I have committed an unpardonable sin:

I passed up on the chance to see The Mars Volta play in Edinburgh.

Later, we got a brief synopsis from Jack, who is a pretty cool young cat to whom we have a tenuous connection (the son of the flatmate of my mother's childhood friend). He's a big fan of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs - who I have to admit are much better than I thought they were - and of Mike Patton, so I should've taken it as the sign it was when he said he was going to this show. I told myself I should save the money and the hassle of making the travel arrangements. I AM SUCH AN IDIOT.

Listen to me: I cannot be satisfied by rock and roll that is merely loud, or heavy. I cannot abide gravelly male vocalists who try to substitute some kind of half-assed machismo for training or talent; nor will I tolerate ad-hoc "bands" assembled by record company cyborgs scanning the social networks for an appropriately photogenic cluster of 3-5 malleable young turds who, when push comes to shove, will sign the papers. Fire and brimstone upon all that. I demand rock music that comes to us from OUTER SPACE. I demand complex arrangements cunning enough to conceal alchemical formulae, ancient prophecies or the names of fallen gods. I am totally serious! Rock and roll should propel us like rockets toward the benevolent pyramid aliens at the outer rim of the galaxy! It should blast off the tops of our heads and let Thor and Odin into our brains! It should set the planet on fire!

This is what The Mars Volta does for me, and I missed an awesome show. Jack went late anticipating an opening band. There wasn't one. The Mars Volta played for two and a half hours. My brain would've dissolved. I wouldn't be writing this right now. I would be a cloud of posthuman gas floating between the stars or some shit. Instead I'm writing this blog post so you can laugh at me and remind me to NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.