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"One time a thing occurred to me.
What's real, and what's for sale?
Blew a kiss and tried to take it home." Vasoline – Stone Temple Pilots
I rarely change my mind about a band, but Stone Temple Pilots are (was?) a band I completely misjudged upon first listen. I just wrote them off as a secondary spewing in a long line of Pearl Jam spinoffs, but I knew someone that was opening for them and caught them live about five thousand years ago (feels like). Total 180. They didn't just change my mind, they sanded it down, refurbished it, and gave it a new coat of varnish (they used a nice matte teak color – it just goes with everything now!).
The reunion tour had me salivating since I first got word, but I figured I would do what I did for Radiohead and swoop in for some last minute tickets at "desperate to at least break even" prices offered up by those whose scalping abilities are not up to snuff. I had been eyeballing my usual sources, but nothing stood out till the day of the actual show.
I got a line on really great orchestra seats for $30 each ($65 originally) that I was nibbling on but the person I wanted to go with couldn't go and the option was only for a pair.
I had been up all night dancing and the usual host of volunteer work that I do for underprivileged, half faced, diseased people that get raped and pillaged on top of the land mines that they built their huts on (what can I say? I'm a giver), but my weary, tired ass was going to find a way to see the DeLeo brothers pay the piper. (They clearly got back together for cash. I wonder what the going rate is for enduring the behavior of heroin soaked, loose cannons these days – oh yeah, $65 a head.)
My fogged brain then ran across an ad claiming to have awesome tickets, but that a friend backed out and whoever sent the most innovative email would be invited along for the fun.
You know my crazy, adventurous ass couldn't resist such a morsel this tasty, so I replied to it for a laugh. I was just messing around and even offered cash for the ticket if they couldn't find anyone else. I didn't expect to hear back at all, and thought the entire thing was just a joke anyways.
Well, I did hear back, and it had been sort of a joke, but there really was a ticket and we exchanged Myspaces and whatnot and I was invited along! Yep, I was going to meet up with total strangers and go to a concert with them in the pouring fucking rain. Weird, but I like to mix it up.
Driving there they sent a text informing me that we had PIT tickets – AWESOME! We met up to tailgate with drinks and hit it off in the rain and mud. We're all originally from Michigan, so I felt right at home, and two of them are writers so that was groovy too.
Our foursome entered the Ford Amphitheatre to the sounds of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, the second opening band. I think I was one of 3 people that actually liked 'em. They're so influenced by the Jesus and Mary Chain (whom I love STILL) and they poached their drummer, Leah Shapiro, from the Raveonettes. She was amazing.
The PIT is general admission in front of the stage, and the guys appointed me "Head Weasel", a job that entails conning our way to the stage, or at least as close as possible. Being petite and forceful qualifies me for such a position as I can slip in between people virtually unnoticed. Plus in a crowd of mostly inebriated males whilst wearing a low cut shirt, a smile goes a long way.
We were nearly front and center within minutes, but so were some other people that somehow lacked the wherewithal to apply anti-perspirant. I barely clear 5'2, which puts my nose about pit level to most men, so in a sweaty mass of this size, I totally had my PEW face on. Lots of stinky pits in the PIT.
After Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (that name is too fucking long, makes me think of when I used to smoke Benson and Hedges DELUXE Ultra Lights –that's when I knew I had to quit buying smokes, as just asking for that brand took up minutes that I'll never get back) left the stage, I figured I had about 20-25 minutes to get drinks and weasel my way back to the guys. I was wrong. I actually had about an hour and a half, unbeknownst to me or any other ticket holders.
The PIT started to get nasty. People had to pee, but didn't want to miss the first song. Fights were starting to break out, and I got clocked in the head by someone's poor attempt to throw a drink at the stage. As if my hair wasn't gross enough from the humidity, now it had the added ingredients of a cocktail and possibly someone's spit. I looked like a Hasidic Jewish guy, my hair was so curly, but my main concern was that an hour had gone by and STP were nowhere in sight.
I joked about throwing a tourniquet on stage to draw Weiland out in the event that he couldn't find a vein, and that was what was keeping him from wowing us, but humor was lost on this pissy crowd (understandably).
At about 10:15 it was announced that due to "inclement weather", STP was stuck in Ft. Lauderdale and the show was OFF.
Funny how their tour bus, their equipment, and their opening acts made it, but they didn't? The "weather" was north of us, and Ft. Lauderdale is south, WTF? I found out today that the venue knew at 9:15 what was up and didn't tell us for an hour, during which time they kept selling more bevies, but we got nothing. Well some got t-shirts at $50 a pop; such a wimpy consolation when you'd prefer to have gone temporarily deaf to a live performance of "Interstate Love Song".
There is no news of rescheduling as of yet, and with my luck, the band will break up again the day of any such occurrence. But hey, I have a free PIT ticket, a semi –interesting story to tell, and some new friends out of the deal. =)
Currently listening :
Purple
By Stone Temple Pilots
Release date: 1994-06-07
Almost the entire time I called NYC my home, I never went to a dance club. Given the choice, I much prefer to see live bands as I like to bounce my bones around to BASS in real time. The only thing comparable to watching someone pluck the low E and feeling it pulsate into you from the bottom of your hooves is actually being the one holding the pick.
I've played some venues where the stage had loose floor boards and every time I hit that E in close proximity to my rig, I would be catapulted into the air nearly crashing into a raging drum kit. How bizarre that would've been if I had pelted into the Ride cymbal at just the right angle and got decapitated. What a fantastic tale that would be for those who had witnessed such a thing: "Dude, she hit that low E and I caught her face! It was fucking amazing! I was hoping she'd throw me a pick, but hey man, turns out she gives head - for reals!"
This last winter (if you can call it that) I had things to get over (more than one thing, mainly I needed to get over myself), so I had to get out more. Tampa is so not NYC and it wouldn't be fair to even speak of them in the same sentence, I know, but I had to work with what is available to me. Live bands are a limited resource, good ones anyways, plus it was free in NYC and it's not here so one must invest wisely.
I like going out dancing but I bore so easily and I don't always have a drink. That seems to be key in tolerating the incessant sameness that Florida so graciously offers up. It progresses about as fast as a turtle on heroin. The dance options here play songs only if there is a video available to them, and the DJ's are about seven exits behind every city north of the Mason Dixon.
I should be a DJ, the control freak in me is certain of this. Not on the radio, I've been allowed to do so as a guest, but I don't have the nicotine soaked voice required to make a go of that. Whenever my yaps cross the airwaves, I sound like a female version of Butthead sans Beavis.
No, I want my own night at a dance club that will allow me to play tunes that one can dance to, but aren't necessarily DANCE songs. You can dance to Interpol, Vampire Weekend, and current Radiohead. Just not in Tampa, at least not that I'm aware of. Where is the NEW? Why can't you play something that isn't a "single"? Not everything the record company deems suitable for video is the best on the album dammit!
I'm not feeling the dance scene here at all, and I've not been out dancing that much in the last 2 months. I dragged myself out last night as it's nice to see friends but I was so fucking bored of the tunes that I spontaneously combusted at about 1 am - talk about self entertainment.
My charred, skeletal remains are thinking that even though I'm over things, I may need some hermit time. Maybe it's not boredom. Maybe I'm just not ready to be out there right now.
Ok, where's the chocolate?
I'm in the most heinous of moods this week, I have a lot on my mind but I don't feel like yapping about it.
In fact, I'm feeling a tad anti-social yet, I wanted to get out last night. Since no one goes to see live bands here, I knew I could go out and catch a show and not have to chat and I was right.
I went to see a couple of bands that I have never heard of, or thought that I hadn't, from NY. I so needed a different venue to be pissy in, and I really wanted so see some musicians from the Northeast. Just CUZ. I'm glad I did too.
I got there as the second band was finishing up and my lack of sleep over the last week prevents me from recalling anything about them, so nothing there. While I waited for the last band, Nightmare of You, to set up, I played Galaga (got the high score AGAIN- I'm such a geek) and then sat by myself staring into space, dreaming up some new curses. Not like gypsy shit, but stuff I think of when I'm smiling with hate at someone after they've worked my last nerve and stabbing isn't an option:
May every beauty that speaks to you have the breath of an Nicaraguan bus driver's rectum after pulling a double in a vehicle with no A/C.
May your next condom be lined with sandpaper.
May you paper cut your penis (with photo quality paper).
May you wake up with an abundance of ingrown pubic (or nose) hairs.
May you be stuck in traffic on a bridge when the onset of the most fierce diarrhea overwhelms you.
Yeah I can't always be sweetness and light. =)
Okay, Nightmare of You, I liked 'em. What I liked was they know what VARIETY means, they can maintain a style without all the songs sounding the same and even though they don't bring something enormously unique to the table, they don't sound like that whole slew of bands out there now that I refer to as "brat" rock. Semi-whiney bratty singers that all sound the same.
I didn't realize that I did know one song by this band until they played it, "My Name is Trouble". Not bad. The bass player was very, very good. I love it when someone knows how to disco up the bass but can still DRIVE it home in the same song. The guitarist clearly is a fan of The Chameleons UK, effects wise, so some props there for taste. The drummer is new for them and you can tell he has a lot to learn about volume and the singer(who was quite charming) wasn't hiding that fact at all. Overall they were a treat live, not BRILLIANT, but I wasn't expecting as much.
They had a better turnout than most of the shows I've seen in the last few months, and the fans were REALLY into it, all 25 of them. That's fucking shameful, Tampa is…oh I had better not start on that. I feel a lot of words like "pretentious" knocking on the door. Let's not answer it.
NOY closed with an instrumental of "I Want You/She's So Heavy" by The BEATLES. F'Excellent.
The singer then announced, "Hey, if you want, my brother is selling our EP back there. OR you can go fuck yourselves."
I couldn't have said it better.
There was less than nothing to do tonight soooooo click click click...Creative Loafing. I swear I heard a tumbleweed go by when the page came up.
Live music please, no cover bands....anyone????
Sundays are just not the day for music in this area being that most of the people below the Mason Dixon line are more prone to being plopped in front of what they refer to as "The Game"...unless of course there was some sort of Monster Truck Rally or Nascar event going on.
This could not thwart my plans, there had to be people that don't watch "The Game" right? (Nothing against the humans that do, just not my thing).
I saw that three bands were playing at the Orpheum in Ybor City (that's where all the clubs are in Tampa for those of you not familiar with the area): Jetlag Gemini, Lady Radiator, and Red Light Green Light respectively.
Never heard of 'em, so on to Myspace for a quick sample.
The bands seemed allright. They all had lots of hair to flail around onstage so if they sucked live, at least there would be that. All ages show - doors at 7? Nahhhh really? Well we (me and my friend Angel) didn't arrive til 9 and yikes, they were actually serious about the 7 o'clocky clock thingy.
We caught the last song from Red Light Green Light, a band from Jersey.
They sort of came across like some young Rabbis aspiring to be Linkin Park, some serious beardage going on there but great energy and very, very tight.
I can't imagine it was easy to be that energetic when the crowd consisted of 6 people plus members of the other bands playing.
Frankly, I was shocked there weren't more people (at least 7 geeze). These bands are on indie labels, and yeah I had never heard of 'em but shit does being signed mean anything anymore?
At least they were loud enough to drown out the sound of yet another tumbleweed bumping through. That's always a plus.
Jet Lag Gemini was next and unbeknownst to us, last. Gemini is my opposite sign, but I will forgive them - haha my friend Tom is a Gemini so some of them don't suck - really, it's true.
JLG remind me a bit of this band Prime Stk from Sweden that I like. Sort of this poppy sound with obvious "hard rock" subtleties. The guitarist clearly has his eye on becoming the next "Slash", but lucky for him he looks a thosand times better.
JLG are in their early 20s and they look it, but play like pros, I swear the guitarist threw his Les Paul in the air and it was still playing a riff on it's own, like he was willing it to or something. I won't lie and say this band is typical of what I buy, but it was great to see a band with a guitarist that can really fuckin' play.
Remember when "guitar hero" actually meant someone that could play a real guitar so intensely that your teeth were dancing in your mouth against their will? Well someone clued this kid in on that, he knows where the nuances go. He's a little too high end (like Slash) for my preference (John Squire and of course JIMI HENDRIX), nonetheless, he rocked the house and the meager few in it.
They don't look like a Jersey band, in fact I think 2 of em are from the Czech Republic and the singer is from Russia, but no accents Slavic or otherwise. The drummer is all American Italian and just the sweetest guy totally working that mini fro of his.
They were spot on and full of infectious vigor. Even if you hated them, you'd like them if that makes any sense. The sound man was a little lost but they persevered through 6, yes I kid you not, 6 songs. Dang, I remember getting pissed on if we didn't play more than 10 songs and these guys thought that was all she wrote, shoulder shrug included.
At their "merch" table were tip jars. Wow times have changed. I didn't see one for JLG but the bass player pointed to his pocket so I went the way of those that frequent Mons Venus (scary strip club in Tampa that has been there since before women could vote is my guess) and stuffed the dollar near where his future children may spring forth someday. In return I was given a black rubbery thingy that looks like some much needed item that fell off my car but is, in fact, a bracelet with the band's name on it. I'll keep it in my celica- just in case.
The oh so groovy bass player introduced us to the drummer and he told me they were from Mahwah, New Jersey. We mostly just yakked about other drummers. He mentioned Mitch Mitchell, which just does my heart proud, and it was no surprise as his kit was set up in a similar fashion, as was his hair, god love him! (Oh wait, agnostics can't say that can they?)
All in all I really liked the band live, the singer is great and they do some cheesey Jersey stuff that will crack any seasoned musician up, but you will laugh with respect.
As we dragged our feet towards the exit (it was only 10:15 and apparently all ages shows have to be done by 11pm because of some curfew), the guy at the door mournfully asked how we had heard about the show in a manner befitting a funeral director.
I shoved all of my 94 pounds at the door and chuckled "Does it really matter man?"
The door clanged behind us and a gust of wind presented us with the last tumbleweed, oh wait no it was some drunk chick who wanted to know if we could spare some change.
Ahhhhh Tampa.......
