"I've been up since the morning."
Ben and I went to see The Breeders yesterday at McCarren Pool: so that's what it's like when it's actually a nice day. We got there a little after four; Ben was on the cusp of getting in when he went back to find me in the line, where we stood for an hour or so before Ben used some of his b-school magicks to get us in the VIP entrance. So now I know: if it's not raining, get there before four, or go with Ben.
I didn't bother figuring out the setlist because it was almost exactly the same as last time. Kim seemed happy; Kelley seemed a little cranky (I couldn't tell if it was playful or genuine). Kelley also played violin on "Drivin' on Nine." Yes, the woman who reportedly learned guitar specifically in order to join this band rocked a violin. It was a little less smooth than the pro violinist they had last time, but you know the expression about a dog standing on his hind legs -- basically that. I was fifty-fifty on whether we needed to stay for the encore, and then there wasn't an encore, presumably because of the time taken up by Kim having conversations with audience members that the rest of the audience could only half-hear ("did you guys walk here?"). So that worked out well. Afterward we met up with our respective ladies and returned to the Italian street fair that Marisa and I passed through on Saturday in order to get some pizza.
This has nothing to do with the Breeders, except for its connection to the bygone nineties, but I was listening to the new Beck album today and I realized that three of the most recent new-ish albums I've been listening to -- Beck, Tilly and the Wall, Be Your Own Pet -- all clock in at around thirty minutes. This seems exceptionally short. I remember really liking thirty-minute albums when I was younger, specifically Simon and Garfunkel's Bookends and It's a Shame About Ray by the Lemonheads, but I lost that interest as I got older, as thirty minutes out of a possible eighty doesn't seem like such a great deal for ten or twelve bucks.
But now it seems refreshing again, especially for Beck since his previous album, The Information, seemed to go on forever. I like it and I'm still not sure if I've listened to it straight through more than twice. Modern Guilt doesn't, for the most part, have more memorable songs than Guero or Information, but the bashed-out vibe makes it feel a lot less wandering than either of those or the similarly doomy but far more monotonous Sea Change. Beck should really keep doing a record every twelve to eighteen months; I think he works best on a regular schedule.
The Tilly and the Wall album feels more or less like their other two, which makes me wonder if they're also thirty minutes and I just never noticed. Be Your Own Pet are the only ones who are really operating within that familiar punk ethos of doing a normal amount of songs in a smaller amount of time (they're also in the thirty-minute category sort of by default, as several songs were cut from the album's U.S. release for "violent content" -- they released a companion EP on another label featuring the deleted songs, one of which, "Becky," totally rules). Despite short albums being stereotypically punk and being something I liked when I was young, I feel vaguely old when I say -- as I could of all of these -- "the album isn't fantastic, but it's nice and short."
Anyway, it's a good thing all of these albums are only half an hour, because this is a busy week: Baghead screening, Ricky Gervais, the goddamn Batman (speaking of which: first in a series, probably), packing for vacation, going on vacation. Plus my dad is having some surgery today, though it should be OK.
I also pulled off the deft trick of placing no fewer than three online shopping orders that it would be good to have in hand before I leave just a few days shy of soon enough to make sure they'd be here. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wait for some pants.
I didn't bother figuring out the setlist because it was almost exactly the same as last time. Kim seemed happy; Kelley seemed a little cranky (I couldn't tell if it was playful or genuine). Kelley also played violin on "Drivin' on Nine." Yes, the woman who reportedly learned guitar specifically in order to join this band rocked a violin. It was a little less smooth than the pro violinist they had last time, but you know the expression about a dog standing on his hind legs -- basically that. I was fifty-fifty on whether we needed to stay for the encore, and then there wasn't an encore, presumably because of the time taken up by Kim having conversations with audience members that the rest of the audience could only half-hear ("did you guys walk here?"). So that worked out well. Afterward we met up with our respective ladies and returned to the Italian street fair that Marisa and I passed through on Saturday in order to get some pizza.
This has nothing to do with the Breeders, except for its connection to the bygone nineties, but I was listening to the new Beck album today and I realized that three of the most recent new-ish albums I've been listening to -- Beck, Tilly and the Wall, Be Your Own Pet -- all clock in at around thirty minutes. This seems exceptionally short. I remember really liking thirty-minute albums when I was younger, specifically Simon and Garfunkel's Bookends and It's a Shame About Ray by the Lemonheads, but I lost that interest as I got older, as thirty minutes out of a possible eighty doesn't seem like such a great deal for ten or twelve bucks.
But now it seems refreshing again, especially for Beck since his previous album, The Information, seemed to go on forever. I like it and I'm still not sure if I've listened to it straight through more than twice. Modern Guilt doesn't, for the most part, have more memorable songs than Guero or Information, but the bashed-out vibe makes it feel a lot less wandering than either of those or the similarly doomy but far more monotonous Sea Change. Beck should really keep doing a record every twelve to eighteen months; I think he works best on a regular schedule.
The Tilly and the Wall album feels more or less like their other two, which makes me wonder if they're also thirty minutes and I just never noticed. Be Your Own Pet are the only ones who are really operating within that familiar punk ethos of doing a normal amount of songs in a smaller amount of time (they're also in the thirty-minute category sort of by default, as several songs were cut from the album's U.S. release for "violent content" -- they released a companion EP on another label featuring the deleted songs, one of which, "Becky," totally rules). Despite short albums being stereotypically punk and being something I liked when I was young, I feel vaguely old when I say -- as I could of all of these -- "the album isn't fantastic, but it's nice and short."
Anyway, it's a good thing all of these albums are only half an hour, because this is a busy week: Baghead screening, Ricky Gervais, the goddamn Batman (speaking of which: first in a series, probably), packing for vacation, going on vacation. Plus my dad is having some surgery today, though it should be OK.
I also pulled off the deft trick of placing no fewer than three online shopping orders that it would be good to have in hand before I leave just a few days shy of soon enough to make sure they'd be here. So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wait for some pants.