Ode to the Cuddle Show
by David Davis
At some point when we were all younger, like 12-13-14-15-ish, we went to our first shows. It was there that we got this idea that at those moments where the music hits (and you feel no pain at all[what, what!!!]) you were suddenly part of this wonderful brotherhood where you and everyone in the crowd felt nothing but euphoric benevolence towards each other. You'd be packed in like sardines, yet still moshing via passive resistance to your lovely brothers a la punk rock ghandi (although, oddly enough, probably not to Propaghandi). OR maybe you'd be at some nearly empty barn watching your friend's older sister's boyfriend's scummy roomate's band play mildly good impersonations of their favorite bands (whether they were playing covers or not), and you'd think that nothing could be cooler.
Then we grew up and realized that you might rather just stand still and watch the band play instead of getting pushed around; we realized that we don't actually like listening to unoriginal bands play for their friends, family, and girlfriends; and most importantly, we realized that AT LEAST a good half of our unknown "brothers" at shows were, and always will be, asses. Horses asses. Jack asses. Actually, we realized that they were pretty much all assholes, and once that realization came there was no amount of shellack or varnich that could cover the assholes - they just got shinier and smoother. Some of us got jaded, others dissilusioned, and some of us probably got angry enough to try out being assholes ourselves.
Our musical Utopia destroyed, we mostly learned to accept the bad with the good; we came to accept that the world we thought we lived in didn't exist, and we'd probably never feel the way we had again--at least not at a show.
And that was ALMOST totally true. I mean, we still went to shows, got right up front, and felt REALLY awesome about everything, except some annoying dude knocking your tooth out or something. We almost never found our way back to Utopia; in fact, I'd venture most of us never did. But we few, we happy few, finally found our way back home a few years ago. It was on December 18th, 2004. The day of the first Cuddlefest.
It was there, in cramped and sweltering rooms, that a group of rare individuals got together and loved each other to death whilst playing songs that made us feel our hearts beat again (plus made us feel Morgan's sweaty chest on our - well, pretty much all over us, but we couldn't really tell cuz everyone esle's chest had already covered us in dude-sweat). It was totally awesome, and only gay if you consider a bunch of dudes rocking out (and occasionally getting semi-nude) in a 10X7 room to be gay.
If any of us thought it was gay that wasn't our major opinion on the subject. Rocking out to songs that made us feel younger, with arms around the shoulders of dudes (and a few chicks for that matter) who actually felt like brothers (as opposed to the 3rd string pinch hitters of the spirit we made do with in our younger years) ---- all that ish--that's what we cared about.
And care we did. We never felt more at home than when we were screaming out "I am the lighting bolt!" or boasting that "if there's one thing you don't wanna do, you surely don't wanna mess with our crew," or, for the sake of craziness -- singing songs about Christmas. Nothing was tighter---NOT EVEN AN ANT'S ANUS---than watching November Trials, Taft's Brigade, some band our homies made up that day, or the motha lovin' Ging Nang Boyz rock out. And nothing was tighter because you were rocking right along and everyone knew it. Or maybe that's not why. It's hard to put a finger on it really.
Whatever the case, speaking solely for myself just now, no nights were better than Remy's farewell party, Adam's bachelor bash, or, for that matter, any time we got together and rocked cuddle style.
I thought about this all just now (and wrote it down all jumbly as I thought) because of the fact that our most tried and true cuddlespot, so cuddley it came to be known as the "Cuddle-Space" is no longer available for cuddleshows, and I was, for some time, of a mind that that might signal the end of the age of CuddleRock. But I couldn't have been more wrong, for I now sense that, wherever the right people are, whenever they pack themselves in around a mic (no matter how large the venue is), wherever people are phat, and whenever people are phunky, there will be cuddle shows. And there need be no end. No matter how far our band of cuddly brothers spreads across the globe, we can beat back the tides of time like Nero conquering the Sea, if we but get together with a crew of dudes and dudettes we genuinely like, and play music we really love, if we but remember what it is to cuddle (really cuddle) and cuddle HARD, then we'll never lose the magic of our innocent youth again. We'll never grow up, and we'll never grow old. And that's Hella, Totemo N!!!)))
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