Meat Puppets
April 5, 2019
The Independent
San Francisco, CA
But Then I Saw Meat Puppets
By Sean Sanford
Until now, I’d only seen Meat Puppets in the gleams of recollection. Childhood, man. When I found out they were coming here, to San Francisco, I hopped upon the opportunity. Hell, I thought I’d take it a few yards beyond and ask their manager if I could interview them for Lowcard. And dang diggity if she didn’t proclaim, Okay, sure. My wonders were afloat. I pondered; I blushed; my body seared as my mind soared. Then came the week in question and the show had sold out, so I figured I’d get back in touch with her, just to, you know, make sure our sesh still stood, even if on shaky legs. I imagine they were all busy planning the album-release tour, and I never heard from her after my second plea, so I harbored the notion of our man-date –I mean interview! being ghosted. Then again, maybe she just hadn’t been able to respond to that particular query…
On came the night of said show and I figured I could head over to The Independent and see if I was on a list, any list. Yet, the box office was closed until about an hour before the show and my wife and I had made a dinner date with some close friends. So I made way for home to go help cook some risotto and decide my next step.
As I passed the side door of the venue I could hear them doing sound check. Who knows, I grasped. Maybe they’ll sound all old and shitty and I’ll be stoked to have missed them. Well, they didn’t. Holy crap they sounded just as I could recollect from my car’s scratched cassette tapes. In other words, amazing. They were playing what I imagined to be one of their new songs. I leaned against the door and jammed to it. The curtain was open a peek and I could see the stage, but I’d be staring down Curt Kirkwood himself, and didn’t want to make him feel like I was sniffing his pits. They played through the song and I figured, Hey. If I don’t get to go tonight, I at least got my own little one-song concert. So, I headed off to meet my friends.
The night wore on and I was slightly wine-tired, but with a little encouragement from my lady and our dinner guests, I made way to The Independent to see if I could, I dunno, beg the doorman to let me sneak in; mostly because by then, Meat Puppets were probably getting close to winding down. Or maybe I could act like Pee-Wee when he goes to The Alamo and just sort of laugh my way in just behind a group who’s returning from their smoke break. Either way, the key was to act like I belonged. (Something I’m routinely bad at.)
I went the doordude and he told me, albeit very kindly, that No Way, Jose. It was a sold out show afterall, sheesh. So I decided to lean against the wall, where I could actually hear the show really well, and enjoy the tunes. I got embarrassingly into it. I love Meat Puppets, and can really vibe to their guitar trickery. They’re pretty fricken layered and written in a way that seems to transcend logic. They played a couple tunes that opened the pages of my memory’s photo album; they also played songs that I’d never heard because I’ve yet to hear all of their albums. Some of the songs I imagined could also be from their newbie. I was pretty much totally enjoying it. At one point I felt a tap on my shoulder and one of the Independent crew dudes was handing me a bottled water. He must have thought I was shitfaced on booze rather than vibes, mon. I was thinking that even if I couldn’t see them, the night was still turning, spinning, flipping, and barging to bear some kinda something which I could hold and remember. Which was all good with me. Although I still wanted to buy the new album from the Puppets themselves, so I went up to a venue employee as they were checking the cig-break-etcetera hooligans outside and asked if there was any way (as the music coming from inside indicated that the band was jamming their way across a finale) I could go in after they were done and watch the encore. Dude was cool about it, but still said he couldn’t let me. I understood and told him so before going back to my standing wall-seat.
After a few minutes, he came back up to me. “Hey man,” he said. “Someone came earlier who had an extra ticket.” He held it up. “You can go ahead and take it and watch the rest of the show.” See, folks? Dreams can true if you fall asleep standing up on the sidewalk.
Inside I hurried, hoping to at least see them wrap up their last jam. And yet, another song began. Oh fuck yeah. I went on in to the people-carpeted floor and meandered to a rendition of comfort as I watched Meat Puppets cruise into their airstream. They sounded so good, and it felt like I was seeing manifestations of my own imagination. There they stood, creating before my very eyes the songs which I’d been oft to ponder how the fuck one could write something so good. They looked happy and at home, and as I found a perch near the merch table, I was beyond stoked to be able to see them play about five songs, then the encore. And holy shit they sounded great.
If you ever get the chance to see Meat Puppets, I suggest you bust a move, only maybe try to just, you know, buy a ticket. Because my method was faulty at best. I did get to see them after all though, and couldn’t be happier about it. I didn’t get to interview them for Lowcard, but that’s probably for the best; partly cause I’m an awkward interviewer and mostly because I ask bad questions. That was all an excuse to hang out with them anyway, so maybe they were hip to my rues.
And whoever left that ticket at the door, know that it went to a stoked-ass recipient.
The End
