunch of friends in celebration of a particularly joyous birthday, and although I’m not really a fan (which was confirmed last night) I’m always up for some live music and birthday shenanigans. Not to mention the fact that Erin McKeown was opening, and I was psyched to be seeing her again. I’d seen her quite a few times over the years and had always been taken with her incredible guitar playing and funky, completely un-characterizable style and wit. But for whatever reason, I’d kind of forgotten about her existence and lost track of her as an artist over the past few years. It happens.

So she played mostly new music, which is cool, cuz you know, that’s what artists do. But I didn’t really connect with much of it, and we were all commenting on how her uniqueness, her edge, her funky guitar playing, all seemed to be, I don’t know, watered down or something. But whatever. It happens. And as with Melissa Ferrick it was music, it was live, there was beer... Life is good.

As she finished her set, I had a really intense moment when she launched into “La petite mort,” one of her old school “classics” that I’ve seen her do live probably a dozen times, but of course hadn’t heard or even thought of for years. And I was completely unprepared for the effect hearing it again after all this time would have on me. I guess, much like “The Love’s Still Growing,” I became aware of “La petite mort” during what was a pretty intense time of my life and then forgot about it in the intervening years, only to be re-acquainted with it now, during a time that has been intense (to say the least). Bittersweet. Kind of like simultaneously getting your stomach punched and your dick sucked. If I wanted to be crude about it. Which I don’t.

And while I’m not being crude, can we talk for a second about unfriendly dykes? Last night I was reminded of how much I dislike them. (Melissa Ferrick + Erin McKeown sharing a stage = an audience in which a total of six people are either straight and/or male.) Seems like a silly statement, right? I mean, unfriendly people just aren’t likable in general, so why would I separate out unfriendly dykes and give them their own particularly unlikable category? I don’t know. Guess it speaks to a prejudice I’m only beginning to realize I have. I mean, unfriendly people really piss me off, but man, unfriendly dykes just get my hair up and my back arched that much higher.

What can I say. I should work on it. Maybe it’s because in my college days I had to deal with so many, and so often felt unfairly judged or categorized by them, that now I've unwittingly turned around and put them in their own little category. Maybe it’s because they always seemed so justified in their stand-offish unfriendliness... Like they were particularly entitled to their own special brand of piss and vinegar. Anyone who knows me knows I have issues with feelings of entitlement.

Whatever. Gay girls are some of my favorite favorite favorite people. And I wanted to hold hands and sing and knit sweaters with most of the people in last night’s audience. There were only one or two that raised my ire, and again, those that know me know that my ire can be pretty easy to raise, by any and all walks of life. So don’t worry, you unfriendly dykes. You’re nothing special.