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(I would recommend reading my previous blog "It Wasn't Pablo's Honey" before this one, if you haven't already. Makes more sense that way.)
I went out last week, and I ran into this guy that asked me out a while ago. I did want to hang out with him, but not yet. Just wanted to be by myself for a bit, but I thought he was pretty cool. When I saw him this time, I told him I nearly didn't make it out because I was hawking eBay for some Radiohead tickets. He responded with a very flamboyant, dismissive "Oh please", as if I had just asked him to down a limburger shake.
(Buzzer sound) Thanks for playing; we do however have some nice parting gifts for you, mainly this middle finger.
You don't get me if you don't even try to GET me, ya got me? I can handle if you don't dig exactly what I dig musically, but you don't have to act like I just peed in your salad when I mention one of my favorite bands EVER. WTF?
The next day I scored on eBay (I think that's the only place I will ever score). Two pavilion tickets, center, "buy it now" $44.00. Discover card, cash back at the end of the year, do-able. I offered up one ticket on myspace, but NO ONE wanted to go. You're all fired! Nahhh, some of you already had tickets, that's fine. I put it up for $40 on Craigslist and sold it in minutes to some rugged looking English dude (I half imagined him showing up in a cricket uniform, but he disguised himself as a surfer instead).
So yeah, I paid a whopping $4, which ironically, is the most I've paid to see Radiohead. The previous 4 times, I merely had to shell out for my own transport, though this was also the furthest away I've ever had to sit too. Not nosebleed, but certainly nose pick. Actually, nose DRIP as the most horrendous head cold jumped me Sunday and as I write this, I'm still breathing out of my mouth like some Napoleon Dynamite Neanderthal.
If you read my last blog, you might be wondering if maybe I have some weird karmic connection with snot and Radiohead because it's becoming thematic. First, I get a goob hacked into my head, now I am drowning in goob. At least it's my goob, and I had tickets this time. Whatever, I didn't care if my skin was melting off into goob with maggots clinging to it, I was going!
It kind of sucked being a walking sneeze-fest in a situation where the guys outnumbered the girls about 15 to 1, and most of the other chicks there were with their boyfriends. It was me in a sea of males who all liked Radiohead enough to forgo a paycheck to get tickets, and there I was with a redwood's worth of Kleenex, looking like someone took a cheese grater to the skin between my upper lip and nose. Charming.
I would venture to guess that I was the only one who was sober in my section, so that in itself was entertaining. I was pretty hopped up on cold medicine and Captain Crunch, but I still felt like a zombie. Maybe I got a contact high from the forest fire ablaze behind me, ah…memories.
I, of course, brought binoculars and some assface was all "what do you need those for? You can see them on the giant screens." Yes assface, you can see them on the giant screens, but you can't tell what kind of amp they're plugged into or if they're playing a Strat, a Telly, or a Rick, ASSFACE! This shit matters, one must see the holy tools that transmute the precious sounds from fingers to ears! Assface! (One too many? Seems like you can never overdo "assface", maybe it's just me.)
Regardless, every word, every note…I'm hard pressed for a description of the performance I witnessed because the words don't carry the strength needed for such a feat. The breeze that rippled across a couple thousand people in love with the same song would be easier to pen.
"You had to be there" isn't an overused expression for nothing. To say it was "INSPIRING" seems diminutive and stale compared to the reality of something that moving. Even though I felt like a physical disaster, I never wanted it to end.
After 24 magnificient pieces, it did end, and I figured I'd wait a while, write a few lines as everyone else floated away (you don't walk away from Radiohead, it's in their rider - you either float or glide, your choice). Plus I was parked in Lot Buttfuck, and I really didn't want to be doing the bumper to bumper whilst driving a stick.
I struck up a chat with another straggler in my section, but we were both so WOWED that words seemed like they were in the way of any real conversation.
We were glowing. =)
One week from tomorrow (May 6), Radiohead will be gracing Tampa with a concert, and I don't have a ticket. =( I guess I got an attack of the "schmucks" when they went on sale, thinking like I was back in NYC where the formal buying of such commodities was next to impossible. Even if you camped out and were 3rd in line with your cell phone speed dialing Ticketmaster, in Manhattan, this means nothing.
"Sold Out" only sounds good when it's your gig; otherwise it's a car door slamming on an already cold hand.
When I first moved to New York, Radiohead was touring, but raising John Lennon from the dead for a square dance would have been more feasible than getting tickets to see them. I even went to ask Satan in Newark (if there is a Devil, he for sure lives in Newark, New Jersey) for a possible selling of the soul, but he was all "Sorry bitch, even if you had one of them soul thingy's, ain't NOBODY gettin' no Radiohead tickets up in here". (This evening, the voice of Satan is brought to you by Ru Paul, the only girl I'd kiss with tongue, and even then…)
I went down to the venue the night of the show anyways, in hopes that someone maybe got jilted, stuck with extras, or maybe I'd just kill a scalper and take what he had on him. Alas, there was nothing.
I felt so dejected, I usually am pretty resourceful and I really love Radiohead, but maybe I was never going to get to see them LIVE? My head sunk right down to my belly button and just rested there on my belt buckle as I reluctantly drowned in Lake Give Up. It's in Midtown on the West Side, if you're ever in the neighborhood.
I can't recall who all was with me, but I remember leading the pack when we finally decided to bail. I walk fast, and on this night I was doing that bitchy, impatient, "everyone get the fuck out of my way" stomp one does when disappointment so nonchalantly pisses on them.
On approaching the crosswalk, there was a cluster of people facing away from the street. Traffic was light so I stepped off the curb early to get around them. At the precise moment my boot heel kissed pavement, one guy from the cluster quickly did a 180 counterclockwise, completely unaware that I was directly behind him in the street preceding this act.
I wish I could tell you that our eyes met and that we now breed Andalusian horses together in Spain, or that a bus hit me and from the waist down I am now bionic and can leap over mid-sized SUVs while eating cheese fries. But no, that's not what happened.
Look to the right of this page and you'll see my avatar photo where I'm brushing my hair back with my hand. I was doing that exact thing when this clusterfuck turned around and hacked a goob right into my freshly revealed ear!
I screamed so loud, my future self in 20 years felt it. The chill in the air compounded the feeling of warm, wet, foreign goob (as if "friendly" goob would've been any better) leaking down onto my neck as I fell to my knees like I had been shot. One's hand wants to immediately clutch where the assault has taken place, but my fantastic aversion to snot/phlegm provided a small force field so instead, I probably looked like I was doing "jazz hands" with one hand while the other was pointing at the HE that took me down.
I don't remember his hollow apology or how long I convulsed over it, but the thought of it gives me the skeeves to this day, man. ICK! All my poor ear wanted that evening was to hear "Fake Plastic Trees" live, which it did do eventually (three times), and hopefully will again.
My trip to New Mexico next month totally came together today so maybe fate will keep smiling my way and send me a great seat (not lawn-bugs yuck) next week in front of one of the only bands that can totally generate the WOW for me. =)
Last weekend I was catching up with someone I hadn't seen in years, and he asked me if there was any band/singer that I was into but found too embarrassing to admit. A guilty pleasure, if you will.
I triumphantly replied that there is no such thing for me, musically, anyways. For all my faults (and there are many) and insecurities, if there is one thing I have complete, unblemished, confidence in, it is my taste in music. This area is where no doubts whatsoever reside (they prefer to hang out in the area that relates to other humans, I'm guessing).
With music, I live a philosophy that borrows from Damone's Five Point Plan in the film "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJnIWLTneKY), where he says "Wherever ya are, THAT'S the place to be." Point 3, I believe it was (the rest of his plan is fantastically retarded and obviously dated, minus the Zepplin stuff heheheh).
In my case, it's WHATEVER I LISTEN TO, THAT IS THE BEST SHIT THERE IS (without exception)! Whether it be The Carpenters, The Raconteurs, or Snoop Dogg, I fervently believe that if I'm digging it, there is nothing groovier. When it comes to the tunes, I love HARD and without restraint.
There are past male companions and some people I share DNA with that I would be red-faced upon revealing our association, but I'll proudly show the contents of my IPOD to anyone. Guilt and embarrassment may piss on other avenues of my existence, but they get no face time when it comes to my ear candy.
I'll never regret my musical choices, but I do, however, regret some things I've done because of music.
One such event involved me cranking the volume in my car and my passenger making the unpardonable mistake of assuming that what he had to say was of equal importance to what I had just boosted. Thus causing him to unthinkingly touch the controls of what was pleasuring my ears, diminishing the decibels in a bold, but very stupid, act of "shushing".
All of time as we know it came to a face slapping halt, and I suddenly lost the capacity to blink. I was shocked and overtaken with the stones this one thought he had. He was, of course, viciously banished once I regained my composure. After all, it was my car and as far as I was concerned, only threats to my health or others' in my immediate surroundings warrant the snippy shutdown of Bowie. Especially the pill-popping Bowie that handed us "Moonage Daydream", the nerve!
Ok, that was some years ago. I've mellowed a tad and would never dump someone over something so trivial these days. Besides, I keep my IPOD in a steel bear trap on my lap when I drive now - good luck trying to grab that!
In regards to the holiness we call "music", I am thoroughly unapologetic and always will be. That IS who I am, though I can't help thinking that maybe I need to spread that feeling out a little more evenly. Like to things that breathe and aren't covered in fur (the two leggeds).
In the end, they do play songs at memorial services, but what if there is no one there to hear them?
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.......
