Witness to Projekt Revolution

Paul and I scored a pair of floor tickets to the Projekt Revolution tour, a concert in the Woodlands headlined by Linkin Park and Chris Cornell. Also appearing were The Bravery, 10 Years, Atreyu, and a few other no-named bands that I didn't care too much for.

The main attraction for me was Cornell. I was a fan of Soundgarden back in the mid-90's when I had longer hair, ripped clothes, and developing tinnitus from grunge and post-grunge rock bands like Nirvana and Bush. I picked up on Cornell again when he later re-emerged with Audioslave.

I'm not a huge fan of his recent solo efforts, but he was going to cover his Soundgarden and Audioslave and even Temple of the Dog works, and that was more than enough for me to be there.

-

Knowing from previous experiences about the venue's nine-dollar beers highway robbery prices, Paul and I consumed most of our poisons before arriving. But we arrived early in the afternoon to catch Atreyu on the side stage, in one hundred-degree sunny weather with nary a cloud in sight, so it limited how much we were willing to dehydrate ourselves.

I knew only a few of Atreyu's tracks, mostly from radio play, but Paul was a rabid fan. So after the few songs that I knew were played, I wandered off to some of the promotional booths and kiosks, bumping into other folks I knew.

After Atreyu closed, a handful of nameless teeny-bopper bands went on stage, so Paul and I hid in the shades behind the lawn to refuel on Blue Moons.

-

The main stage opened later in the evening. Our seats were seven rows back from stage.

The Bravery played their set, and was the last band before Cornell began the headlined show. Again, I was only familiar with a few of The Bravery's songs, mostly from radio play, and even those were sometimes more self-deprecating and angst-filled than I care to be at this age.

I dozed off during The Bravery's set. No offense to them; I'd spent four hours under the scorching sun, fighting through shoulder-to-shoulder crowds, fueled on nothing but Blue Moons.

-

During the intermission after The Bravery, the faint acoustics to Black Hole Sun playing on the loudspeakers brought me out of my slumber and onto my feet. In preparation, we quaffed as much Blue Moon as whatever little cash we had left could muster up.

Cornell finally came on looking scruffy like a younger Bob Dylan, seemingly in synch with the sun finally setting and the air cooling down. He opened up with some of the newer Audioslave tracks from the "Out of Exile" album.

Then the lights dimmed, and Cornell took center stage with a guitar and performed a solo cover of Like A Stone. Immediately afteward, the band broke out and they followed with Be Yourself and an insane performance of Show Me How to Live. It was that trio of songs that truly started my night and got the adrenaline running through my system.

Cornell's set went on for some ninety minutes. He sporadically introduced tracks from his newer solo albums, but mostly stayed true to the roots of Soundgarden and Audioslave that made him a phenom, and had one memorable -- and to say the very least, SICK -- duet performance of Hunger Strike with Chester, the screamer from Linkin Park.

When he performed Black Hole Sun, I looked around at the crowd and noticed some of the audience sitting -- mostly the younger kids, the ones probably too young to remember Soundgarden. And seeing them personally offended me. Who the hell goes to see Chris Cornell and sits down during Black Hole Sun? I mean, this is the song that turned Chris Cornell into Chris fucking Cornell!

I started yelling at them, "Everybody here needs to stand the fuck up! This is Cornell's Mona-fucking-Lisa, you can't sit during this!"

-

The show closed with an intense performance by Linkin Park.

I've always listened to Linkin Park because they have a catchy, unique techno-rock fused with hip-hop sound. But they were never a band that I listened to regularly or topped any of my lists.

But after seeing them live, if Linkin Park ever comes through town on another tour, I'm jumping in line to see them. They are hands-down the best performers I've ever witnessed.

Unfortunately, I never followed Linkin Park so I can't list a lot of their tracks the way I can with Cornell, except for some of their very first efforts from the "Hybrid Theory" album from back at the start of the decade -- which included Crawling, the track that saw Cornell returning a favor with his own memorable guest appearance during the show.

About an hour into the set, the members of the band left the stage with the exception of the drummer. Nobody ever knows the drummer's name. The lights dimmed, the drummer took the spotlight with a solo act, and the last beat on the drums turned the lights off.

In pitch blackness, the crowd lost their motherfucking minds. They screamed and stomped and beat on the backs of the seats. Tens of thousands of fans shrieked and cheered, and their exhiliration echoed and roared across the lawn, surging down toward the stage like a blast of wind. In that darkness, I literally felt the noise.

And in response, the band jumped back on stage and rocked for another hour.

Linkin Park brought with their performance a level of energy that's hard to describe. I wish I could say that they kept me on my feet the whole time, but the fact is I had to sit down out of sheer exhaustion during Shinoda's solo flows and some of the slower tracks like Leave Out All The Rest.

-

The ride home was eerily silent in comparison, our throats parched and sore, our clothes drenched in sweat, the adrenaline rush subsiding.

Disarm The Obstacles

Hung out with Kenneth, Trinh, and Trinh's brother, Martin, at a Korean karaoke bar Saturday night. It was Vinh's birthday weekend, and he and his friends were hanging out at the place, but when Vinh bailed to go clubbing or something, I opted to hang back with the fellas and kick it.

One of the tables adjacent to us started singing Kid Rock and Sheryl Crow's Picture. The girl was rocking the female vocals, so I looked over to check her out. One of the other girls at the table, a tan skinned, dirty-brown haired chick, was standing up, wildly cheering on her friend, yelling, "That's my cousin! That's my cousin! Woo!"

I turned back to my table, "That one's kinda cute. The one standing up -- Indian-lookin' chick."

"Yea, she's cute," Trinh agreed, "I don't think she's Indian, though."

"She's Hispanic," Martin chimed in.

I looked back at the girl, "Nah, she can't be Hispanic. She's got some of that exotic Asian thing goin' on."

"You should go ask her," Martin challenged me.

"She's Indian," I retorted, "You go ask her."

"Paper-scissors-rock to ask her."

Martin played rock, and I played scissors.

-

The table had three girls and four guys, not the most approachable ratio. When I walked up to the table, I engaged the guys first, "Are y'all the ones that were singing Picture earlier?"

One of the guys, a pimply-faced kid with his hair gelled up and in like a faux mohawk, acknowledged, "Yeah, that was us." He pointed at himself and the girl that was singing, but I pretended not to notice the girl.

"Man, y'all tore that shit up," I said, "That song is the shit, man, that song is phat and y'all rocked it. Just had to let you guys know that, man."

I started to walk away, as if that were all I'd come over to say to the table, but the guy predictably threw on his modesty act, "Nah, man, nah, that wasn't me. That was all her. She was tearin' it up." He stood up and pointed a downward finger over the girl's head.

I turned back, pretending to be startled as if I'd just noticed the girl for the first time. I showed a doubtful face, "You? You were doing Sheryl Crow? No way, you don't look like you can pull that."

The tanned skinned girl stood up and finally joined the conversation, "Oh, she can pull that! She can pull that! That's my cousin, baby, that's my cousin! Woo!"

That was my in.

I rounded the table over to the girl's side and stood between the two cousins. "You guys are cousins?" I asked, "Y'all don't look nothin' alike, what are you?" The one that had sang Sheryl Crow's vocals was obviously Vietnamese, but the tanned skinned girl was still up in the air.

"I'm mixed," she said.

"Yeah, no shit," I rolled my eyes, "Mixed what?"

"German and Vietnamese."

"You don't got Vietnamese in you," I scoffed.

"Yeah, I am!" she defended herself zealously, "Are you Vietnamese?"

"Yeah."

"Okay..." her eyes rolled up into the corner in thought, "You are..." She started speaking in tone-deaf Vietnamese, "Ðẹp trai quá, đẹp trai quá." In Vietnamese, that means, "Too cute, too cute."

"Yeah, I know," I replied matter-of-factly, shrugging.

She cracked a smile at my arrogance. "I am..." Again in tone-deaf Vietnamese, "Mập quá, mập quá." That means, "Too fat, too fat."

"What the fuck?" I chided, "You so fucking are not." This chick couldn't have been an ounce over ninety, maybe ninety-five, pounds. She was tiny.

She grabbed her breasts into her hands and lifted them up, "Yeah, I am. These are mập quá!"

As soon as she let her hands go, I palmed her tits and said, "Naw, sweety, I think they're just right."

I half expected her or her cousin to get offended and slap me or maybe one of the guys would jump out of his seat and kick my ass. But she just laughed, folded her arms over her chest, and threw herself into my arms.