MAGNET celebrated its 10th anniversary in September with a sold-out concert at the Trocadero (with Guided By Voices, Shins, My Morning Jacket and comedian/emcee/Superchunk drummer Jon Wurster) and a party the next night at a Ukrainian hall (with the Wrens, who performed a set of originals, then did a second set of covers). We can’t quite recall all the details, but here are some of our favorite, fuzziest MAGNET Memories:

Does Eric workin’ my knob like a locksmith beneath the volleyball net count?
—Charles Bissell, singer/guitarist, the Wrens

Does workin’ Charles’ knob like a locksmith beneath the volleyball net count?
—Eric T. Miller, editor/publisher

What a long, strange weekend it was. There was no stranger moment than being backstage in Guided By Voices’ dressing room (before they played) and not being able to find a beer.* And people say there’s not enough irony in indie rock.

Here is a list of thank yous:
To Fred Mills, who breached the Trocadero security forcefield with a homemade, laminated pass (a photo of Higgins and the words “MAGNET Hair Of The Dog Tour ‘03”) around his neck.
To J. Edward Keyes, for unexpectedly getting onstage with the Wrens and singing R.E.M.’s “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It.” In a blazer.
To Jon Wurster, who helped us confirm that stand-up comedy never really works at a rock concert. Jon, anyone can boo you, but it takes a special person to laugh.
To the Wrens, who graced us with songs from this year’s best album (The Meadowlands) and the best songs from the last two decades’ worst bands (the Outfield, .38 Special and some I can’t remember).
To Mike (whose last name I don’t know—we met at a wedding last year), for the following exchange during the Wrens’ set:
Kevin Whelan: Where’s Eric Miller?
[silence]
Mike: Eric’s a dragon.
Kevin Whelan: Did you just say “Eric’s a dragon?”
Mike: Yeah.
To people like Scott Colan and Brennan Cavanaugh and Steve Manning, who took the time to attend our stupid little event and come up to us to say congratulations and tell us they think we publish a good magazine.

And here is a list of apologies:
To Bob Mehr and Amy Lombardi, for sending them to Pat’s King Of Steaks instead of Geno’s.
To any sleepless houseguests kept awake by the conversation I had with Brendan Gilmartin in my living room. It was about the Pixies (I think), and it lasted until 7 a.m.
To Matt Ryan, for having to hear me bitch about my man-purse. (It’s a messenger bag.)
To Dick Yuengling, owner, the Yuengling Brewing Co. of Pottsville. I’m sorry, Dick, but I found a Ukrainian beer this weekend that I really like. As soon as I remember what it’s called, I’m going to stop drinking Yuengling Lager.
To my liver.

*And then when I peeked in the fridge and asked, “Hey, is there anything to drink around here?” one of Pollard’s mullet buddies gave me the stinkeye and took a long swig of his Bud. Nice. Like I was Tim Tobias or something.
—Matthew Fritch, senior editor

OK, don’t get me wrong, it was fun and all, but WHERE WAS HIGGINS?! Did he have some more exciting plans? Was he out partying with Triumph the insult comic dog? Christ!
—Natalie Jacobs, intern

I remember the smell of Jonathan Valania’s hair, waking up next to him Sunday morning.
—J. Edward Keyes, contributing writer

Highlights of the 10-Year Bash:
—finally meeting people I had only previously known as XXX@blahblahblah.com
—discovering everyone is just as confused about Kings Of Leon as I am
—when Julian Casablancas showed up
—the bread-bowl dips
—hearing Bob Pollard accuse NYC mayor Michael Bloomberg of listening to Bobby Darin
—Ukrainian beer
—discovering, via trial and error, my own capacity for liquor
—getting insulted by Fred Mills
—wondering if the between-sets comedian was going to make it out of the Troc alive
—finally, after 10 years, seeing Matt and Eric kiss
—speed up, slow down, go all around
—J. Edward Keyes again

We came, we saw, we ... uh, we drank a lot. How much did we drink? Enough that my fellow passengers on the plane ride home from Philly to North Carolina kept shrinking away from me and my day-after wine-stench body odor. But I digress. At the MAGNET party proper, the Wrens made a believer out of me—having only previously been a modest fan of their output—as much for their insane covers set as for the material culled from their absolutely brilliant Meadowlands CD (easily destined to be one of the year’s top 10). At the Trocadero bash the night before, I needed no such winning over from GBV, of course, and the Shins convinced me that all the current hype swirling around ‘em is probably justified. And My Morning Jacket, with a set largely culled from its recent It Still Moves album (a top five for ‘03) simply made me a reborn believer in the extant transcendent power of rock ‘n’ roll—they are, hands down, the best live band I have seen in many, many years.
—Fred Mills, Associate Editor

Quotes of the weekend:
“You try Ukrainian beer. Is good.” Bartender at the Ukrainian Club, in response to my Yuengling order.
“Croak. (Inaudible).” Eric Miller, losing his voice after too much schmoozing and too many cigarettes.
“I have to lose this bag. It’s kind of emasculating.” Matthew Fritch, looking to ditch his stylish ‘European carry-all’ upon arrival at the GBV show.
—Matt Ryan, contributing writer

One of my favorite moments glimpsed during Friday's show was the big, long-haired pal of Pollard’s who repeatedly lurched onstage during the GBV set to grab beers from the band’s cooler (Coleman brand, no less) that sat sweating in front of the drum riser.
—Doug Sell, contributing writer

The great thing about these anniversaries is the opportunity to bond with fellow MAGNETeers. Somehow I managed not to meet Fred Mills again. And then I blew out of some horrendous post-GBV party in such a way as to convince Matt Hickey I was angry at him, or just a complete jerk. Building these bridges is so important. But there were some great moments.
Friday: Jon Wurster confusing 1,000 people; people looking at each other, trying to figure out if they’d met before; quality time with Scott Colan; meeting Doug Gillard; backstage with Cameron Diaz and Heather Graham; talking with Bethany Klein for the duration of the Shins’ set; the really pissed-off guy who walked into the men’s room ranting about how he hated Philly and MAGNET and all three bands at the Trocadero.
Saturday: those big bottles of Ukrainian beer, recommended by the great Gina Bittner; inside and especially outside the UACA place; free kielbasa(!); the Wrens playing a World Party song and that incredible sped-up Pink Floyd thing and of course their own set; seeing Kimberly Merritt dance; not meeting Fred Mills; busing tables; the look of profound relief on Eric Miller’s face when it was all over and no one had been killed or seriously injured; outrunning state troopers to get home without a ticket.
—Phil Sheridan, contributing writer

My favorite part of the MAGNET weekend was when the Wrens played a perfectly resplendent cover of the popular 1976 KISS ballad, “Beth,” just like they promised: The sweat percolating on Charles’ snug brow ... Kev massaging the keys with the supine ease of a molting insect ... Oh wait—that never happened. Thanks a lot, Charles. My second favorite part was the beer.
—Beth Wawerna, contributing writer