Damn The Man - oh wait...

My brother is a punk. Punk rocker, punk lifestyle, punk, punk, punk. The first ventures into The Offspring developed into NoFX, Rancid, The Vandals and then the various subcultures and genres I only knew from his energetic dispatches to me about the scene.

I forayed a bit into the poppier of the punk - went to Warped Tours, hit up a few earlier shows - but I was more of a ska kind of girl at that point. And as he went off into more obscure bands and scenes, I discovered my equally underground and addictive world of singer-songwriters.

We often fall into discussions talking about particular musicians or bands in our respective areas of relative expertise, and while doing so can make it feel as if we each know precisely what it's like to sit or stand in the venues, taking in the sounds. It's one of my favorite aspects about our relationship - you know, beyond the whole same blood thing.

He has been in various bands for years now, and I've had a chance to attend an almost embarrassingly low number of performances. So when the opportunity arises to be able to make a show, I jump for the chance to show my support. Which is why I found myself back at 242 (for the first non-professional time since, I believe, the ska days of early college) this evening. His band was part of a lineup, he was in Vermont for a rare appearance (which is why one might note almost all of the recaps of brother-sister misadventures involve me in Boston), and I was ready to be there.

This requires, however, me to step significantly out of my comfort zone. There's only so much an acoustic-y kind of girl can do to blend into a punk crowd, so I put on my black shirt and jeans and prepared to get a couple of surprised looks. In fact, the people taking money at the door gave me a surprised expression as I approached and handed over my cash.

Fortunately, some mothers were around wearing mom clothes that stood out far more than my sister wear. And those at the show were pretty laidback and cool, particularly as T introduced me as his sister. That apparently brought with it a certain level of cred.

I stood with T through the first two sets, quickly thrust back into memories of past shows and past sweaty crowds. I remembered how much easier it was to enjoy the music when I already knew the words, but smiled upon seeing how into it the audience was.

And how polite they were to those mothers.

T's band was the best of the three I saw - and I say that without sistery bias. They had the most lyricism, most musicality, and T by far had the most stage presence. He prowled around the floor stage, grabbed people to sing along with and otherwise delivered, despite being exhausted before the show.

But the thing that I thought of most during the show? I used to be one of the Question Authority types. I still am to some degree, but now spend my time thinking of politics in the two- or perhaps three-party perspective. What can be done within the system and to what extent one goes outside the system. But do I go to protests? Do I write my letters or make my calls? Do I embrace a cause strongly enough to write or sing about it to spread the word?

No. I settled into acceptance and the refined process of discussion, courteous rage against the system.

Somehow it felt, as I stood among a group of people passionate about music, causes and a culture, that I was The Man.

Unsettled about the notion, I returned to focusing on T as he ran across the stage.