NJ: Only the Strong Have Pride

Last night I had the pleasure of attending the Ted Leo and the Pharmacists show in Dublin. They're a band that I have listened to for quite some time, yes, even spanning back to those pop-punk encrusted days of high school (Billy Joe wears eyeliner now?). It was actually an advantage that my first Ted Leo show was far across the Atlantic, as the already tiny venue was only cozily filled with fans. With the attention he's been receiving stateside and the release of an album earlier this year though, I was still a bit surprised at the breathing room.

My New Jersey roots have gone into hiding lately, amid both the migration of many friends to Brooklyn and a recent stint in San Francisco. I have always been an avid fan of bands from my state, now a hotbed for emo and indie start-ups. I even will make the occasional trek to Albany if an aging Saves the Day hits the road when I'm at school. As I begin to contemplate a coast conversion post-college, however, the days of outspoken defense have passed. The turnpike is hideous and often smells foul? Yes. The cawffee in diners is overpriced? Sure. There's nothing exciting to do? Clearly, I have a blog for god's sakes.

Despite my best attempts at squashing attachment to my childhood home, there I was front and center, motioning to my friend over a brilliant bass solo that I planned on screaming, "I love New Jersey" at the next break. I was sure that Ted, a graduate of Seton Hall Prep in West Orange, NJ, would appreciate the support of a fellow statesmen. We're a very particular breed, afterall. I also raised my fist in triumphant recognition whenever 'Jersey' showed up in the lyrics, which last night came in at a solid 3. What was this adrenaline rush of state pride, my former shame lifted at the first pluck of a guitar string? This could not merely be the product of lead singer lust.

The set was cut rather short to make way for the venue's transfer back into a night club, which is really a shame if you've ever seen an Irishman dance. While my cries went unheard during the set, I stuck around long enough to catch the band as they packed up equipment, so determined was I in my will to represent. Looking up to the stage as he broke down a mic, I shouted "Ted" as though summoning an old friend, and his smile was no less unnatural.
"I'm from New Jersey!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
Insert excited high fives
"Come play back home, we're waiting for you"
"Ok!"

Yes, that was the extent of my meeting with Ted Leo, but boy is there still a smile on my face. Did I remember to tell him how great the set was? Or that as a long-time fan, I appreciated the small number of newer songs? Of course not. There is something about home that instills a certain pride in us, as though a person's accomplishments are felt more strongly by those who share that connection, however small (West Orange is a good 30 minute drive from my house). In a sea of foreigners, I danced in this pride, and was even more delighted to find Ted a modest, enthusiastic and very normal guy. Who knows whether my true Jersey girl will ever return without the cover of a blaring amp, but I made sure to come home last night and tell all those friends in Brooklyn about my NJ powwow with our state's very own Mr. Leo.