You force the music section to foot the bill for Shane O’Brien’s going-away party at the Roxy, and we reward you with a Payback Time T-shirt and two tickets to a Live Nation club show of your choice taking place in Vancouver within the next four weeks. Here’s this week’s winning whine.

Dear Payback Time: I, and anybody else who attended the Arcade Fire show, would completely agree that there was a rather large dose of catharsis experienced that night, as the author of the concert synopsis, I mean “review”, was correct in stating. My whinge in this matter is that I am wholly sure that said “reviewer” experienced none such emotion. If he did, it sure as hell did not come out in the “review”. The only note of emotion heaped on the readers was about the lack of enthusiasm shown by the crowd for the opening band, Calexico. I suppose, as Mike Usinger states so frequently, “The ’90s are like, totally hot right now!” applies to everything but Calexico.

> Nate Jacques

Gregory Adams replies: Dearest Nate Dogg—Among the many questions writers asks themselves on a daily basis, from “How much am I actually being paid for this?” to “Why won’t this press card fit into my fedora?”, perhaps the most important of all is, “Am I supposed to write myself into my own review?” While there are some out there who can gush about the hot dog they picked up from a vender just as much as the band they’re seeing, the rest of us meek and meagre journalists will do just about anything to avoid bringing attention to ourselves. The reason: we’re boring. Really fucking boring.

The fact of the matter is, sometimes my writing makes me come off like an automaton. We both know that. And truthfully, it’s not just my writing that’s soulless. My life is drier than a six-month-old box of unsalted Premium Plus. My aura is beige.

Getting ready for the gig, I opted to wear an inconspicuous grey-T-shirt-and-jeans combo rather than my Hunter S. Thompson–issue Hawaiian button-up and matching cigarette holder that’s been sitting in a heap at the bottom of my closet since Halloween 2007. Nothing but neutrals for me, thank you very much. I’ll admit this, though, Nate: as much as you might not believe it, I had a lot of fun at the Coliseum. Though I was frantically blogging and jotting down notes about Régine Chassagne and crew frugging about adorably, I let my guard down a few times to actually enjoy the Arcade Fire’s performance.

This is no lie, I actually cheered excitedly when William Butler dashed out from the stage mid-concert to run amok on the Coliseum floor, banging that drum for all to see. Everyone around me was cheering or making out, so I opted to hug the girl beside me. It was great until the tears that streamed down my face paralyzed my robot circuitry. She had to wheel me to my laptop at home. So, yes, it was nice to actually be affected by the Arcade Fire, but it’s also a relief to be back to normal. I don’t know how you guys can deal with feeling emotions all day.

You can voice your impotent rage by snail mail or by sending an e-mail to payback@straight.com.