X, Masonic Temple, Detroit, July 16, 2024

It was 8:59pm, the preshow music cut off, Link Wray’s “Rumble” slunk out of the PA, the sparkly backdrop lit up, three out of  four members of X are  onstage and then Exene came out and my whole being stood at attention, the teacher has arrived and it is time to pay respects. My eyes filled to the brim, automatic, no breath, no conscious thought. “Your phone’s off the hook” -- John Doe raises his arm in the air, like he’s surely done hundreds, thousands of times, it’s a rock gesture but it is also the only logical human response, “BUT YOU’RE NOT.” 

Guitar riffs pour out. Billy Zoom is sitting down, sunglasses on, leaning back. He is 76, he has had some health issues. DJ Bonebrake is still the ever reliable metronome. “In This House I Call Home” and the house sound’s been adjusted to do John and Exene’s harmonies -- is it a harmony? It is one voice at this point -- justice. At least I can hear them better. It may be my ears as much as it is the PA. I always thought of them as my gateway drug that brought me into appreciating country music, which -- surprise! -- I did not when I was in my 20’s! 

OUR WHOLE FUCKING LIFE IS A WRECK

I mean, for real.

It isn’t even about knowing the words to the songs by heart. This is past that, this is beyond memorization or devotion or dedication, this is in your brain and your skin and your soul. There is no getting them out, you will not forget them, you will remember them forever at this point. We are all old, we are all carrying years, but John Doe is still a fucking matinee idol. Always. Forever. I think about this during “Hungry Wolf” when he still wrangles the bass with the same muscular authority he has always had, just on a lower flame now. 

I saw X for the first time at the Palladium in New York City, July of 1982, the summer between freshman and sophomore year of college. It was hot, 14th Street was sizzling, I bought a brand new pair of pink Chuck Taylors and changed into them while waiting on line to get in. I ended up at the front, stage right, all the way on the end because I was not going to put myself in the center of a mosh pit for a band from Los Angeles, are you fucking kidding me? I had seen The Decline and Fall of Western Civilization at the art house theater in South Norwalk, the one place in Southeastern Connecticut you stood a chance of seeing anything like that (I saw Renaldo and Clara at the same place!).

I owned the albums, obtained mail order from Slash, same reason as above. I liked them because of the poetic images in the lyrics and because of the harmonies and because of Exene, I was terrified of her but I also adored her. I could not dress like her without looking stupid but she was an absolute goddess in my eyes. (I got to write the essay about her for Women Who Rock [bookshop | amazon] and felt like I had paid back a debt.)

The live show was loud as hell – I was going to write "in 1982" but that was always true – and felt like being at a carnival when you got stuck at the top of the ferris wheel at night, the lights and the heat and I remember how it felt sharper and just slightly more dangerous than their New York relatives. It was good. I was hooked. We have been friends since then, you know, the kind of friends where you don’t actually know the people but you have listened to them sing in your ears for so long that they feel like people you know. 

I was not going to this show originally, I had not bought a ticket. That changed yesterday, the day before, when I decided that I didn’t know if I didn’t want to go because I had seen X many many times and was legit content with my memories or if I didn’t want to go because I was depressed and because going to shows is a fucking drag in 2024. I decided that if it was the latter I’d probably be upset with myself later so I bought a fucking ticket.  There was, sadly, a lot of inventory to choose from; they probably could have played a slightly smaller venue than the Cathedral Theater at Masonic and I understand people not wanting to lay out $60 (for GA) or $70 (for orchestra seats behind the GA). The light turnout, while not ideal for the band, made it a very chill and extremely pleasant evening. Security was not policing the division between seats and pit and people cruised back and forth. In the seats, people spread out, sat down, stood up, and aside from the occasional video being filmed by a grown adult who can’t figure out how to turn their fucking flash off, folks were cool. 

It was a varied setlist that touched on the hits you’d want to hear, at least one new song, and a fucking free jazz interlude featuring “Come Back To Me” and “I Must Not Think Bad Thoughts” where DJ moved to vibes and Billy Zoom played saxophone. The latter song hurt, it hit hard in a way that I’m not even entirely sure occurred to the band until they were in the middle of it, especially “The civil wars/And the uncivilized wars.” And “Will the last American band to get played on the radio/Please bring the flag?” feels like a dispatch from the very distant past. The rest of the song could have been written last week. 

Woody Guthrie sang about
B-E-E-T-S, not B-E-A-T-S

At the end, Billy stood up and played guitar for a bit, and displayed that familiar speed demon grin and the crowd cheered the loudest it would all night. People show up on a Tuesday night because they love the band and they love the music and because they have been clear and direct that this is the last time out. John Doe will still play live music in some form until he no longer can, I am sure (he used to joke that he spent so much time driving up and down Interstate 5 out west he should be able to get his mail there) but I appreciate them letting everyone know to come see the show while they still can. 

 “Tell your hardcore punk rock friends you saw jazz odyssey,” John said when they were done. “I feel like Motown is the place to do it.” 

⇒ When did they change the lyric in “Los Angeles” to “Christian”? I’m not mad about it.

On the subject of the Motor City, for the first encore we got the song that will never stop becoming more relevant with every passing year, “More Fun In The New World” with John and Exene doing their best Johnny & June at the vintage microphone, the crowd shouting back “DON’T FORGET / THE MOTOR CITY” with a combination of glee and pride. I forgot about that lyric until a beat before the line and a huge grin spread across my face, and it was one of those communal moments where we’re all happy about the same thing for the same reason and it felt comfortable and familiar and beautiful.

And then they all came back and played some more and we all cheered and some people left early,  like they always do, except this time I didn’t know how they could because it wasn’t like they were getting that much of a jump on the few hundred people in this room and this was the last time they were going to see these four people together on a stage playing music. At the end, every single band member stopped and came to the front of the stage and waved, and Billy Zoom stuck a guitar pick to his forehead like he has hundreds, thousands of times, and walked the edge of the stage and took in the well-deserved cheers and shouts and adoration. 

It is the end of something. It is always the end of something. At least I got to be there when it happened, then and now.

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