Saves the Day Showed Up at a Mexican Restaurant and Played for 25 People Last Night

The last time I saw Chris Conley, it was 4 AM and he was being physically torn away from me by his manager.

It was September and I had convinced him and the rest of Saves the Day to play a secret(ish) show at Saint Vitus, a small metal bar in Brooklyn. They played Through Being Cool start to finish until 3 in the morning for only 250 people who, for one night, travelled back to 1999, became 16 again, and collectively lost their minds into chants of “woah-oh” and “hey-ey.” After a nearly two hour set, Chris stuck around for an hour, just drunk-hugging people and telling them how rad they are. Because that is what Chris does. At 4 AM, as his manager was literally forcing him out of the building, I remember thinking that was the most intimate Saves the Day show I’ll ever see. And yet, here I am three months later—again at 4 AM—at Mission Cantina, a tiny Mexican restaurant on the Lower East Side of Manhattan and Saves the Day are playing a set for 25 people.

Although to call it a “set” is not exactly accurate. It’s more of an impromptu private afterparty following the band’s sold out acoustic show at the Bowery Ballroom. Actually, that sounds too fancy. It’s a drunken shitshow is what it is. As plates formerly topped with mushroom quesadillas and fish tacos are being cleared away, the “opening act” takes the “stage.” It’s Geoff Rickly from Thursday, playing two songs—“Time’s Arrow” by Thursday and “Atlantic City” by Bruce Springsteen. After the “crowd” is good and warmed up, Chris takes the guitar.

Something you should know about Chris is that he is the most positive person you’ll ever meet in your life. Earlier in the evening, for example, the band was handed a custom painting made by a fan. It looked like a small, weird Jackson Pollock work on a board. The other band members were politely gracious. But not Chris. Chris held it up to the light and stared at it from every angle—almost looking through it—silently for an unbroken 30 seconds before remarking, “…Holy fucking shit, that is the raddest fucking thing I’ve ever seen!” Chris is not feigning interest. In that moment, the painting was in fact the raddest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

So add that ridiculously high level of Conley positivity (Conletivity?) to the restaurant owner, Danny, providing an endlessly flowing supply of Tecate and sake, plus some weed that someone was passing around, and Chris is on cloud fucking nine. He literally has not made a single bit of sense in over an hour. He keeps shouting things like, “Let me introduce to you Full Conley! You ready for Full Conley?” Honestly, I don’t think anyone here is actually ready for Full Conley, but he continues, “There are people out there and they talk about how rad it is to be alive… Well this is it. We’re alive now! How rad is that?” Then, after he gets going with two solo acoustic Beatles covers (“Eleanor Rigby” and “Hey Jude”), he is in the zone. “I can fuck all night now,” he says. By “fuck all night,” he means he can play music until someone stops him. Because to Full Conley, fucking, playing music, being rad, living life—these things are all equal in nature.

Full Conley in full effect.

The set continues with STD classics. “Holly Hox, Forget Me Nots,” “Always Ten Feet Tall,” “I’m Sorry I’m Leaving,” and others that just sort of meld together in a drunken karaoke-style haze. Everyone is shouting along at this point—Chris, the other members of the band, Geoff, Danny, and even the gangly Gabe Saporta from Midtown/Cobra Starship, who is adding an additional 10 layers of awkwardness just by being present. Chris is dancing around to his own songs as if they were written by someone else, occassionally peppering in some more of his deep, 3 AM philosophical brain droppings in between songs: “That’s the cool thing about weird shit… it makes shit weird!” Totally, Chris. Totally.

Video via Jenna Rosen

After determining that he is not in the best playing shape—or perhaps just freeing himself up to dance—Chris passes the guitar off to his guitarist, Arun Bali, who is in only slightly better condition to play. We all close the set (I say “we” because for this hour, everyone in this restaurant is a member of Saves the Day) with Weezer’s “Say It Ain’t So” which even has the chefs perched over the counter, screaming at the top of their lungs. “This waaaaay! Is waterlidawayfrometotakesafurthereveryday! Everyday! So be cool!” People are walking down Stanton Street, peering in through the restaurant's windows, wondering what the fuck is going on. I'm inside and I still have no idea what the fuck is going on.

At the end, Chris grabs a carafe of water, holds it above his head, and makes a toast, of sorts: “Holy mother fucking glory of shit!”

Yeah, that about sums it up, Chris.

The author and Chris Conley, right before shit got weird. Photo courtesy of Rebecca Reed.

@danozzi