The problem, sadly, for Flogging Molly was that everything surrounding the music that day sucked. The morning was a monsoon, and scared off two of the people I was supposed to go with. When I arrived at RFK that afternoon, I found that the grounds were a wreck – a soupy river of beer, soda, fries, and mud trickled to your feet as you made your way through the tunnel. I would have been able to stand that – and more – if it hadn’t been for my hands.
As many of you know, I have a condition called Raynaud’s, which causes me to lose all circulation in my hands if it’s remotely damp or cold. So you can imagine that a chilly, drizzly, four-hour festival at the end of winter would cause a great deal of pain. I tried taking my gloves on and off, rubbing them against the warm parts of my body, visiting the refreshing beverage truck (an increase in overall body heat sometimes helps)…but nothing worked. It was miserable. I had not been in such pain since Adam Eckstein and I waited for the train to Munich in January ’06.
The relief I was finally given an hour and a half after arriving came from an unlikely source: a ribs vendor. The guy must have seen me cringing and shivering because he pointed and said, “Come around back.” I didn’t know what he meant at first, but then I could see that there were two flaming racks of ribs at his booth: one in the front to keep warm for customers and another in the back where the ribs were actually cooked. There, he implied, was where I could heat my hands.
He grew a little concerned when I started stifling shrieks a minute later, but when I explained that it’s worst when the circulation starts to come back, he understood. Soon after, the pain climaxed, and then little by little, it started to subside. White fingers changed to white-purple, white-purple fingers changed to purple-red, and then, miraculously, at long last, purple-red fingers changed to full red! I had new life.
In a movie version of this story, I suppose the vendor would have offered me a free rib when I was done. In real life, though, he didn’t -- and didn’t need to. He saw that I was in pain, and went out of his way to stop it. In my book, that’s still an awesome Samaritan.
If events continued to follow a sappy cinematic playbook, I would have left the vendor, fully rejuvenated, and enjoyed a first-rate Flogging Molly show. Sadly, though, there was still an hour before the show was set to begin. There was still plenty of time to refreeze. I hovered between purple-red and white-purple when Flogging Molly first came on stage, but then the rains came. It went back to full-on white. The band did their damndest to keep the crowd into it – taking multiple song requests, repeatedly thanking the crowd for staying, and repeatedly cursing the miserable weather. And the crowd was into it, even with the numerous storm-caused sound failures. I just could not get that into it as I froze.
Oh well. At least I know to see them at an indoor venue next time they come to DC…
Grade: B
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