It was a good-smelling crowd.
At least that was my initial response Sunday night when my girlfriend and I sat down in our seats at the Pixies sold-out show at The Florida Theatre.
AXE body products, clean-smelling hair, Dr. Bronner, deodorants and emollients, a hint of craft beer, beard oil! ... no scent of weed or nachos ... when you're 46 and sober, more than anything else, it's about how hygienic the crowd is and how they smell, along with those same ticketholders honoring the "don't invade my space" credo and finding a clear sightline to the stage.
Sadly, at one point, my girlfriend, Erica, leaned over and informed me, "She keeps touching me!" of the good-times-partyin' gal to her left.
I'm surely a curmudgeon and a total hypocrite.
During my late-teen years in the late '80s, my friends and I would travel miles to any Jesus Lizard gig.
Over the course of the Jesus Lizard's alcoholic vortex gig, singer David Yow would routinely pull his testicles out through the zipper of his beer-and-sweat-drenched blue jeans (he called this unwarranted ball peep show "The Brain"). I nearly saw Yow's nuts as much as I gandered at my own.
So I'm hardly a hand-wringing Calvinist.
That being said, I don't want to see anything jutting out of anyone in the band. Nor do I want to see a fellow audience member's members, testicles, third nipples or any nudity.
And I don't want to smell you any more than I want to see you nude.
So aroma is key.
Up in the balcony of The Florida Theatre, it might've smelled like GG Allin's litter box.
But as we had, inexplicably, scored really good seats, we lived it up in the fresh-aired VIP "Nostrilarrarium" of the 10th row of SEC200.
Friends had assured us that the opening act, The Wombats, were great but, quite frankly, the trio came across like the Jonas Brothers with pricey Orange tube amps.
Their songs were quick little poppy-punk nuggets.
They sang some song about Dee Dee Ramone or Johnny Thunders; … More