Rally, Rally, Rally

Tonight was supposed to be a rally. Three shows. Four bands. One car. A large city. Go.

But the best laid plans end with me in front of Largo, a girl drinking from a flask, and Jon Brion's soundman and I trading war stories.

Not to say there wasn't some great stuff in between 7pm and that. TV on The Radio, for one, have really grown into their sound; opening for Franz at the Greek they busted that soul-noise-breakdown stuff on some new songs that sounded both lovely and destructive at once. Score.

And: Score for Franz Ferdinand, who looked and sounded better at the Greek than they did at the Wiltern last year. And you know what, Weigel? I get where you're going with that "this record is their pinkerton" thing, but I don't think you're right. I think their new songs are obviously stronger than the stuff on the last record -- less straight-ahead dance-punk, more polished musically. Pinkerton snuck up on you. This one hits you over the head.

But: We missed Devandra Banhardt. Oh well. I'll wait for vegas.

Dropped three girls off. Then: Rally.

To El Cid, for this band Two Gallants, reccommended to me last night. They were great. New signing to saddle creek and they sound like it, a two-piece roots-rock band (not unlike the Black Keys) with some emo-worthy lovelorn vocals and lyrics. Nice. Ran into Danny Schatz from Oakwood there, had some beers with him and his girlfriend, tried to convince them to Xingolati. No dice.

I'm on my way home and I pass largo. And I remember Jenn saying that I could just go there tonight instead. It's 1:30. What do I have to lose?

Nothing, apparantly. I talk to Sammy, Jon's right-hand man, about vocoders. This girl comes out with a flask. I laugh. She giggles. I say goodbye. I go home. I watch "My Name Is Earl." I type on my computer to people who may or may never read this. I maybe laugh some more.

I maybe scream.

Rally, Rally, Rally....

until next time,
Jeff

Jefe Rockin at SXSW 

Back From The Dead

So I just re-discovered this unused blog from "Trip," my cross-country tour with Alex Rose in 2001. As Fate would have it, I was looking for a new place to store my Blog, since Friendster is annoying people with its updates.

So...here we are now, again.

Yesterday: Remembered Clap Your Hands Say Yeah were playing at the Troubadour, and since I couldn't see them at CMJ this year I thought maybe I'd see them here. If I didn't get in, I was going to go to a writers' thing in Santa Monica -- so my bases were covered.

Called my guy at the Troub. No tix.

IMed Roxanne, who knows everyone -- everyone. No tix. She wants to go too though.

Hmm.

E-mail Mitch. Mitch bought tickets. Mitch can't go. Bucket of Fries.

So I IM Roxanne that I've got her ticket. She's elated. Me too. She asks if I can go to some record-release thing first. Free dinner. Free drinks. I'm in.So we go to this record-release thing at Kung-Pao Kitty. Fun. Not great. Decent food. Good beer.

Then the show.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah are unsigned. For an unsigned band, they're pretty great. For a band that's headlining two nights at the Troubadour? A bit much, a bit much. They're good at creating texture (one girl next to me kept yelling that it was "Epic INdie Rock! Isn't that a cool name for it?"), but everyone but me seemed to find their singer annoying. If he was annoying, he was consistently annoying. He has a bit of a warble to his voice. But the thing is -- peopole are saying they're the Next Arcade Fire. I can't believe the Arcade Fire already have a "next." But apparantly they do.But they're nowhere close to the Arcade Fire. And they're going to burn out. And they have a terrible name.

The band The National played after them. They were pretty cool -- lead singer sounds like Morrissey. I didn't spend much time paying attention to them.

Then: Swingers. Mmmm.

Then I came home and tried to write, but I was half-drunk and all-tired. I was worried I was going to miss my Maxim deadline. But, in a twist of fate, my editor e-mailed at 5am (when I had woken back up to finish) that he didn't need copy till Tuesday.

Nice.

Tonight: Franz Ferdinand. And if Jenn's in the mood to ralley, Devandra Banhart and El Galleon.

J