moe., 12/30-31/23, Kodak Center, Rochester, NY
Let’s start with an understatement: It was a wonderful weekend, until it wasn’t. Dusting off the old blog to get this all out of my brain, knowing it will help (me, at least). This has taken weeks to write because I’ve had to step away and come back multiple times (+ my 2nd bout with covid). It’s a trail mix of elation, friends, and love, that was blindsided by utter tragedy. In this trail mix, the blindsided by utter tragedy component is obviously a rat king of stale raisins in a rented SUV containing 16+ canisters of gasoline.
Having only partially to do with recreational drugs, I’ve had to relisten to the shows on archive to remember the awesome weekend of music that happened. I do clearly remember the serotonin high in that brief moment of blissful ignorance after the show ended and right before the rug got pulled out from under the entire moe. community (again). I am unable to stay in that moment, but I was there-- it did happen.
My moe. NYE run started months before the actual show, when Billy Bunker texted me shortly before 10AM to get online and buy tickets during the artist presale. Half-blind and still mostly asleep, I accidentally picked up a VIP ticket, which unfortunately didn’t come with much bonus content (IMO a free poster would have topped a sterno heated taco station), but it DID score me a 2nd row seat right in front of rob for both nights. I couldn’t believe I was popping my Rochester cherry and when I finally came to my senses, blamed Billy for this commitment.
On account of the distance, I did what turned into a 6 1/2 hour drive on 12/29, checked into my hotel, and walked to a weekend-pregame at Hooligan’s bar with the affable Paul Citone, Heath Clayton, and a number of other moe.rons — some of whom I already knew and others I’d hang with for the first time and will recognize despite not remembering their names in the future (as one does). As is the way of the moe.ron, we feasted and then we tipped well. Even better than usual in that some folks didn’t notice the server had already included gratuity on our large party. Way to take advantage of our clouded brains, OTB location! While some folks chose to keep this rager going into the night, I chauffeured Paul & Health on a B double E double R-U-N, Beer Run to the 7/11, but decided to save my own energy for show nights. Also, I had awesome plans for the AM.
SATURDAY 12/30/23
“Daytime plans for Rochester? What kind of drugs were you on, Lynn?” Edibles. A lot of them! And so, I took my ass over to the Strong National Museum of Play, a really cool spot devoted to the history of toys in our culture. But not before drinking 1 mediocre cup of hotel coffee and then stopping by an actual hippie coffee shop to grab a 2nd cup only to be be sorely disappointed that it tasted like the room temperature watered-down shit you’d get in a catering urn after a Shabbat AM service (IYKYK). I poured that out the window while driving— it deserved zero respect. After a lucky google-mapping, I ended up at Fuego Coffee downtown and got my 3rd and (finally) DELICIOUS cup o’ joe & a pistachio/chocolate croissant to finally REALLY start my day off right (it was about 1PM).
The museum was definitely more crowded than I had expected for a holiday weekend but I guess there’s not much to do during the day when you’re in Rochester if you’re underage and can’t drink. There were some really cool exhibits. War Toys: Ukraine, by Brian McCarthy, “explores the impact of armed conflict on children” by taking Ukrainian children’s crayon drawings of war memories and recreating them as photos using toys and found objects. So many people were walking right past this exhibit to get to more fun stuff, but I spent some time staring at each piece. A boy drew his grandmother throwing a molotov cocktail and bananas dropping out of a plane because “bananas are funnier than bombs”. #bananafacts.
There was a whole Sesame Street section, a History of Black Dolls exhibit that was really interesting, and of course the Pinball Playfields — a room of about 40 machines (most of which worked). While I waited for the Star Trek Next Generation machine to open up, I dominated Johnny Mnemonic, did okay on the Iron Maiden one, was a hard C at Ghostbusters, and having finally given up on waiting for a turn on Star Trek NG + seeing a kid jump on the Metallica machine right as I began to walk over— reluctantly turned to a boxy 1979 Superman unit that I assumed would be easy peasy but this shit owned me from the token insert. It was a plunger -> pit situation for every fucking ball. An embarrassment. Not even adjusting my apparent hulk plunger strength seemed to make a difference. I had to get out of the Pinball Playfields before anyone noticed… it was time for the Butterfly Garden. Would the butterflies judge me too? Butterflies are known to be judgy.
Yes, the butterflies were judgy, but the Mini Toucan was not and now we’re buds. He’s chill. Thank you to the kind staff at the Butterfly garden who made sure there weren’t stowaway butterflies in my hair on the way out. I imagine this policy was implemented for a reason.
I got some vague answers from a giant 8 ball (not that kind of giant 8 ball, .rons) and with hindsight— question it’s seer validity based on the fact that it didn’t warn me of an impending domestic terrorist attack at a moe. show— though, I suppose I didn’t ASK… Living life on the edge led me to risk pinkeye to write “moe.” on a giant lite-brite (shout out to the sanitizer stations on every corner) while the parents of a 4 year old told her she had to wait for me to finish before her turn (NO PRESSURE). I also created my own gaming avatar which for some reason had the name “FLAPPY SCARECROW” that I could not edit. If I ever find myself back in Rochester (what are the odds?), I would happily go back and spend more time in the arcade and on the massive e-gaming consoles or the giant Pong or the giant Donkey Kong or the regular sized Star Trek Next Generation Pinball Machine if the other nerds will let me.
Eventually, I left -> Dinosaur BBQ to grab some takeout to shove in my face in the privacy of my own hotel room (you’re jealous) -> MEAT!
FIIIIINALLY, it was show o’clock!! I made a quick drive over to the Kodak Theater where police had closed down a lane of traffic and set up a presence at the intersection to help folks cross safely from the venue to the parking lot. The RPD would be there all weekend and everyone I saw who crossed, politely smiled and said thank you— and it was genuine— we knew these weren’t the folks responsible for frisking us.
My accidental VIP seat would be great unless the tallest person in the theater happened to be sitting right in front of me. So, of course that happened. But eventually the dude shifted around enough that I could see everyone on stage. Cool height, bro. Here’s a good time to mention my pre-show anxiety that I don’t recall being so distinct pre-pandemic, but it feels more discernible now. It takes me a bit longer to settle in and shift into “show mode” these days. Booze kind of helps, but White Claw isn’t gonna do the trick (Kodak Theater, I’m talking to you) and unfortunately I didn’t have the foresight to sneak mini bottles into the place, which some folks would label “alcoholism”, but I called “clever” and realized it made me “jelly”.
Space Truckin’ got all of the 50+ year old men out of their seats and throwing fists from the jump. I’d question the validity of opening a moe. show with cover and/or Jim on vocals, but no one questions Al without paying dearly, and I’m talking about the trail of broken thumbs— so I would never. The first half of the set was really great, Happy Hour Hero really tied the room together, but as per that pre-show anxiety, I didn’t really start to settle in til SOMP and then FINALLY for good during that stunning Wormwood, which really captured me. Tequila may have gotten me there in half the time. Just saying.
Absolutely nothing brought me more joy on night one than getting to hear Chuck sing Hi & Lo again. He came out of the Covid lockdown with his voice sounding better than ever. Now, 2 years out from a paralyzing near-death stroke and 1 year after getting back onstage for the first time (!so Philly ’22-23 Meat), he’s singing lead on a handful of songs. I hope he can keep adding back to that repertoire. He’s got the voice of a fucking songbird and it’s so so good to hear it sounding stronger, adding to backups more frequently, and fiiiinally stepping back into lead vocals. Amazing. Side note: over the summer, I had a dream he sang It and woke up all emotional and blubbery.
Kyle’s was a fun romp and during Kids I ran out to get some more of that super potent BLACK CHERRY WHITE CLAW and much to my dismay, the bar had closed. Wait, what? Don’t you know who we are??? This is a moe. show, good sirs! We close YOUR bar. What kind of whacky rules be this??? I likely ate whatever was left of my fast-acting edibles around this time.
The rest of the set was dope! Letter Home is still like a warm hug after all these years and Elizabeth Reed was just fucking awesome. Billy Goat was a boisterous and upbeat set closer and then it was time for SITTING! Ohhh, the sitting me and my neighbor/new friend Sue did! We sat and sat for minutes! Sitting is great. Faker was HOT but details are fuzzy beyond that. The recording only helps so much.
I did some post-show chilling that included a single canned cocktail (real tequila in a can, for the record). While wandering the halls of the hotel, moe.’s Lighting Director, Preston, lured Paul and I into his wood-paneled windowless van— errr, room, by promising to show us “something exquisite”. Spoiler alert: it was some pretty cool original Simpsons drawings and memorabilia acquired from Frank Zappa’s estate! But where were the puppies and candy we were promised, Preston?
I went back to my room and am pretty sure wrapped the night up by watching a Married At First Sight Watch & React video on YouTube. This chick knows how to party!
NIGHT ONE/SATURDAY:
12/30/23
SET ONE:
Space Truckin'>
Crab Eyes>
Yellow Tigers>
Crab Eyes
Happy Hour Hero>
Seat Of My Pants
Haze>
Wormwood>
Okayalright
THIS IS WHEN THE BAR CLOSED
SET TWO:
Hi & Lo>
Kyle's Song>
Kids
Letter Home>
In Memory Of Elizabeth Reed
Billy Goat
E: Faker
SUNDAY 12/31/23
Quick— what do moe. and Ariana Grande have in common? If you guessed “beautiful ponytails” you’re right, but you’re also wrong.
New Year’s Eve Day started off late and included warm hotel coffee and the other 1/2 of that dope Fuego Coffee croissant. Breakfast of champs. Eventually, I would get my shit together and go find a real most-important-meal-of-the-day (after determining no one else had the capacity to join me) and scurried over to Jines Restaurant, a Rochester staple (allegedly, as per the interwebs). I grabbed a stool at the bar and ordered a delicious omelet & side of bacon, as one does while in the moe. run sandwich. While there, a lovely Professor named Rachel chatted up everyone at the bar and eventually complained about “kids today”. After learning she was only 30, I found hope in the fact that generations younger than mine are capable of realizing the inadequacies of those following in their footsteps. Also in the convo was an older man named Ben or Ken or Sven who once the conversation got layered, labeled himself as “more libertarian than republican” and I found myself in an actually totally fine “find common ground and take it from there conversation with an upstate NY blue collar man”. When I mentioned “tribalism” as an issue, he said to him it seemed less tribal and more like the country was divided into “clans”. Then, I pointed out that only one of those “clans” seems to be a lot like the "actual Klan", to which he completely agreed (and that felt like an important point to agree on). We were also on the same page about how corporate greed is poison, Citizens United needs to be overturned, and autocracy is a serious threat to our nation. I had the Pod Save guys in my head the entire time and hope they would be impressed with how this random Diner Focus Group convo turned out with nary a NY Times Reporter in sight. Rachel, Len, and I wished each other happy 2024’s. I told Rachel she was an oracle and was already crushing 2024 by bringing people together here in 2023. Soon after, I opened the door to leave, missed the step down to the sidewalk, and twisted my right ankle, wrenched my right knee, and cranked my left quad. Fuck. I saw ski season flash before my eyes, was thankful the Kodak Theater had seats, and hoped my ankle wasn’t too fucked to drive home the next day, cuz who needs to get stuck in Rochester?
I drove back to the hotel and puffed a whole bunch in the parking lot before heading straight to the Ice Machine (to be fair it was en route to my room). It was there I reached into my jacket to get one of many trusty dog poop bags to fill with ice and my 10+ years old trusty red glass pipe from Bern Gallery in Burlington, VT, flew out of my pocket, smashed against the floor, and shattered into so many pieces around the room. FUCK!!! …. FUCK FUCK FUCK. As I crawled around pathetically on the floor of a Rochester Hotel Ice Machine Room, picking up the pieces of my beloved glass and putting them into a dog poop bag (hoping no one would walk in), I thought, “RACHEL, THE DINER ORACLE— WHY HAVE YOU DONE ME DIRTY???” Then, I filled a couple of other poop bags with ice, went back to my room, and treated my poor ankle, knee, and quad to some first aid. Fuck. FUCK.
As it got closer to showtime, the snow that began falling had started to stick, the skies got dark, and it smelled/felt like an upstate winter. My ankle was now pretty frozen and feeling much better. The recreational drugs throughout the night would definitely work in my favor once it thawed. How many White Claws does it take to heal the entirety of two legs? It’s a trick question— there aren’t enough White Claws in the world— that is a job for tequila! ~90mg of gummies also seemed to do the trick!
Between the stage that was decked out with a fireplace mantle & Yule Log broadcast (including commercials), the slideshow of snowy mountains being projected onto the backdrop, and the band’s festive holiday themed sweaters, the Kodak Theater had been completely transformed into a cozy moe. ski lodge. Also, the front row tall dudes were back. Like, I’m 5’4, so once you’re 6’4, you may as well be 7’8. This time, one of them was wearing a festive denim jacket with a giant Johnny Depp as Raoul Duke traveling-carnival-airbrushed-style on the back. We’re all aware Johnny Depp is the actor who played Hunter S. Thompson in the film, correct? Even more than a tribute to the original Ralph Steadman drawing, I would have preferred to see Rob Derhak, who was standing 15 feet in front me.
Acoustic sets are a fickle little bitch. I’ve missed plenty of them entirely, but this was a built-in pre-show-anxiety get-me-settled-in situation that I enjoyed. Rob and Nate opened the set with a lounge style Ella Fitzgerald cover, “What Are You Doing NYE?” while the rest of the band gathered around the Yule Log to get toasty. Beyond that, the set was all hands on deck. The Road was a great start to get the energy in the room churning, Tambourine was delightful and had me testing my ankle with the moving and the bobbing and the bouncing and the whatnot (so far so good). Nate jumped on vocals for a sweet Can’t Find My Way Home (Blind Faith cover). Bring You Down was a groove, but then… They started what I would later learn is “Birdsong”— everyone in the theater lost their shit and I almost went into diabetic shock from the whiplash of boredom. I texted Heath, “Is this a Dead song?” and he confirmed. At least I’m consistent.
During set break 1, I enjoyed a Lucinda Williams preroll purchased at a Massachusetts dispensary in 2020, shortly before the pandemic began. I know it was still good cuz when I went back in and saw Paul, he said, “Hi, Stoned Lynn!”.
If hearing Hi & Lo was a night one highlight, hearing Shoot First was a night two’er. Can I get MORE Chuck vocals? I wonder what other songs he’s been working on and hope at least two of them are Akimbo and YOY. Also, Chuck, if you’re reading this, I really really miss the sparkly pink guitar. Also, I love you. Also, there’s a spider on your back! JK there’s no spider, but I’m serious about the pink guitar.
Set 2 was a banger! Puebla, Meat, Tailspin, Captain America… There was something really joyous/celebratory/elevating about that Sensory Deprivation Bank— it was Nate with a super fun layer of organ smashing which is what the kids call a keyboard solo— he was into it, having to stand up for better leverage while rocking out like he meant it, and the crowd was eating it up— a fun moment. The tail end of Meat closed set 2 out with a real grab you by the balls and see you in a few minutes and don’t forget the bar is gonna close before the next set kind of punch.
Set break 2 called for another J (see above: no tequila): the Cheetah Piss x Cherry Diesel Sativa pre-roll I got from a Budtender at the Hoff Studios company holiday party hit the spot-- thanks, Bossies! 'Tis the season!
“They played Immigrant Song?” is what I just said upon the relisten! What great big dirty jam! How ‘bout those edibles, tho? Paper Dragon was a great bust out and really riled up the crowd before our trippy ride through Bat Country, landing at a jammed out beautiful Lazarus that led us into the countdown— did we even have a countdown? A pseudo countdown? Did anyone even look at the time? The nets of balloons didn’t release in tandem (classic moe.), but eventually that 2nd one dropped meaning FINALLY it was “2024”. It all hinged on those balloons, you see?
“Alright, let’s fuck this shit up.” said Rob. Yes, let’s! Chuck hopped back on vocals and brought us a spooky dark twisted New Hope for the New Year and they closed out set 3 with a raucous high energy Brent Black. Fuck yeah. moe. bringing the NOISE in 2024!! I can’t feel my ankle. Can anyone feel my ankle? Sue and I sat back down for al.nouncements when I noticed the seats behind me had emptied (earlier, the couple behind me had said “Let’s see if we make it through set 3.”, so I knew they had peaced out) and I popped back a row to FINALLY clear my sightline to the stage— just in time for the encore. While I have had my differences with Blue Jeans Pizza, it’s worth noting that since coming back, Chuck’s BJP solo has made me cry at least 3 times, and as such, the song now holds a special different place in my heart. That said, the ending of Lazarus was exactly the cherry on top this weekend needed. It wrapped it in a bow. The stars had aligned. It was a joyous night of music and friends and the continued celebration of Chuck’s triumphant recovery. The room was full of incredible energy when the music ended and the lights went up. What a great fucking buzz!
As the theater emptied, I did my usual stay-behind and say hi/bye to folks puttering. That’s about when Heath called from backstage to say the building was on lockdown.
“Wait, what?” There was an “active Police situation” outside and the building was under a shelter in place order. Everything went blurry here, I think I asked him to define “active Police situation” and whether that meant, “like, a shooter?”. He didn’t know, but I think he may have mentioned something about an “explosion”-- what I can clearly remember him saying was, “Stay put, kiddo.” I told him to stay safe and stay in touch. I mostly stayed put. My brain instantly went to the Bataclan and while my heart began to beat out of my chest, I found myself walking over to the emergency exit in case I had to run. Sidenote: I did a VH1 News package on the 10 year anniversary of “The Station” Fire in Rhode Island and after that-- those stories & that footage… became keenly aware of how important it is to know where venue emergency exits are located. Many years later, after the Bataclan attack— which happened to fall on night 1 of a 2 night moe. run at the Cap and completely twisted my fucking sense of security at a concert, the habit of noticing emergency exits turned into a larger permanent box on the ol’ OCD checklist. As I began texting folks for their 20, the nice security guard at this particular door was talking to a couple of folks who said there was a car crash and massive fire outside. I breathed. “Just a car crash.” Probably some drunk asshole on NYE and nothing more. Of course that sucks, but phew— right? I was relieved that whatever it was, it sounded like an unrelated “active police situation”. Our crowd didn’t seem to be in any sort of direct danger and we had been ordered to hang out with our friends for a while longer, with the lights on. I can handle that. I found a comfy seat near some friends and we all waited for whatever word came next— which for me, was being corralled into an after show hang room where we all did our normal post-show shooting the shit.
Al & Vinnie went out to the concessions area to spend some time with ~1000 fans who were stuck inside and had been redirected to the large cafeteria-like room. The staff handed out water. I didn’t know it at the time, but many of the folks out there had seen the RFD fighting massive flames through the lobby windows. It still hadn’t occurred to me that there would be any connection between a car accident and the moe. show because why would there be? Especially because it appeared to have happened DURING the show.
We were told that once the fire was put out, they would allow people to leave in batches — which ended up being about an hour before the first group was let out.
While everyone hoped that everything outside was going okay and that no one from the show would have been impacted, we did what we usually do— stood around and tried to make each other laugh. We brainstormed a highly lucrative business strategy with Nate based on his newfound setlist writing powers (you should know he has a price) and watched Chuck do a spot-on impersonation of Billy Bunker. I’m telling you, it was a fun fucking night while the blissful ignorance lasted.
They were letting another batch of people leave, so I grabbed that ring. On the escorted walk downstairs it smelled like when you accidentally put something in the microwave that shouldn’t be in a microwave— burning plastic, rubber, and metal. It also reminded me of when we (and a giant rolling cloud of pot smoke) left a 2001 Hammerstein Ballroom show and walked into a street lined with NYPD after a shooting at the Hip Hop concert in the Manhattan Centre Ballroom next door. We left through a side door and the scene outside was way worse than I had ever imagined— one car was complete toast. The RPD had erected a privacy shield around another car which was worrisome. As we crossed the street I heard an officer say “The bodies are in the Mitsubishi… No, that was the Uber driver.” This left a pit in my stomach.
It took a few minutes to clean the snow off the car and navigate the opposite way out of the parking lot to avoid the intersection all while thinking about those sentences. As far as morbid curiosity goes, I had none. People had died while we were a few feet away enjoying a show. My head was spinning. Once back at the hotel, I immediately checked for any news or info. There was a facebook post telling folks to be careful leaving the show and that a car which was “on fire” drove through the intersection and exploded. On reddit there was another eye witness account and somewhere along the way, an imgur link to dashboard cam of an SUV on fire with someone getting out like the human torch and falling to the ground, engulfed in flames. I was not expecting to see that. Happy New Year.
I tried to unsee that footage by getting very very VERY high and watching a Love Is Blind Watch & React video on YouTube. Last season was messy as shit.
NIGHT TWO/SUNDAY:
12/31/23
Set 1:
What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? ^
The Road ^^
Tambourine ^^
Can't Find My Way Home ^^
Bring You Down ^^
Birdsong ^^
Bring You Down ^^
Set 2:
Shoot First
Puebla
Meat
Tailspin
Captain America
Sensory Deprivation Bank
Meat
THIS IS WHEN THE BAR CLOSED
Set 3:
Immigrant Song
Paper Dragon
Bat Country
Lazarus >
Countdown/Happy New Year
New Hope For The New Year
Brent Black
Encore:
Blue Jeans Pizza
Lazarus
^ Rob on vocals & Nate on keys only. Rest of the band sat around a fireplace on stage.
^^ Al & Chuck on acoustic guitars.
The next morning, I checked the news for, well, news… The actual details of what happened were starting to trickle out. Around 12:50AM, while moe was playing their encore, an SUV crashed into an Uber that had pulled out of the Kodak parking lot (ugh). Nine pedestrians got hurt, including 1 severely (ugh ugh ugh). And there were over a dozen gas cans found in and around the SUV that had been on fire (UGH???). Still no word on who was in that Uber, but I couldn’t get the voice out of my head “The bodies are in the Mitsubishi… No, that was the Uber driver.” If the Uber had just pulled out of that parking lot, those passengers were moe.rons. My heart had sunk. Who were they? Did I know them? That could have been anybody who decided to leave early and beat the rush for Ubers. I also kept trying to tell myself that the collection of gas cans had to be a fluke. Like, the driver could have been a landscaper plow guy bringing gas cans to his team in the field when they crashed… right? Ugh.
I had a DELICIOUS meal at the Highland Park Diner (some sort of spinach Benedict) and did not fall on my way in or out of the building. My ankle was sore, but holding up. On the drive home, I tried not to think about the crash, resigning myself to wait for details and actual news reports rather than letting my brain wander me through those dark corridors. And then the texts from friends who weren’t at the show started coming in-- more and more of them checking in on me to make sure I was safe… I guessed the story was now in the news and trickling out into social media— but I was on a 5+ hour drive and not plugged in to the news. The more calls and texts I got, the eerier the feeling was. I pulled into my driveway as Hannon texted, so I called him instead of playing the text game. Unloading my car with one arm, I held my phone with the other, recounting the weird emotional rollercoaster of the “shelter in place” timeline, my anxiety burst, the burned out shell of a car. We discussed the gas cans. We discussed the odd feeling that this seemed really bad and not coincidental. He explained that everyone who hadn’t heard from me assumed I was still in the venue hanging out with friends and out of harms way while this was all going down, but they were worried and trying to check-in nonetheless.
Then came the morning of 1/2. I opened my laptop and can’t remember if I googled “Rochester Kodak car crash” (which was by this point, auto-filling in the search bar) or if I saw a link on facebook, but I clicked on something and the headline was “Cops recover suicide note after deranged man drove car packed with explosives into crowd at Rochester concert, killing 2” [please note that this was incorrect reporting and that no suicide note has been recovered]. The FBI was now investigating. I began to read the article that confirmed my darkest suspicions, but couldn’t finish. I quickly closed the laptop and simply collapsed into a ball of tears. A fellow moe.ron who was with me, sat down on the couch and held me while I cried for who knows how long. And then the anger came…
What in the actual fuck? All news pointed to the fact that this was a planned attack. In the weeks since, the details that have emerged are fucking disgusting. Allegedly, this dude drove from Syracuse, rented a room & an SUV, bought ~16 gas cans at different locations & filled them at different locations, scouted the ‘hood while we were all at the show on 12/30, went to the box office and bought a ticket for 12/31 and didn’t actually use it— he just hung out in the parking lot of the Biker’s Leather Clothing shop for 3 hours with intermittent walks to the venue, presumably reading the “upcoming performances” LED screen and wondering if he’d make it to Jim Breuer in March— I mean, that guy does a mean Pterodactyl impersonation. Or is it a Cockatoo? Alas, even the draw of an epic Jim Breuer set failed to thwart this guy’s desire to kill multiple people instead of just himself.
Justina Hughes and Josh Orr were killed upon impact when Michael Avery’s gas can filled SUV (which also had a fake handgun in the console) sped through a red light and hit their Uber, which had been pulling out of the parking lot of the Kodak Theater while moe. was still playing their encore. Justina’s sister, Jessie, posted to a moe. facebook group and clarified that both Josh & Justina were wearing their seatbelts, but were still killed instantly. Dawn Revette was crossing the street when those cars collided, crashing into her group of pedestrians, and she succumbed to her injuries last week (her husband was also severely injured). There were other injuries: pedestrians (moe.ron Sharah Stevens suffered life-altering orthopedic injuries), first responders (smoke inhalation), and at least one of those friendly RPD’s who had been stationed on the corner to help keep us safe all weekend. 3 music fans went to a show and didn’t come home because 1 complete fucking loser couldn’t handle life.
Why? No answer will ever sate any of us or justify the choice that this spineless piece of shit made, but an explanation would be nice and I hope the investigation is able to turn up something. Anything. Was the target the Kodak Center or the moe. community? Were those glass lobby doors just too enticing for a suicidal LARPer or did a moe.ron dump him in HS? Is this cuz of Nate (cuz apparently if you just offer him some money…)?
And then, much like the Shel Silverstein poem, came the What-If’s. What if that Uber hadn’t pulled out of the lot at the exact moment that SUV went through the intersection? What if Al’s New Year’s resolution was to stop reading Al.nouncements? What if Nate hadn’t written that setlist and they never finished Lazarus? What if the band hadn’t predictably pushed through their 12:30AM soft curfew and instead hit the 1AM hard curfew? What if that dickhead domestic terrorist had realized how many of us he could have taken out by merely driving into the smoking section during a setbreak instead? What if this maniac wasn’t such a fucking failure and managed to get his timing right and crash his DIY suicide bomb through the glass doors of the Kodak lobby while the show was actually letting out, setting the building on fire while 1000+ people were trying to exit?
The What-Ifs will drive you mad if you let them. What DID happen was fucking awful enough. Horrific. A nightmare. It destroyed families and friend circles. But, for me at least, it’s also important to ground myself back to reality by focusing on what DID happen vs. chasing thoughts down that dangerous rabbit hole of the What-Ifs that did NOT happen. It’s nauseating to realize we were simply lucky that it wasn’t worse. We were so so lucky that Michael Avery was incompetent. Allegedly.
Though shaken up, I’m doing as well as can be expected at the moment. FWIW, I've been in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for a Panic Disorder for almost a decade now and am able to navigate the anxiety in a very compartmentalized and fluid way (I recommend CBT for anyone who gets panic attacks). Perhaps it’s angry resilience bubbling to the surface, but my sense of security at a moe. show has not been shattered in the least (suppose I’ll only know for sure at the next show, but I think the Bataclan attack is what had already permanently fucked that sense of security, years ago). I will not give this dead monster any power over me or my loved ones, because he will not succeed at whatever spirit he was trying to destroy along with himself. Also, what the fuck— haven’t moe. been through enough? Can we say after all of this— Rob’s cancer, Chuck’s stroke, and now a mass casualty attack— are we good for a while or is this gonna be an every 2 years thing?
I take heart in the fact that the entire moe. org and fam has once again rallied behind each other for support and love and community in a shit time. I can also find humor in the fact that moe. has been nationally mislabeled as a “Grateful Dead cover band”. Dat Birdsong, tho.
I wish to get to the point where I look back at the moe. ’23-24 NYE run and remember what an awesome show it was and nothing more, but these events will be forever linked and that will never happen. For ratings sake, though— moe. 12/30-31/23 NYE run until the exact moment Lazarus ended… 2 nights of awesome music, Chuck’s 1 year return-iversary (w/ 3 lead vox!!!), Al continuing to be the incredible pillar that he is, great friends, and a dope afternoon at the Strong Museum of Play: 9.2 HUZZAHS! Points deducted for the Kodak Theater not having real booze and closing the bar after the end of the last set break on both nights. Yeesh. EVERYTHING AFTER LAZARUS ENDED WAS COMPLETE AND UTTER SHIT. 0 HUZZAHS or less. Weird run, guys.
Below are links to the official gofundme pages for Justina Hughes & Sharah Stevens (who is going in for MORE surgery and will continue to benefit from any/all financial help as she faces a continuing recovery). The Josh Orr gofundme has already capped out. Also below, the moe. store link for merch items directly benefiting the folks affected by the attack.
JUSTINA HUGHES: https://gofund.me/ddcbb7b0
SHARAH STEVENS: https://gofund.me/dff7bffe
moe. Merch to benefit people affected by the attack:
Pink famoe.ly tee: https://moe.shop.redstarmerch.com/product/XZCTOE30/famoely-2024-canyon-tee
Blue fame.ly tee: https://moe.shop.redstarmerch.com/product/XZCTOE29/famoely-2024-wildflower-tilt-tee
Famoe.ly pin: https://moe.shop.redstarmerch.com/product/XZAMOE13/famoely-2024-pin
And just to remind everyone— this was a show review. You can hear these shows for yourself via the relisten app!!
12/30/23: https://relisten.net/moe/2023/12/30
12/31/23: https://relisten.net/moe/2023/12/31
Remember to take care of yourselves while you are taking care of each other. We are moe.rons and we are #bulgestrong. See you at the next show. <3
