Fashion Jerk

I've been relatively inactive over the last month as far as blog updates go. I'm not sure whether or not this is a positive or negative reflection on how life is going. NEVERTHELESS, I am here to bitch and moan so sit tight and get ready for fun.
Robotosaurus are a band I've always been pretty drawn to, not in any real life changing way, but more in the 'gladly letting Sayra Bahk rape my ears' kinda way. On top of this, they're also one of those bands that I've always planned on seeing but somehow the timing never worked out. Recently I began to fear that horrible situation where you put off seeing a band for so long that they wind up splitting. Consequently, you then spend the rest of your days hearing all your friends rave about how amazing their shows were. So when shitty circumstances prevented me from attending both the Friday AND the Saturday shows on the recent Roboto tour, I made the solid decision to trek out and see them on the Sunday. Not entirely sure if any of my friends would even rock up, I ventured out to Catfood Press and was not at all suprised by what I saw. A sweet little shop front setup providing a great opportunity for bands to play an intimate show that surely creates an alternate experience to that of any venue show. To be honest, I've been raised in an environment that holds the DIY, non-venue show in high regard. I always saw it as a great thing, bands doing what they do best for the people who really care to see them, true punk. However, on this particular day, I began to question the foundations of such shows. I'm sure at some point, someone who can see what my perspective is missing will correct me as to why I'm wrong here, but I'm starting to think that for the most part, the 'illusion' of true DIY punk shows no longer exists in Melbourne. Here's my question to you; why do you go to a DIY show? what is it's appeal to you? For me, I go to see a band or artist do their heartfelt thing in a cramped room that provides little seperation between them and the screaming, flailing audience that love them enough to rug up on a cold, wet day, and face potential sobriety just to see the show. Partying doesn't matter, getting fucked up doesn't matter, the clothes on your back do not fucking matter. All that matters are the band and the audience thriving on an expression that launches itself far beyond what we are able to experience in physical reality. So why am I standing in the middle of a lifeless room, blank faces permeating throughout, hands in pockets, and that distinct atmosphere that whispers directly into your ear; "I just came here to be noticed, I'd rather be at home playing Xbox". I mean, the 2 metre distance between the bands and the audience speaks volumes really. I'm not sure what it was about this day, perhaps spending the first half of it alone meant that I payed extra attention to the conversations around me. All I know is that there were several points during the day, that I found myself looking around in complete awe of some of the conversations that were taking place. I could actually feel my IQ dropping just from listening to Johnny Lipring bang on about the fat girl that keeps calling him even though he doesnt want to be so much as friends, and the bottle of tequila that almost put him in hospital. Don't even get me started on certain vocalists who said thankyou to the folks who came out to see his band play by trying to rumble with them, not long before moving onto anti-violence rants.
For the record I don't have a problem with liprings, and I certainly don't have a problem with Xbox. But my God, I hope someone saves the concept of decent, passionate, DIY shows really soon.