What I'd give for that hat to be medicine...
I glanced over my journal and noticed that I hadn't mentioned the two things that anyone who has been in my physical (or electronic) presence recently has had to endure my gushing over: 1) I now have a bed; 2) I now (again) have a cell phone.
I finally got tired of sleeping on a naked mattress on the floor, broke down, and bought a bed. The bed, is well, a bed. It has a mattress, boxspring, headboard, footboard, rails, etc. I also have a dresser and a nightstand. My bedroom now looks pretty crowded. I even put sheets and a blanket on it. When I told Nomi the other day, she pointedly asked me if I was going to really use the bed (it was over the phone, so her wink had to be understood). I dodged the question. (By the way, she tells me she's pregnant, so congrats to her and Jimmy).
The phone is one of those slick Motorola Razrs. It fits great in my pocket. My ring tone is usually me yelping in surprise, as I tend to keep it there on vibrate. At other times, my ring tone is, however, "London Calling." What a clever boy am I.
It has a camera, so I've taken some pictures on it. Shortly after getting it, I went to see Son Volt and Tift Merritt at Disco Rodeo (that name always amuses me). The last time I'd gone there, M. and I saw Social Distortion. I must say that the crowd at Son Volt was a bit gentler than than it was for Social D, though now that i think about it, they do share some musical antecedents. Mike Ness's solo album has a lot of country-gone-punk on it, while Jay Ferrar in Son Volt does kind of country-gone-punk-gone-country-back-again. Anyway, I took a shot of the banner on the stage, but as I looked at the picture later, I noticed that I also captured a roadie's ass in the process as well.
The show was pretty cool, though it was kind of odd going alone (not that it was the first time I'd ever done that). Being by myself at shows is, well, kind of lonely. Since it's just me, I don't really go very crazy (I usually don't even have a drink), I'm usually all misanthropic and shy, and I'm not interested in talking to anyone. But this leaves the experience itself to make memories, which, when the band isn't one of those groups that simply radiate energy and excitement and fun (like SCOTS or the Pietasters [esp. the show with the Vandals] or Hank III), is difficult. Usually if I'm there with M. or someone, we'll engage in some people-watching and some kind of collective memory (like Slumber Party or the Cowboy-hat chick or singing "Maggie Mae" on stage) is formed at some point. But by myself, they're just my memories, and if anyone is interested in my sharing them, it's hard to communicate them because there's just not much common ground there. And if I don't share them, I tend to forget.
But I'd rather not miss them simply because nobody else could go. This is usually music that I'm interested in and enjoy listening to, or else music that I think I'd like to listen to. I don't want to let opportunities like that to have those experiences pass me by.
That was probably an extended excuse for not having anything meaningful to say about Son Volt and Tift Merritt. It's also probably worth mentioning that Tift couldn't seem to get the crowd excited enough to sing along at the obvious spots, though I give her an A for effort. Farrar and co. were definitely not showmen, and (at least to me) didn't project a huge amount of energy. They seemed kind of diffident on stage. They played their songs well, and put energy into them, but it wasn't the kind of show that left me standing afterwards slightly shocked and drained. Maybe I should actually buy one or two of their CDs instead of having the highly illegal burned copy of Trace.
The other show for which I have a picture on my phone is from George Clinton, about which I have almost exactly the opposite to say. It's obvious George has worked himself into a cult status, and pieces together his show very carefully to exploit that to the maximum. Though the opener was totally disposable -- everything they played had been done earlier and better by more genuine and talented people -- the main act started with his backup band, the Children of Production, playing sort of a second opening act, and getting everyone in to it and dancing. I think I spent most of my time and active mental effort ogling one of their female singers. By the time they played something that was recognizably George, it was frenzied in there. M&J say that George was actually off his mark that night, and played better when they saw him before in Myrtle Beach, but since I wasn't at that show, I'll just say that I thoroughly enjoyed myself at this one, and chalked it up there with one of the best shows I've ever been to. I learned how to "bounce" to whatever "this" was. Apparently whitey can't dance, though I guess I, like Tift, get an A for effort.
In April, Cracker plays an unplugged show at the Cat's Cradle, and Hank III comes back. I hope to go to both.
I finally got tired of sleeping on a naked mattress on the floor, broke down, and bought a bed. The bed, is well, a bed. It has a mattress, boxspring, headboard, footboard, rails, etc. I also have a dresser and a nightstand. My bedroom now looks pretty crowded. I even put sheets and a blanket on it. When I told Nomi the other day, she pointedly asked me if I was going to really use the bed (it was over the phone, so her wink had to be understood). I dodged the question. (By the way, she tells me she's pregnant, so congrats to her and Jimmy).
The phone is one of those slick Motorola Razrs. It fits great in my pocket. My ring tone is usually me yelping in surprise, as I tend to keep it there on vibrate. At other times, my ring tone is, however, "London Calling." What a clever boy am I.
It has a camera, so I've taken some pictures on it. Shortly after getting it, I went to see Son Volt and Tift Merritt at Disco Rodeo (that name always amuses me). The last time I'd gone there, M. and I saw Social Distortion. I must say that the crowd at Son Volt was a bit gentler than than it was for Social D, though now that i think about it, they do share some musical antecedents. Mike Ness's solo album has a lot of country-gone-punk on it, while Jay Ferrar in Son Volt does kind of country-gone-punk-gone-country-back-again. Anyway, I took a shot of the banner on the stage, but as I looked at the picture later, I noticed that I also captured a roadie's ass in the process as well.
The show was pretty cool, though it was kind of odd going alone (not that it was the first time I'd ever done that). Being by myself at shows is, well, kind of lonely. Since it's just me, I don't really go very crazy (I usually don't even have a drink), I'm usually all misanthropic and shy, and I'm not interested in talking to anyone. But this leaves the experience itself to make memories, which, when the band isn't one of those groups that simply radiate energy and excitement and fun (like SCOTS or the Pietasters [esp. the show with the Vandals] or Hank III), is difficult. Usually if I'm there with M. or someone, we'll engage in some people-watching and some kind of collective memory (like Slumber Party or the Cowboy-hat chick or singing "Maggie Mae" on stage) is formed at some point. But by myself, they're just my memories, and if anyone is interested in my sharing them, it's hard to communicate them because there's just not much common ground there. And if I don't share them, I tend to forget.
But I'd rather not miss them simply because nobody else could go. This is usually music that I'm interested in and enjoy listening to, or else music that I think I'd like to listen to. I don't want to let opportunities like that to have those experiences pass me by.
That was probably an extended excuse for not having anything meaningful to say about Son Volt and Tift Merritt. It's also probably worth mentioning that Tift couldn't seem to get the crowd excited enough to sing along at the obvious spots, though I give her an A for effort. Farrar and co. were definitely not showmen, and (at least to me) didn't project a huge amount of energy. They seemed kind of diffident on stage. They played their songs well, and put energy into them, but it wasn't the kind of show that left me standing afterwards slightly shocked and drained. Maybe I should actually buy one or two of their CDs instead of having the highly illegal burned copy of Trace.
The other show for which I have a picture on my phone is from George Clinton, about which I have almost exactly the opposite to say. It's obvious George has worked himself into a cult status, and pieces together his show very carefully to exploit that to the maximum. Though the opener was totally disposable -- everything they played had been done earlier and better by more genuine and talented people -- the main act started with his backup band, the Children of Production, playing sort of a second opening act, and getting everyone in to it and dancing. I think I spent most of my time and active mental effort ogling one of their female singers. By the time they played something that was recognizably George, it was frenzied in there. M&J say that George was actually off his mark that night, and played better when they saw him before in Myrtle Beach, but since I wasn't at that show, I'll just say that I thoroughly enjoyed myself at this one, and chalked it up there with one of the best shows I've ever been to. I learned how to "bounce" to whatever "this" was. Apparently whitey can't dance, though I guess I, like Tift, get an A for effort.
In April, Cracker plays an unplugged show at the Cat's Cradle, and Hank III comes back. I hope to go to both.