People watching and a slice of pizza

Concert gazing to culture anthropology

I missed the last train out of San Francisco after a Fantastic Negrito show at The Chapel. I knew that if I didn't leave the show early I wasn't going to be able to catch a train.

It was almost as if I did it on purpose. I know myself well enough to know that I hate leaving any concert before the last encore is sung and the lights go up.

If you ever see me leave a concert early, it’s probably because I’m traveling with someone who wants to “avoid the crowd” at the end of a night.

This is usually the part of a standing room only show where you can squeeze to the front of the stage, close enough to see the gaffers taped set list on the floor.

It filled my concert junkie spirit with joy. Negrito is veteran in performance but also has a lot of his Oakland roots deep within him. Anyone talking too loudly, too close to the stage heard his wrath. That was my favorite part of the show.

But tonight the consequences of my concert junkie heart would be that my car was miles away and I was sitting in a pizza shop contemplating the very expensive rideshare back to Oakland.

I sat and watched my youth flash before my eyes. There were iterations of people I used to know standing in front of the bar next door to the pizza shop on Valencia. You could hear the music change shifting the crowd outside as a small cluster gathered outside.

I watched as so many things remained the same regardless of the year or how much time had passed. It was like watching in real time history being passed down.

Holding on to a cup of ice that we would use to refill with whatever liquor we brought into the bar with us. Casual conversations about horrendous slights, explanations for ousting people who had no clue why, dreams of running away from boredom and escape from the stifling life that would later become comfort and stability.

I was remembering shared cigarettes with strangers. Someone would offer a dollar just to buy one cigarette which would be followed with a refusal of a dollar early on in the night. This play at generosity would only go on so long as the cigarette pack dwindled.

By the end of the night, having enough dollar bills to buy another pack for the next night to do it all over again. Everything was different but all the same. I didn’t want to be a part of it anymore I just wanted watch. This is the stuff that cultural anthropology is made of.