So don't bother with Wondershare Filmora, because if you want to convert your project file into a .MP4 or .WMV or another usable file format, you can't without registering the software and paying for it, unless you want a giant watermark across the middle of the entire length of your video.
And you can't get around that by separately downloading Wondershare's video converter and hoping it'll recognise the project file. Too simple. They definitely thought of that. It doesn't.
I went ahead and posted the roller derby one with no video, now here's this one (my phone was full anyway, it cut off in the middle of a song because I kept forgetting to take all the September videos off it), and soon the Tucson one without it. Got some recommendations for other software though, so... soon...ish.
(Update: Nowish! Thanks for the recommendation Jorge, I'm using Shotcut now.)
Anyway, shortly after I landed in my Christo-fascist cultural desert of a homeland - and I couldn't even get through the Mexican food we had straight from the airport before that record-breaking mass shooting took over the news - ruled now by the mangled apricot remnants of a vile narcissist with the emotional maturity of a maladjusted adolescent, I decided to go to a show. The first of the two months back there I was really not having a good time. My family situation was bad, the financial situation was just as bad as that, and the huge stressful task I had come to complete had been put off and haunting me for years. And Hannes and I were on opposite sides of the planet.
So I went to this biker bar called Chopper John's that an acquaintance of mine from middle school (ancient history right) has been working on turning into a real, legit venue, and he seems to be doing a good job of it. I mean, just because he wants to and likes the place; he doesn't actually work there. There was also no cover for this show, and the place was pretty packed.
Out of the corner of my eye for a split second I thought that one on the right was
the Anti-Fascist Action Flag. looooooooooohl. That'd be a cold day in hell.
This is that guy, Andrew, and his fiancé. Look how cute they are!
It was a rockabilly/psychobilly show, and the first band that played is one of the bigger ones from Arizona, The Limit Club. Fun fact: the vocalist on the left, Nick Feratu, has a sister who's on the Doomsday Valkyries team, Annie Feratu. I think she's also a hair stylist. Welcome to the smallness of the alternative scene in Phoenix.
They put on a pretty good set, but of the three bands that played the second one really stood out: they're called Outlaw Inlaws and they play "cowpunk" or hillbilly punk or whatever the fuck else you can come up with, I'm sure they're fine with it. These heavily-tattooed scumbags are super crass and gross, and sexy and hilarious. The yee-haw-ness of it all is very tongue-in-cheek.
I'm also really happy with the pictures. I took exactly three fuckloads of them, but it was worth it.
I mean, who are these guys to think I'm a weirdo for photographing them extensively, right?
They're the ones singing a slow and cringeworthy but highly amusing ode to all types of pussy.
I could have left this one out but why lol
... I don't think they thought I was super weird, I think they enjoyed the ongoing photo-snapping.
This is clearly Blue Steel
And speaking of Blue Steel, let's have a second AMF!
I don't remember what this was all about, but here, have a .gif of it:
Taking concert pics with a default lens and without a real understanding of things like aperture and shutter priority settings is hard; between that, all the movement, and the darkness and shifting lights, they often come out like this. -intense blurriness intensifies-
Andrew was working the soundboard and helping with other stuff between sets.
There are usually no pics of me so here's another crummy mirror selfie for the collection.
Oh but what's that writing on the wall?
Oooh. Somebody get Amy some ice? Or not? I'm just gonna stay out of it
The last band was the Belfry Bats, and this was I guess their official return after a long hiatus.
They toasted a California rockabilly drummer who tragically died several years ago at the age of 25 named Andy DeMize Martinez.
Andrew joined them for a song on the standup bass
"You, you know what I'm talking about"
Let it be known that this random guy is having a great time
It looks like he's going:
-heavy sigh- "Goddamnit Andrew"
Another classic lol. When I sent this to him he was like, "I was listening, I swear!"
First of all, it was nice to see street food and food trucks again. Japan naturally completely fucks up one of the best things the continent of Asia does, which is street food, by just not having any anymore. Second of all, where did this dude just come from or where is he going dressed like this, late at night on Friday the 13th, getting a hot dog outside the biker bar?
Ale was going to pick me up from Chopper John's but wasn't sober and sent a Lyft for me instead.
Friends of hers live in this house, around the corner from the one she lives in with several rotating roommates in the Garfield Arts/Historical District. This chick does some pretty interesting, confrontational lowbrow stuff.
Here's the one Ale lives in with her roommates. For whatever reason no one ever unpacked anything, but there are several really interesting paintings and other pieces all over.
We stayed up and talked a bit, eventually passing out.
I couldn't resist taking a few pictures of her art supplies and
assorted accoutrements the following morning.
We were both the very groggy type of hungover and went to the new(ish) Jobot location just down the road, on Roosevelt, for coffee.
That street was starting to gentrify when we were still in high school, and now it's just kind of ridiculous. ASU's absurdly expensive godless crackerbox dorms and various shiny new buildings have been joined by trendier, pricier cafés and bars like this one, some of which are pretty alright, and luxury condos no one can afford. Those are all identical white and beige boxes that make you kind of seasick and that start to look like an optical illusion or tessellation against the stark, cloudless sky if you keep your eyes fixed on them. The people (or companies rather, who are we kidding, scummy wannabe-bougie real estate developers are hardly people) who built them put furniture out on some of the patios to make it look like people are living there, but no one can afford it. And if they could, they wouldn't move to constantly-busy, frequently-crowded-with-stupid-kids Roosevelt Row. But they keep building more. It's very #humansoflatecapitalism.
There's a drink and draw here every.. Monday night is it?
I had kind of wanted to go but ended up not having time. At least there's a pretty tight-knit community among the working artists and historical district hipsters of Phoenix, though; it might have small scenes, but that's much harder to achieve in bigger cities.