Yo La Tejo

Lost: One Mind. Reward.

I'm not sure exactly what I was thinking when I was getting ready last night to go out to listen to Neko Case at La Zona Rosa. All I knew is that she is beautiful and all the little boys luh-uv her, and somehow I had to dress up in order to hold my own.

Now, you may be laughing your asses off right now. Hold my own against...the headliner? While she's in the spotlight and I'm buried somewhere in the dark, anonymous crowd? Yes, I know it makes little sense and even less as you go along, but there it is.

My boyfriend LUH-UVS Neko Case. He calls her The Voice. This is the boy who needs at least at minimum two drinks to allow himself to be pulled on the dance floor, but play him some Neko and his eyes get all faraway and he starts swaying back and forth, in a little world of his own.

So, while I knew that nobody would care what I looked like last night, I figured I would try to look hot at least for the boy, so that he might remember that I was actually still standing next to him once Neko got on stage.

I also come from a people who love to dress up for concerts. Concerts are events. When my girlfriends and I went to see Juanes, a Colombian rock/pop star, back in February, we got all dolled up, the whole nine yards--makeup, jangly earrings, sweet perfume. The theory being, I suppose, that somehow Juanes would spy us in the first mezzanine, make eye contact, and maybe even wink, or wave.

But here in Austin, there are very few concerts. People go to shows, and they go in whatever ratty jeans they were wearing all day and flip flops. Arriving at La Zona Rosa in my bum-hugging jeans and slinky backless silk top last night, I was easily one of the most over-dressed people there.

But, the boy assured me that he appreciated my outfit, and that was all I really cared about, right? The lights dimmed, the opening band came on and did their thing, and once they shuffled off the stage, Neko came on to set up her equipment with her band. She wore a ratty red t-shirt that said something about Kentucky on it, and had her hair in a messy updo on the top of her head. I gaped in disbelief. She's going to change, right? I asked the boy. He shrugged. Probably not.

She didn't. She merely let her tangled red hair down to flow down her back, stood in front of the mike, and let The Voice rip out into the waiting crowd.

At that moment, I felt truly ridiculous. Because, clearly, it doesn't matter what this girl wears. It isn't the point. All she has to do is throw her head back, open her mouth, and let that voice soar, shimmer, and drop. Both men and women on either side of me were entranced, all of them with that little faraway look in their eyes. With my boy's hand on my waist, I settled in and started to sway a little, myself.

posted by Olga @ 9:29 AM