Flower House, most days, is just your average college house in the Heights. It is the home of two bands - On the Cinder and Uncommonly Smooth - who share members, housework, and three mismatched, upcycled couches. Most days it is pretty unremarkable; twenty-something year old musicians sitting around playing darts and arguing over lyrics. Unlike its harder punk brethren, The Turnaround and Northrup Place, it has not been established long enough to have a steady stream of well-connected social circles trickling through its doors; it is more manicured and less ratty than one might expect. In the house show world, Flower House is literally the new kid on the block. Concerts here provide that special kind of connection between musicians and audiences that simply cannot be replicated at more formal venues.
Let me paint you a picture with my words: it is a hot Saturday night in June or July. You could go drinking at The Steer again, but you received a Facebook invitation from a friend of a friend of a friend to attend a random house show on Flower Street. It is close enough to the regular watering hole that if the show sucks, you can bail any time by taking a walk up the street. Turning at Parkside Candies, you hang a right at the fork, hearing the music faintly as you approach the house.
A guy greets you. He says his name is Mike. You shake his hand, perhaps recognizing him as the front man for the now-dissolved band The Steakouts. You give him two dollars (the profits go towards keeping a traveling band on the road) and walk down the basement stairs. Twenty people are crammed into a small, dark room with chalk covered walls. Everything around you is lit up with every conceivable type of novelty light: disco ball, Christmas, strobe. Depending on the season, it is probably oppressively hot, but the fact that everyone is dripping sweat somehow adds to the authenticity of a good old-fashioned basement show.
While the first band plays, everyone is slow to dance. It isn’t until the dollar beers and punch start going that the party really heats up. By the second band, there is some mild hip swaying. By the third, everyone is ecstatic and slightly drunk. Once the fourth and final band starts, all bets are off. Through the power of punk hive mind, the moshing and circle skanks begin in full force. Whether you’re drinking or not, this type of community represents a unique sort of culture; it is one of the fabled hosts of the pierced and tattooed libertines that occupy the secret fantasies of so many bored Americans. There is kicking; there is punching. None of it is intentional or personal, just the product of people letting loose; of frustrated bodies in motion smashing together. You might even say it resembles something out of your science textbook; excitable particles colliding with one another in a chaotic, but controlled, pattern—a small miracle. Is it any wonder that people compare concerts to spiritual experiences?
By the end of the night, when everyone is liquored up and exhausted, the party moves upstairs—no DD necessary. The separation between musicians and audience completely dissipates, leaving a group of partygoers high on music and who knows what else. Everyone mingles, discussing the show, finding common ground; hooking up and sharing cigarettes. Some people stay in the basement for a game of beer pong or continue to add to the chalk mural that is slowly overtaking the basement. Whether it be from adrenaline or alcohol, a transformation always takes place; what begins as a group of almost-strangers too afraid to dance in front of each other becomes a family of long-lost friends.
The next show for Flower House is yet unplanned. If you would like to be in the know, friend one (or both) of the bands on Facebook. Even when playing at a more traditional location, the music is pretty solid and worth a listen, especially if you like punk or ska. And if you get a chance, definitely show up to a Flower House event for a non-traditional course on punk and the art of Zen.
~Melanie Donofrio
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