What Would Have Happened if I Had Gone to Shakey Graves

This past Wednesday, I almost went to go see Shakey Graves (my favorite musician) up in Minneapolis. I bought the tickets ($25!!! the most I’ve ever spent on a concert) a month ahead of time, I had at least two people willing to drive me, and I was super excited to see Shakey for a third time. Unfortunately, one of my friends got tonsillitis and the other had too much work, so I ended up having wasted $25 and getting wasted because I was pretty bummed. The lesson was learnt: Never get your hopes up, for you will always be disappointed and have to resort to drinking.  Luckily, as implicitly stated before, I’ve seen him two times, so I will now deduce how this concert would have been like.

We get to the concert venue at 8 o’clock, about half an hour after it actually starts because I’m cool and also I don’t care about opening bands a lot of the time. I have no idea what First Ave looks like so I can only assume it is a huge ballroom with a lot of chrome. There is a slight mist in the air, like an 80s music video. In the distance, we hear music playing. We get closer. It’s pretty good. I think to myself: “maybe I shouldn’t give opening bands such a hard time. These guys are great, and it’s only fair that they get exposure with a more popular artist. They probably work just as hard. And now I have someone else I can obsessively listen to.” I will forget the name of the opening band by the end of the night.

My friend and I stand in the periphery, not too close, nodding our heads and occasionally giving each other glances in which we raise our eyebrows. As time goes on, I look at my watch more and more. These guys are going on for way too long. All their songs sound the same. I just want to see Shakey Graves. Opening bands suck.

I go to the bathroom. After peeing, I wash my hands and look firmly into my eyes in the mirror. As I walk out, I pass by a lanky young man with a beard and a beanie probably. (That’s what he was wearing last time.) I look back, flabbergasted. I go to my friend and say: “I think that’s Shakey Graves over there.” I proceed to stare at him from afar for quite a while. My friend keeps saying: “You’re being a baby, just go and talk to him. This is the second time this has happened. You’re worthless.”

Just as I get up the courage to talk to him, the opening band stops playing. Shakey (it’s definitely him) starts floating before our very eyes. Like a cloud, he majestically drifts onto stage, his arms horizontal, not unlike Christ. A spotlight (kinda like the one they use to call Batman except it has the Skull from the cover of Story of My Life) shines brightly behind him. A guitar magically appears in his hands. He puts his mouth really close to the microphone, and, with a slight smirk on his face, says, “Hi, I’m Shakey Graves.”

The crowd, suddenly twenty times larger, goes crazy. People are screaming and clapping. It looks like what hell would look like if a really good musician played a concert there and all the demons liked said musician. My friend and I shoulder our way through the crowd til we get to the second row. We don’t want to seem too eager.

Shakey starts off the concert with an oldie, one he hasn’t done in a while, “Donor Blues.” It’s softer at first, but by the end he’s howling and his guitar is roaring. He proceeds to play several of his more famous songs, such as “Perfect Parts” and “Built to Roam”. My insides are literally melting from enjoyment and I feel my organs collapsing in on themselves. I’m also the happiest I’ve been in a while. When he starts “Late July”, people go insane. It’s the friendliest, happiest riot I’ve ever seen. At some point he plays “Proper Fence” and does this thing he’s done at every other show I’ve been to where on the third verse, there’s a huge call and response singalong. Even though everyone has done it before, it’s still the best thing we’ve ever done. The crowd has become one at this point. My happiness is everyone else’s. Whenever anyone speaks, it is only to be the vessel of Alejandro Rose Garcia. In other words, it’s just a really fun concert.

When he gets to “Georgia Moon”, a fan favorite, a disco ball, previously unmentioned but always there, shines brightly. His crooning voice sings at the shining ball and it shakes violently. Finally it breaks and there’s moment of panic as we think we’re about to get hit by shards of shiny glass. To our surprise, in lieu of falling death, bubbles float down towards us. As they pop, they give off a distinct smell. I pop one in my mouth. The bubbles are made out of Georgia Moon, 30 days aged moonshine!!! Everyone gets wasted on happiness and whiskey bubbles.

He plays a two hour set. He plays practically every song he’s ever released, and also does some covers and new songs. Every song is perfect. Every transition is perfect. It’s just a really great concert. He does the thing every musician does where he ends the show but then comes back for an encore and pretends that it’s completely improvised and not planned. It’s very charming. He ends his set with “Dearly Departed”, the song everyone has been waiting for. Even though Esme Patterson isn’t here, he somehow manages to sing the song in two distinct, beautiful voices. As he reaches the harmony at the end, the literal hand of God appears above his head and gently touches the top of his head. Beams of light shine forth from his eyes as he sings the last ooo’s. He collapses. There is a collective gasp. After 30 seconds, he stands up, completely unfazed, and smiles. He screams into the microphone: “This has been a great show. Thanks for having me Milwaukee!”. We ignore that last part and start screaming and clapping.

Anyway, I didn’t go to that concert and I’m pretty bummed about it. I’m 90% sure this is what would’ve happened had I gone. There’s no way this didn’t happen. In conclusion, listen to Shakey Graves, he’s great.