Radiohead concert experience to remember

The night was a haze of smoke and slowly pulsating lights. Hundreds of bodies crowded onto the limited floorspace. Sweat drenched them all. Outside the doors, signs politely asked concertgoers not to mosh--band's request. People of every age, height, and hairstyle waited impatiently for something to happen.

Spiritualized, a UK-based act, opened, taking the stage around 7:30 p.m., bringing with them about a 45-minutes' worth, feedback-driven wall of noise. Their latest record, Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space, has garned a fair amount of critical acclaim. In this live setting, however, the band was rather dull, not to mention loud.

Some time later, the ambient sounds of a recorded b-side, "Meeting In The Aisle," filtered through the sound system as Radiohead walked onstage and took to their instruments. They began with a fabulous version of "Airbag," the first track off last summer's OK Computer.

The crowd seemed reasonably well-behaved throughout the show; during the performance of recent hit "Karma Police," singer Thom Yorke encouraged everyone to sing along. Not all was well, however, as Yorke felt it necessary to stop in the middle of one song to have a destructive mosher thrown out.

Continuing the show until nearly 10:30, Radiohead proceeded to play most tracks from OK Computer and The Bends, as well as a few b-sides. Forgoing their usual show-closer "The Tourist," they instead chose to end with the hypnotic "Street Spirit."

Notable performances included "Talk Show Host," a sparse rendition of "Let Down" (the record's double-tracked vocals are difficult to recreate live), and, surprisingly enough, an older b-side called "The Trickster," a favorite of fans.

Sophomore Becky Combs described the setting by saying, "It was a religious experience. All the pot smoke around me, cute guy behind me, Thom singing 'Street Spirit' onstage... ooh!" "Like any great show, I didn't want it to end," said Senior Reece Marshburn. "I could have listened to them play for hours. Spiritualized, too."

For big fans of the band and those just coming to see the "band of the year" alike, the show was no doubt a memorable event, if not a semi-"religious" experience.

(from The Olympus, 1998)

The Joy of Valentine's Day

A card.

Definitely a hand-made, Victorian-lacy-doily-type card.

With a poem proclaiming your love.

And maybe a dozen red roses.

Or two.

A bright shiny, red, heart-shaped balloon to go with that.

Of course, a nice heart-shaped box of chocolates. Oh, wait, no; she's watching her weight. Forget that.

How about some jewelry? There was that nice pair of gold earrings downtown.

Then again, they say that diamonds are a girl's best friend.

Man, this is gonna cost a fortune! Maybe you should get a job or something.

Do you remember the good ol' days in elementary school? The day before Valentine's Day, there was some class art project wherein everyone constructed a box in which their classmates could place valentines and embellish it with pink and red construction paper hearts. Maybe glitter, if you were old enough to have a teacher entrust you with the glue. All the boys brought those valentines with Spiderman comics on them and the girls the ones with silly little puns told by cartoon animals. If you were lucky, you'd end up with a few tiny 'conversation hearts' -- all the girls giggled if one of them happened to say "I LUV U."

Things were so much simpler then.

But starting as early as middle school, before, even; people of both sexes are kidnapped from that peaceful world of cooties and superhero lunchboxes by a mischievous pair commonly known as Peer Pressure and Puberty. This is particularly visible around Valentine's Day, where the focus is on love and courtship -- people already in relationships, no matter how serious, will outdo themselves in buying ridiculously extravagant gifts for their significant other; people who aren't so fortunate will bemoan their solitary existence.

Today's society seems to overdo everything, particularly certain holidays. Maybe because we're a relatively young nation, starved for a culture to call our own, maybe we're just too self-indulgent for our own good; who knows. On Halloween, we make a big deal out of being creepy; Thanksgiving is a day of worship to the gods of food and football. Of course, you can't forget the most painfully overcommercialized holiday, Christm-- I mean, the politically-correct, generic-winter-holiday season. Valentine's Day is no different. The attention focused on this day tends to create a great big red, pink, and white heart-shaped blur that doesn't disappear for about a month and a half.

This is not, of course, to say that Valentine's Day is wholly without merit. For one day, people will stop and drop everything to make that special someone happy as a clam. For one day, at least one person in every one of your classes will have a bouquet of fragrant red roses to stink up the classroom. And on this one day, maybe the boyfriend of the girl next to you forgot that she was on a diet and you can score a couple chocolates.

(from The Olympus, 1997)

Classicism: A Statement

I intended to write my statement as a rephrasing of Thomas Paine's "The Crisis, Number 1" focusing on the oppressive nature of public schooling, but five minutes into the church service I attended last night, I knew I had to start over. I had a topic, one that I actually had a need to write about, and one that would be appropriate.

I am a member of St. Michael's Catholic Church. I have always attended a Catholic Church; I even went to parochial school from first through eighth grade. My parents have been involved in music or a service-related ministry at every parish we've belonged to. Going to church is just something I have always done. Although my siblings often complained loudly about how boring it was, I kept my mouth shut for most of my life. I didn't really care.

A few years ago, after moving to Olympia, I began questioning things, as it's natural for teenagers to do. I wanted to know where God was in my life, because they always speak of the importance of having a 'personal relationship with God.' I felt I had learned everything I needed to know about the Church-the meaning behind every ritual, the difference between Catholics and every other Christian church out there, which saint was the patron saint of whatever, and so on-so why didn't I feel this faith thing? Our parish is quite large, counting several hundred families in its registry. Personal attention is not something I'm likely to actively seek, especially from someone as busy as the parish priest is. Being involved in a catechism-oriented youth group hasn't helped either. I didn't know who could answer my questions, because I didn't know what to ask.

I have become increasingly disillusioned with organized religion in general over the past year. The questions I didn't know were answered by non-religious sources. Too many agnostic friends have infused me with too many secular beliefs, beliefs I've found myself digesting in a much more fulfilling way than those the Church taught. The introduction of a new youth program called Life Teen has only caused me to shake my head in dismay. I find the music repetitive and lacking anything vital to say; the 'lessons' are nothing new and aimed to crowd-please. "The Mass is focused on you," claimed fliers touting the new program. I thought God was supposed to be the central figure?

I spent Mass last night filling my face with terror and my mind with an uncontrollable urge to write everything down. My sister and I sat on the floor behind several rows of people seated in folding chairs, a perspective from that you couldn't see what was going on at the altar no matter if you sat or stood. Our only indication of what was happening was a loudspeaker, situated a few feet from me, which broadcast the priests' and speakers' voices to every corner of the room. I am a visual learner, so hearing only an insistent voice and a throng of people listening intently to it disorients and upsets me. Even the rituals that I usually find a quietly comfortable part of the service seemed loud and out of whack. I realized that it was possible I had been scheduled to be some sort of minister that week, but I hadn't bothered to check the list. I felt like such a hypocrite, and if there's one thing I want to avoid, it's being a hypocrite and a liar. Maybe I'm supposed to challenge my actions and myself, but church is the only place I feel that deeply guilty.

I'm too smart to be spoon-fed my personal values. Every time I've been to Mass this past year, I've spent my time in the clouds, thinking about what I believed, trying to figure it all out. While one of the Fr. Jims spoke dramatically about the need to use the gifts God gave you, or giving money to the Church, or how precious life is-all noble sentiments, to be sure-I was reconsidering everything I'd ever been told, everything I'd ever thought, about what the Church meant to me. I've considered the existence of heaven and hell, the accuracy of the Bible, the definition of good and evil; a whole grab-bag assortment of spiritual issues. Quite honestly, I still don't know which end is up, but the point remains that I am deciding these things for myself.

Don't get me wrong; my belief in a god is about as strong as it ever was. Sadly, that's a relatively weak faith, because nothing I learned in Church helped me reinforce some sort of personal relationship with said divine being. While some may have their conscience settled with a weekly appearance in the pews of their local religious affiliation of choice, I only find it more unsettling. Wresting with my soul is not a pleasant thing to do in front of a group of people who know I exist but don't know who I am, regardless whether they notice its occurrence. The guilt returns because I know everyone else has issues far worse than mine, and I stand here, whining selfishly about my struggle with faith, but that's the only statement I had to make.

(from Honors English 11)