words by: Aaron Baird
photos: Julia Benton
Brahs screaming everywhere. Fist-pumping, head-banging and hip-shaking. Crowd was dangerously close to moshing. Perilously close, in fact.
Shocking, I know.
No, this wasn’t Pearl Jam, but perhaps a close second. This wasn’t even Os Mutantes. I thought I’d feel more hyphy about them.
Ariel fucking Pink. Welcome.
Stay longer next time.
Kill it on stage with a crack-music crew riddled with talent. Shake your Cobain-escent dyed mane about and pick your nose for just a while. Stroll around: coolly, calmly, collectedly. Layin’ funk-punk tracks on the rest of us. Smooth music for smooth people. Old music for youth.
Inspiring with your classic take on a classic sound. You crack me up. People wonder about you…
I do too sometimes.
I remember you back in the day. Lookin’ cool. Being creepy at China-town galleries.
What’s new? Things seem good. You look great.
I didn’t forget about you, Mutantes. But I almost did.
You’re having fun now. Out on tour. Appreciated like you should’ve been 45 years ago. Wearing mumus. I dig it.
Turn up the fuzz guitar next time.