Punk is Dead

Over the weekend, my little fab fam went to a fundraiser called Woodystock.  It's a concert / auction to benefit the scholarship fund that Lucas's violin teacher started in honor of her late husband.  Well, we LOVE Ms Jody.  LOVE that woman.  So we went to Woodystock to help support their  cause.

Woodystock  was on Jody's beautiful property, a perfect place for a stage, live music, a couple of port-a-potties, and lots of people.  The boys just wanted to play on her swing set.

There was face painting...

Max really wanted to get his face painted, but this lady was hard core.  Look at her!  There were little girls walking around with beautiful, intricately jeweled butterflies covering their faces.  Max would have looked great with a tiger face, but he has too many ants in his under-roos to stand still long enough for Madame to create a masterpiece on his cheeks...  And Lucas really just wanted to play in the sand box and pet the dogs.  So did this little girl.  Look at her cute boots!  swoon.

We were among the first 40 or so guests, and you know how it is when you're kind of early to a party.  The band hasn't started playing yet, you don't know what to do with yourself, you just feel awkward...

So we got dinner and sat down.

Then the first band began to play.

I didn't know what to expect from the musical line up.  But Ms Jody is the real deal.  She is a classically trained musician.  Has taught hundreds of people how to play violin.  She plays in Irish bands, she plays in jazz bands...  So I expected it to be somewhat diverse.

I did not, however, expect a punk band as the opening act.

Neither did Lucas and Max.

They hated the band.  Max just scowled through their entire set.  Lucas kept his fingers deep in his ears the whole time they played, taking them out in between songs to clap enthusiastically.  (I think he was clapping because he was glad the song was over.)

I'm not really a very good judge of punk bands.  I can't tell a good one from a bad one, to be quite honest.  I could understand most of the words (which were mostly about being drunk, underachieving, and the 1993 Roughneck Soccer Team.), but I'm not sure if that is a sign of really good punk music, or really bad punk music.

The boys were quite, I'd say very certain of how they felt about it.  They are pretty opinionated about the genre of punk music, as it turns out.  Lucas developed an interesting method of keeping his ears plugged, and his eyes shut tight through each song, while somehow still managing to eat his hot dog and chips.  Pretty dedicated.

At one point, Max, who is three, turned to me with his eyebrows knitted tightly together and said, "I do not like this music, Mom.  This is disgusting."

Okay then.

No punk music for us, thanks.