If you’re in love with value, then I’m in love with you

What happens when two of Milwaukee’s best bands decide to play a Saturday afternoon show at 7 Mile Fair? Turns out, not much.

Items discussed in the following column: ridiculous flea markets, drugs, top-flight dental insurance, the unashamed prolonging of youth.

It’s a gorgeous day at 7 Mile Fair and I’m staring at a Scarface beach towel that looks like it could cover half the city of Miami. I’ve just come from a productive visit to the helpfully named House of Socks, and before that, a booth offering not only pony rides, but a chance to have your picture taken with a real live monkey. Zack Pieper – of local rock outfit the Trusty Knife – walks up beside me, sipping a beer and smoking a cigarette. His band has just finished setting up on a small outdoor stage located between the bathrooms and a building offering everything from old slot machines to alligator-skin cowboy hats. Surveying the scene, Zack shakes his head and sighs. “This is what happens when a joke goes too far.”

Ah, 7 Mile Fair, a place where the joke always goes too far. (Note: I have no idea what that means, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?) Outdoor booths bursting with fresh produce and grilled corn-on-the-cob sit peacefully next to tables full of used auto parts and off-brand electronics that would make even Radio Shack blush. Live animals dot the sprawling grounds here and there, as well as stands up to their proverbial eyeballs in assorted junk and strangely ubiquitous Scarface merchandise. The brainchild of Michigan-born entrepreneur Charles Niles, the Fair is a place that – according to the official website – built in 1961 on a foundation of “simple trust and a hearly [sic] handshake.” Forty-seven years later, I’m here to witness the Trusty Knife and fellow Milwaukee funsters Crappy Dracula play on a whim to a diverse and unsuspecting crowd. A proud tradition of trust and hearly handshakes hangs in the balance.

As expected, there’s not exactly a ton of interest in lo-fi psych rock (Trusty Knife) or abrasive, Dead Milkmen-inspired snot rock (Crappy Dracula) from the 7 Mile crowd. The few people lingering near the area walk off with a shrug as the music begins, while the occasional passerby gives nothing more than a raised eyebrow and a puzzled glance. An old woman appears early on and politely asks if the darn racket can be turned down a little. A Hispanic couple takes a short breather near the stage while their daughter jumps to the music. All in all, it’s an enjoyable and ultimately uneventful afternoon, just a bunch of Milwaukee indie-rock goofballs (myself included) entertaining themselves at the largest outdoor junk store in the Midwest.

After sneaking off to the parking lot for a quick, um … breather, I wander through the fairgrounds, wondering just what in the hell is really going on. Here I am, a 30-year-old man (gulp), spending the day with my friends as they play music at a goddamned flea market. Is this somehow irresponsible of me, somehow shameful and embarrassing to be stretching a lost and misspent youth this far? No, I quickly decide, it is not. While this past summer has certainly seen me engage in an alarming amount of reckless behavior, I’ve always gone in with the protection of a wide-reaching safety net that only adulthood can provide. Yes, I recently went ahead and got my front tooth knocked out (a story for another time, perhaps), but only with the knowledge that I had a solid dental plan waiting for me at home, as well as a life-saving friend willing to drive me to the dentist’s office a few days later. Isn’t that the sort of mix we’re all after: the idiocy of youth tempered by the rewards of responsibility? Adulthood with benefits? I don’t know, maybe I’m just kidding myself. But for now – pleasantly buzzed amongst miles and miles of jeans and mufflers and records and junk – I am decidedly unashamed.

Making my way back to the stage, I arrive just in time to hear the Trusty Knife perform the final number of the afternoon, a 7 Mile Fair theme song written especially for the occasion:

If you’re in love with value/
then I’m in love with you/
You can find it/
at the tables/
at 7 Mile Faaaaaiiiiir…

Sure, the whole thing feels silly in the end – pointless, even – but as the bands pack up and get ready to leave, there’s a faint hint of victory in the air, a feeling that something has been accomplished, that an unspoken and unarticulated point has been proven. And if that sounds like the biggest load of bullshit you’ve ever heard, well, at least I got a good deal on some socks.

With the last of the gear stowed away, Zack takes one final look around at the slowly emptying fairgrounds. “It feels like we just lost a bet,” he says.

Funny, I was thinking the exact opposite. VS