So what did you do this weekend?
Let's see.
Smoked weed with Secret Machines on their bus.
Did some coke with Interpol at my apartment.
Smoked weed with Secret Machines on their bus, but in a different country.
Yep, that about sums it up. Oh yeah, caught a couple of shows. Good weekend.
PS Much as I hate to ruin the perfect simplicity of the above with a post-script, I need to talk some shit about Vancouver BC. The first million times I was there, it was on family trips as a youth. This basically meant keeping my younger brother out from underneath the clothing racks while Mom and Grandma shopped and shopped and.... So I'm biased. The next couple of times I came up, it was as a 21 yr old with 18 and 19 yo's in tow. I was consistently on the losing side of the velvet rope. Never before had I seen an authentic Studio 54 style Velvet Rope in action. I've waited in line, sure. But I've never been told to stand aside until the ambient "cool" level dropped to the point where could then be included. I watched dozens of identical sets of hoochies (one redhead in a black cocktail dress, the other a brunette in a red cocktail dress) get waved on through in front of me and other assorted semi-losers... to get into a gaudy faux-tropical club blasting Ricky Martin remixes. I know the same thing could happen in Seattle (except the velvet rope bit), and really the club selection would have been an issue with that personnel set no matter where we were, but it really poisoned Vancouver for me.
I did have a bit of a fucking blast performing RHPS in front of a standing room only crowd of 1,200 last Halloween, but if you drop the high score and the low score and average the rest, I Anti-Heart Vancouver.
So flash forward to Saturday night. The Century Ballroom is really a nice venue (except for the whole no smoking indoors thing that fucking PLAGUES so much of the hemisphere [unless you're Carlos D, in which case no fetters can bind you]), kinda like Showbox writ large. Same giant shallow bowl vibe, good lighting, decent sound. Carlos has this thing that whenever Interpol plays anywhere, he'll DJ somewhere as the official "after party". Everybodys either going to that, or has already dragged a hoochie off to their hotel room/bus, or is just standing around backstage trashed with no clue what's going on around them. One of the hoochies is on her cell with her hoochie-wolfpack-mate. I overhear that she's at the Tokyo Club (which is listed on the after-party flyer as "Take Out", but whatever) and it's over capacity and she can't get in. Take Out/Tokyo Club is a nightclub/loft located over this swanky Teppanyaki restaurant, and I'm having visions of us all dying in "Amazing Home Video" soccer-stadium-collapse fashion because there's a sweatshop in the basement with the doors chained shut and.... anyway. So, the most scathing indictment of Vancouver yet: I am passed through the Velvet Rope and escorted upstairs because
Bouncer One: "Ok, these guys [me, Ashley Shift*, Josh Machine, Sam Interpol, and a local photog/sweetheart who navigated us there] HAVE to get in, they're with Interpol."
Bouncer Two: "Everybody step back! This way, please".
And inside, it's us, the band(s), and people who routinely get passed through velvet ropes. Yuck. Icky icky icky. If we grow some gnarly yuppies here in whitebread Seattle (Contour anyone?), imagine what Vancouver is capable of. I really want to tie this in to that famous Groucho quote to the effect that he wouldn't join any club that would have him as a member, but it's just beyond me.
I guess that moral of the story is that unless you a.) know/are Interpol or b.) have breast implants and a low cut sleeve dress, you're never going to get anywhere in the world, at least, not in Vancouver.
* From now on, you are all known by sobriquet. Thus, Drusila is Drusila Bugsinger, Joey Ramone is Joey Ramone, Josh the Drummer from Secret Machines is Josh Machine, Jack White is Jack Stripe, and I would be Bryan Shift. Which is good, because a google for Ashley Blue would NEVER find her.
Smoked weed with Secret Machines on their bus.
Did some coke with Interpol at my apartment.
Smoked weed with Secret Machines on their bus, but in a different country.
Yep, that about sums it up. Oh yeah, caught a couple of shows. Good weekend.
PS Much as I hate to ruin the perfect simplicity of the above with a post-script, I need to talk some shit about Vancouver BC. The first million times I was there, it was on family trips as a youth. This basically meant keeping my younger brother out from underneath the clothing racks while Mom and Grandma shopped and shopped and.... So I'm biased. The next couple of times I came up, it was as a 21 yr old with 18 and 19 yo's in tow. I was consistently on the losing side of the velvet rope. Never before had I seen an authentic Studio 54 style Velvet Rope in action. I've waited in line, sure. But I've never been told to stand aside until the ambient "cool" level dropped to the point where could then be included. I watched dozens of identical sets of hoochies (one redhead in a black cocktail dress, the other a brunette in a red cocktail dress) get waved on through in front of me and other assorted semi-losers... to get into a gaudy faux-tropical club blasting Ricky Martin remixes. I know the same thing could happen in Seattle (except the velvet rope bit), and really the club selection would have been an issue with that personnel set no matter where we were, but it really poisoned Vancouver for me.
I did have a bit of a fucking blast performing RHPS in front of a standing room only crowd of 1,200 last Halloween, but if you drop the high score and the low score and average the rest, I Anti-Heart Vancouver.
So flash forward to Saturday night. The Century Ballroom is really a nice venue (except for the whole no smoking indoors thing that fucking PLAGUES so much of the hemisphere [unless you're Carlos D, in which case no fetters can bind you]), kinda like Showbox writ large. Same giant shallow bowl vibe, good lighting, decent sound. Carlos has this thing that whenever Interpol plays anywhere, he'll DJ somewhere as the official "after party". Everybodys either going to that, or has already dragged a hoochie off to their hotel room/bus, or is just standing around backstage trashed with no clue what's going on around them. One of the hoochies is on her cell with her hoochie-wolfpack-mate. I overhear that she's at the Tokyo Club (which is listed on the after-party flyer as "Take Out", but whatever) and it's over capacity and she can't get in. Take Out/Tokyo Club is a nightclub/loft located over this swanky Teppanyaki restaurant, and I'm having visions of us all dying in "Amazing Home Video" soccer-stadium-collapse fashion because there's a sweatshop in the basement with the doors chained shut and.... anyway. So, the most scathing indictment of Vancouver yet: I am passed through the Velvet Rope and escorted upstairs because
Bouncer One: "Ok, these guys [me, Ashley Shift*, Josh Machine, Sam Interpol, and a local photog/sweetheart who navigated us there] HAVE to get in, they're with Interpol."
Bouncer Two: "Everybody step back! This way, please".
And inside, it's us, the band(s), and people who routinely get passed through velvet ropes. Yuck. Icky icky icky. If we grow some gnarly yuppies here in whitebread Seattle (Contour anyone?), imagine what Vancouver is capable of. I really want to tie this in to that famous Groucho quote to the effect that he wouldn't join any club that would have him as a member, but it's just beyond me.
I guess that moral of the story is that unless you a.) know/are Interpol or b.) have breast implants and a low cut sleeve dress, you're never going to get anywhere in the world, at least, not in Vancouver.
* From now on, you are all known by sobriquet. Thus, Drusila is Drusila Bugsinger, Joey Ramone is Joey Ramone, Josh the Drummer from Secret Machines is Josh Machine, Jack White is Jack Stripe, and I would be Bryan Shift. Which is good, because a google for Ashley Blue would NEVER find her.