Of all the kinds of magic in the air in Austin during this week, one of my favorites is “middle-aged magic.” Middle-aged magic comes out when some old-ass band, whose old-ass records changed the whole damn world in the days of “old media” (or whatever) takes the stage and makes middle-aged people lose their shit. While just an hour or two previously I was standing, hands folded, drinking Sparks and listening to Fuck Buttons and watching middle-aged people visibly not “get it,” now I was jumping around and getting doused in beer in the closest thing I have seen to a middle-aged mosh pit. Up on the balcony, where Diplo and some other large sneaker types were hanging, people were smirking. On the ground level, where me and some other loafers types were hanging, people were jumping.

“Los Angeles” is X’s anthem, their big song, an ode to their hometown as well as one of the definitive songs of the late 70s West Coast scene. They launched into it halfway through their set, having already reestablished their place as one the more melodic (and mellow) of punk’s early acts. Here, John Doe’s opening line sets up Exene’s delivery of the words “Los Angeles” like an alley-oop, and she brought it down hard. However, by this point in the set it was Doe who had taken a commanding lead of the band and the stage, and the song’s driving rhythm in the verses had all eyes on him. This is where middle-aged magic really took over around me, as I messed up—twice—the fist pumps during these breakdowns. (“There’s no way it’s seven and then three,” I thought. It is.) It was very polite chaos, and I didn’t remember most of the words, and I wasn’t even alive in 1980, etc. etc. as the scene around me willed into being how important this all really was (the introduction by Perry Ferrell actually helped in this regard). At the end of the set, one other thing I thought was how silly that band before them now seemed. What’s their name? Oh, Vampire Weekend.

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