Little did I imagine when I bought my Fleet Foxes ticket that the show would sell out. As we were standing outside The Independent, the girl in front of me spoke of how she felt she was the only fan of this band, but next thing she knew, she was buying her ticket on ebay. It appears there was one other thing she took for granted—the fact that the show was 21+. I can only imagine that is how the guy who was outside seeking a ticket found his way in to the show.

I grabbed my place at stage left during the first opener, Sleepy Sun. Being local San Franciscan’s, I didn’t know what to expect from their performance. However, I’m starting to get the impression that SF is single-handedly reviving psychedelic/trance rock. It was yet another Velvet Underground-sounding band, much like Thee Oh See’s I’d seen open at the same venue. They also had the trippy, dancing female vocalist, paired with a marraca-bearing front man. Despite seeming to conform to the current formula, I thoroughly enjoyed their show. The girl standing next to me leaned over and said “This girl is so fun to watch.” She was. The girl rocked out through every song. I was hesitant to pick up their CD, because buying music I’ve only heard live can sometimes yield a disappointing listening experience. I wanted to support what they were doing, though, so I bought a CD anyway. I’m on my second listen through, and I’m completely impressed. I might even like it *better* than the live show. I definitely encourage picking up their Embrace LP.

I couldn’t help but think during their show how I was living in the middle of something big. I looked around to see several older attendees, as well as hipster kids, who could have been plucked out of the late 50s, with their sweater cardigans and dark rimmed glasses. All of us were here enjoying music that was a callback to a sound that was essentially founded in our city. The home of Jefferson Airplane was less than a mile down the road from where we stood. Would future generations one day look back upon all of us standing there as being part of a great time in music? I just think we might be in the midst of a scene that’s going to be remembered, much like its predecessor in the 60s. It’s a magical time to be in San Francisco.

Much to my surprise, there was a second opener. It was going to be a late night apparently. They carried a wooden chair out to the center of the stage. Then, an odd little man carried up 2 guitars, a banjo, and a side-fiddle. Carrying the items had gotten his shirt out of place, so he promptly tucked it in to his waist-high dress pants. He easily could have passed for a 40-year-old man, but later in the night, the Fleet Foxes’ lead singer, Robin Pecknold, shared he was only 22. Unbelievable. Perfect example of an old soul. Towel in hand, the man, Frank Fairfield, took a seat on stage. A man of few words, he announced simply that he was going to “play us a few tunes” and went to it. All of us let out a happy “woo” as he broke in to some fiddling. This set was about as unplugged as one can see these days. His guitar straps were pieces of bailing twine and there were no inputs to be found on any of his gear. But then something else happened. Midway through his second song, Frank started to sing. Out came this gritty, tortured soul vocal styling that I’ve only heard in blues artists from the mid-30s, like Robert Johnson & Mississippi John Hurt.

Sweat poured out of this man like nothing I’d ever seen. Every time he leaned forward to his mic, I expected something to short circuit. I’d watched his wife/girlfriend/lady friend give him a good luck kiss before he went on stage. He seemed terribly nervous. I watched him study his set list, noticeably reciting it back to himself trying to memorize it. There was an uncomfortable pause midway through his performance, when a look of complete panic fell over his face. I thought, “Oh know, he forgot his list.” He fumbled in his pockets, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper which he quickly studied and tossed to the ground. A few songs later, he stood, leaned down to his mic while grabbing up some instruments and said something like, “I think I’m going to leave now.” He walked off-stage, greeted by several handshakes & pats on the back from the other bands. As much as I’d like to wish him luck in overcoming what I believe to be a case of stage-fright, I feel his present demeanor fits his music too well to change it. The simple charm of it lends him credibility.

And here again I stood in amazement that this room of maybe 300 folks were silently taking in the old sound of this odd man and even more, throwing out requests for songs recorded in the 1930s. Was I going to step outside to find buggies going down the street? The bending of time throughout the first half of the evening was incredible.

I think it was near 11pm before the 5 guys of the Fleet Foxes filed on to the stage. Robin sported short pants with tube socks and boots that could have been mistaken for a homemade pair from the 40s. His bandmates represented the early 70s pretty well with long locks and vintage garb. They could have just as easily been CCR.

Right from the start, it was clear their personalities were as laid back and good-natured as their music. They were in no hurry between songs, leaving enough silence to convince the audience they should try to talk to them. It was hilarious. They were quick with a friendly (but still insulting) comeback for everything. Robin mocked the way we clapped, so we implemented the slow clap. After the next song, there was a delay and then slow clap. They were cracking up. We brought it back to fill gaps in the show when Robin would get side-tracked. He expressed his concern about whether we found the fact that he was seated less entertaining in a good way. We assured him he made it work. It was like we were all old friends, except for the guy who kept yelling out requests. It became a bit of a joke, just making fun of this guy. I thoroughly enjoyed their antics. It was by no means a “tight” show, which is what made it wonderful.

There was no rock-star mentality. A guitar string broke after the first couple songs, so after Robin finished his solo set, featuring Oliver James, the band returned with a new guitar for him. His bandmate didn’t just hand over the guitar, though. He did a slow motion enactment of trying to throw him the guitar, to which Robin responded with an over-dramatized catch & fake stumble back at the bulk of the reception. This play sparked some air guitar action and maestro-style pretend piano playing from the other members. I was happy to see that playing shows hadn’t become a chore for them yet. I was also patting myself on the back for my place by the stage. I could have touched the legs of 2 guys (but that would have been weird for both of us). Resting forward on the stage & with earplugs in (my new attempt to save my hearing), it was as if I were the only person at the show. Everything behind me faded away. I have to rank the night up on par with an Andrew Bird show, which as many of you might know, is saying tons. It was my perfect kind of show.

I caught a bit of the stage banter in my video, which just happened to lead in to one of my favorite songs. I have to say their harmony wasn’t as strong on this one as it was the rest of the show, but it was lovely nevertheless. You’ll note that the girl next to me was *really* excited about it.

All Show Photos

But that’s only just the beginning. Despite my mastery of the bus lines, I mistakenly overlooked the fact that one of my bus lines stops at 12:30am, so taking another bus over to meet that line at 12:50am proved to be in vain. Of course, my other bus option was in the opposite direction from whence I had traveled, so I waited and waited, too tired to try to walk the 8 or so blocks. After a short wait, I caught another bus to take me back. I arrived at my second-chance bus stop, which said the next bus would be in 19 minutes. My new technique for waiting for the bus is thinking how many songs I have to listen to to pass that amount of time. 19 minutes was only 6 songs max. Pssh, that’s nothing.

So, I walked around a bit and waited. I knew I was in a not so ideal part of town, a notion enforced by the frequency of large SUVs with even larger rims and nearly 100% tinted windows and a sneaking suspicion that I’d read about a shooting at the McDonald’s I was standing in front of. As it turns out, the only real sense of danger I had was that of being solicited. It all started at the last bus stop. While I was waiting, cars drove by, windows down, and boys gawked at me. I thought to myself “hey, mister, *this* is not for sale.” Then a very large black man got on the bus after me. He sat and smiled. I politely returned one, but then I felt him staring. Then I realized we were getting off at the same stop, the one that would place me in front of the ghetto McDonald’s. “Great,” I thought. In retrospect, I should have trusted my gut. I knew I could go a bit further and catch a different bus that would take me to the same place, but instead, I got off. The man walked away in a separate direction. I honestly didn’t expect him to cause me trouble. I think he was just a nice, lonely man.

There was a guy pacing in front of McDonald’s. He said, “what’s up?” and I gave him a nod. Then he tried to tell me something about why he was waiting, but I had my music on and wasn’t hearing a word he said, so I just smiled politely and took a seat in the bus stop shelter. It was about 1:15am at this point. I had about 10 minutes left until that next bus was allegedly to arrive. I sat patiently. In that 10 minutes, I had a man smile at me from his car and another man, hold out his hand to wave at me and say “hi”. It was the most amusing thing. I’d hold back my laughter until they pulled through the light. There was also a younger guy (who was pretty cute) who was stopped at the light. They yelled out asking if I needed a ride. I replied, “I’m good, but thanks.” He didn’t give up though. We went through 3 rounds of “Are you sure? Absolutely positively sure??” I noted he wasn’t evening going the right direction, to which he replied something about being from out of town. But again, I had my music on so I’m not really sure. I told them to have a good evening and he smiled & waved and rolled away. It was 1:30am now. Per the 19 minute estimate, the bus should arrived a few minutes ago. I walked back to the stop with the estimate, which now said “Next bus 30 minutes & 61 minutes.” WTF. This was not cool. I was half-kicking myself for not letting those guys take me home, but I just don’t trust people that much.

At this point, I was ready to get a cab. Public transportation had let me down. I’m always okay waiting, but that 19 minute estimate was a blatant & misleading lie. But before I could hail a taxi, the same bus that had dropped me at this spot, came again, so I hopped on and took it further. (This is the 3rd bus I’ve taken if you’re keeping count.) I got off at Civic Center, looked south and like a beacon of hope, the numbers of the night owl line beamed from the horizon. I nearly hugged the driver as I boarded the bus that carried me within 4 blocks of home. Despite my extreme fatigue and 2am arrival home, I was yet again impressed my grasp of the bus system. It may take me awhile, but I make the system work for me. It’s a good exercise in patience. At the same time, I’m so getting my iphone, because as well as I can know where the buses run, it’s impossible to know when and at the end of the day, timing is everything.

And that was my amazing Friday night adventure and this marks the last day of Photo Week. Expect more updates throughout the weekend, as I have Cerra’s birthday & Treasure Island Music Festival yet to come.

I must close by saying that I’m pretty sure I finally have the concept for the book I will write some day, “The Unspoken, Secret Life of an Introvert.” It’s gonna be a hit.