We hit the city limits, and embers hit the car as we drove. Although it was 3:00-ish, the sun was blocked by black smoke and it felt like the middle of the night. Under the falling embers we lay on the grass outside the auditorium; the hills were so low you could see the movement of the fire. In our hearts we felt like Public Enemy and Anthrax were making the city burn. We were a movie; they were the soundtrack. We couldn't reconcile Public Enemy playing with Anthrax; we couldn't reconcile high school love after high school; and so the city burned.
But forget the romance: A fire is always gonna go out.
Driving out to Ballard Firehouse on Tuesday night to catch the Anthrax show, I knew that metal was finished; its time was high school. It's only a nostalgic genre now -- all the guys communicate with one another through T-shirts: "I'm not racist, I hate everyone" one shirt says; "Censorship bad, genitals good," another responds. And the worst throwback of all: "Woodstock '99." The music was fantastic, though -- a complete abandonment of the indie self-consciousness we live in.
I pulled out an old tape the other day, and scribbled on the A-side was "Memories of Drew." It was a tape he made me when we called it quits for good. I think it was damaged during a make-out night on the beach, so it doesn't play anymore. But I know Anthrax is still on it.