Thnks fr th Mmrs
Caiola, Lynyrd Skynyrd, projectile vomiting
Dear Rocka readers,
In August I put out an article with Jordan Caiola of Mo Lowda & the Humble. I met Jordan at Lulu’s Downtown in Colorado Springs on July 4 of this year. I had no clue who he was, who Mo Lowda and the what were, and all I was focused on was trying to convince the bartender that something was wrong with the soda gun because my drink tasted like beer mat piss.
I believe I gasped when he introduced himself and closed my eyes, confessing I could not speak to another man with that name. When he told me he was a musician, I replied “everyone’s a musician.” I suppose when I said I was a writer, he probably could’ve hit me back with the same snark. But he was kind. About an hour later, I heard him perform and my sarcasm tasted as sour as my disaster cocktail.
Yes, “everyone’s” a musician. But sometimes, in Jordan’s case, they’re really good musicians.
Here is the article I wrote about Jordan’s sophomore album This Could Be Everything.
My thoughts for you this month stem from a show I saw a few weeks ago. It was initially published by my college paper, but it’s my intellectual property… right? I’ve put off writing this newsletter for a few weeks now because if there’s one thing I hear more than “but like what IS your job?” it’s “I read your newsletter every month… is this one about me?” I love my fans.
Let them spill beer: Lynyrd Skynyrd Live in Michigan
A Lynyrd Skynyrd concert at a Michigan casino in August 2024 is precisely what you’d expect a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert at a Michigan casino in August 2024 would be: a slew of muscle tees, melted makeup, bad facial hair, “wife beater” tank tops, and Miss Me bedazzled jeans.
It could have been the crowd at a Trump rally, except these fans had gathered at the Soaring Eagle Casino in Mt. Pleasant, anxious to hear America’s iconic Southern rockers.
ZZ Top opened for Skynyrd, but because I chose to go to a concert more than two hours away with men, we missed the whole set. A Lynyrd Skynyrd concert seemed to be the same level of importance to my male friends as getting ready for prom is for high school girls. Exchange the floor-length gowns for jean cutoffs and you’ve got yourself an even exchange.
Johnny Van Zant, the lead of Skynyrd since 1987, led the charge with “Workin’ for MCA.” The crowd was migrating between the assigned aisles, Ticketmaster gatekeeping of special seats at the front be damned. Shortly following the intro song was the highlight of the entire show, the 2009 track “Skynyrd Nation.”
“Young and old (young and old)/ Three generations bold (generations)/ We've been told / It's a Skynyrd Nation!”
Led with the intensity of a television pastor at a smoke-machine filled, LED-ridden megachurch, Van Zant riled the crowd up further with the anthem of the fandom. Everyone seemed to know the words except me and my friend, the two youngest people there by 30 years. Minimum.
Classics like “Whiskey Rock-a-Roller,” “The Ballad of Curtis Loew,” “Simple Man,” and “Sweet Home Alabama” entranced the audience from start to finish. Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top even came out for a cover of J.J. Cale’s “Call Me the Breeze.”
Each song was accompanied by a massive screen displaying old live clips, produced visualizers, and even candles with the names of deceased members beneath them.
Obviously, this was the perfect setting to scream “Free Bird” between every song until they stumbled back onto stage after their fake hibernation.
What I found to be a charming performance of people enjoying the final throes of a great American rock band made others in my group depressed. Their criticisms of humiliating Baby Boomers displaying slovenly behavior while the whole world is falling apart fell short. This didn’t feel like the circus at the fall of Rome, but rather an endearing display of human delight.
What I saw was a group of musicians who were hyper-reverent of the legacy they strummed to and who were happy to be performing to a dedicated audience. Too often artists can seem aloof or disinterested on stage, like they’re racing through a setlist to fulfill a record label demand. The Skynyrd show wasn’t like that. Albeit performative at times, the joy seemed as real as the clouds of body odor and Coors carbonation that hung in clouds over the stands.
It doesn’t matter if this Skynyrd tour leg was a money grab by washed up old rock stars. They gave audience members what most of us can only dream of doing: giving others a priceless few hours of levity, joy, and fun.
We made it through most of the set without random strangers accosting us, but right before the show ended a woman who was the human embodiment of a Marlboro Red grabbed ahold of my concert buddy.
“You better raise your kids on rock ‘n’ roll,” she growled at us, beer slopping onto the floor as she pointed to me.
I assured her we would, despite the fact that I wanted to tell her I’d never marry a man who’d make me arrive late to a concert. Even if it was a Lynyrd Skynyrd show at a casino in Michigan in 2024.
This month’s mix, “constant headache” is yes autobiographical but is all about angst. The second the temperature shifts into the shallow 60s, you best believe I’m reverting! I’ve got forever fall favorites like “Constant Headache” by Joyce Manor, “It’s Only Sex” by Car Seat Headrest,” and “Orange Peeler” by Horse Jumper of Love along with some newly found tunes. My spotlight track is “Too Close” by Sir Chloe, which has really been an anthem for me these past few months. It began to play in my head last weekend when my friend got projective vomited on by a guy on a porch.
“He's so beautiful/ Makes me wanna believe
He's got a heart of gold/ That nobody can see
Bringing party favors/ Dollar bills rolled nice and neat
Party boy, you took too much/ It's time for you to leave.”
Rocka out,
Ally