The Giraffes

21 years ago this month, on summer break between junior and senior year of college, I drove solo to the Black Cat in Washington DC to see one of my favorite bands since 6th grade, Local H. The openers were a rowdy, sketchy-looking quartet that seemed like they could be fun. Before I knew what was happening, the lead singer's hand was in my hair. They started a beer fight with the crowd, had at least half the band in the audience while the rest was on stage, and got us screaming along with hooks like "You're going home in a fuckin' ambulance" and "Having fun with assholes" seconds after we learned them. I bought their newest CD after the show and was a little surprised by how nice the band was. My ticket was $12 and there wasn't a phone in sight. I had just met the Giraffes.

Luckily, they were from New York, a short Metro-North ride from school, and I tried to see them as much as I could over the next several years. I booked them to play my college (it took a lot of work convincing student senate to sponsor something that wasn't indie rock or folk) and watched them turn our cafeteria space into Thunderdome. I wrote about them for whichever publications would let me (thank you Beyond Race and Metal Injection) and interviewed them on my college radio show (thank you WSLC). Their manager Chris gave me a high standard of music business professionalism, and the Giraffes gave me a high standard of everything—performances, albums, and just showing that a bunch of deviant, weirdo artists can still be cool to their fans. The music industry is more overrun with creeps than any of us will ever know, and the older I get the more I realize that (Aaron voice) "you have no ideaaaaa" how rare folks like the Giraffes are.

I often think of Mishka Shubaly in Ted Manitatakos' fabulous Giraffes movie, pulling out Meet Me in the Bathroom and pointing out the glaring omission in the "G" section of the index. The Giraffes have never gotten the bank or the audience they deserve, despite having more crossover appeal than your average punk/metal/surf/garage/indie/I still don't know what to call it trailblazers. They've also never phoned it on, on stage or on record, in any instance I've experienced them. At their possibly final show last Friday before Aaron escapes to Italy, they were still full of surprises. I usually avoid looking at people's phone footage of shows, but this time I keep thinking "Did that really happen?" before going back to check the Giraffes' stories to confirm yes, it did. Yeah, they do it. That's how they do it. And they do it so good.

Thank you Damien, Drew, Aaron, Hannah, Josh, Jens, John, Tim and everybody else who's been a part of this incredible story so far.