"I was Changed By Rock and Roll"

Henry Clay People at Spaceland

2009-01-12T09:43:00.001-08:00

Were awesome. Read about it in the LA Weekly.

My Best of the Year

2008-12-24T10:59:00.000-08:00

Yeah yeah, blog posts have been few and far between. Sorry. To tide you over, though, here's a link to the OC Register story with my Best of 2008 (or at least, the albums with the most songs that get stuck in my head).

Sigur Ros

2008-10-03T15:00:00.001-07:00

I went there for the OC Register. Was floored. Read about it here.

Beck at the Bowl

2008-09-22T10:40:00.000-07:00

Photo from The Echo

Yeah, so I didn't get my thoughts down immediately after the show and now I'm trying to get them together, but let me get this out of the way: though this was far from the best Beck show I've ever seen (I can think of 3 off the top of my head that beat it), the experience was absolutely amazing; M. and I ended up with Pool Circle tickets through some circuitous circumstances. Watching the entire Bowl sing "Loser" was extraordinary, but my memories are cloudy thanks to, well, entirely too much wine, and maybe...medicine. Yeah.

First thing's first -- Beck, like me, grew up in LA; it's only fitting to think that he spent some of his little-kid days watching the orchestra and wondering what it'd be like to take the stage himself. What would he do once he was there?

What I do remember: his band, unimpressive and tentative at the Echo, has made some big-stage strides; I could see him playing with them for a while, especially his very cute guitarist, who balances Beck's now-seriousness with a dose of old-school wacky. The front-of-stage, everyone-strapped-with-an-808 segment was pure Beck: no one else could get as off-the-cuff as successfully.

I don't remember the Dylan cover. Where the f was I?

Beck's dad, David Campell, conducted a massive, underused string section for the latter portion of the show. I've always been underimpressed with the way Beck presents his slower material, and this was no exception; where he could have used the strings for high-impact stuff alongside the "Paper Tigers" and "Chemtrails," instead it was kind of a let down -- surprising, since if anyone could pull it off, it would be mr. hanson.

My biggest dissapointment -- on a night where I was blown away by the bowl's majesty -- was that, in his biggest-ever headlining hometown show, that he didn't roam around at all, no coming out onto the circular shelf, no being among his people; for a man who I once saw interview a guy taking a leak as part of his performance art, it seemed almost disingenuous. But maybe it was just nerves: after all, it's one thing to look at the Bowl from the pool circle after spending your formative years spending your youth in the seats in back, but it's got to be another thing altogether to look at it from the stage itself.

Nick Cave

2008-09-18T19:00:00.001-07:00

I saw Nick Cave for the Register last night. IT WAS AWESOME. Read about it here.

Rilo Kiley @ Greek, 6/18

2008-06-19T14:52:00.000-07:00

My first visit to the Greek this year was with a friend who's having some rough relationship times; thankfully, Rilo Kiley cheered her up -- so much, in fact, that after playing through a typically heartwrenching breakup song (which I imagined would drive her to hysterics) she looked at me and said "that's my new favorite song."

Of course, that's because the moral is that Jenny Lewis is singing about enjoying her newfound freedom -- something my friend has understandably not been able to do quite yet -- but it's also because it was damn good. Though both Jenny and Blake are among the nicest rock stars I've ever met (check out my Spin.com interviews with them here) I've never been a fan of theirs on record. But live, there's so much charisma; Jenny looks completely at home being a rock star and Blake her #2, and the songs sound so much more rich and powerful. It doesn't hurt that the not-full-at-all audience made up for the lack of purchased tickets by singing at the top of their 15-year-old lungs: this is obviously a band that's become sort of cult heroes, and this next generation of music lovers could do much worse.

Bonnaroo '08

2008-06-17T10:42:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Bonnaroo, and my brain is mush -- probably not from drugs, but from reajusting to sitting in front of a screen instead of in front of (or behind) a stage, so these are going to be some quick highlights. For the record, I was there for work, though not music-related, really; you can see what I did here and here. Nothing like something unconventional to keep things going...

Musical highlights:

Swell Season: Glen and Marketa project true musical bliss, whether it's through her boldly subtle piano playing and vocals or his truly cathartic caterwaul. I've seen them before, I'll see them again, but I've never seen them this commanding.

Solomon Burke: The pimp of pimps; too heavy to walk/sit down himself, but with enough soul power to have a woman wipe him down in between songs and to convince a horde of 20-something bikini'd girls to be his backup dancers. No one is this cool for real.

Pearl Jam: No surprise here, but I bet Eddie Vedder'll be repeating Thom Yourke's thoughts in interviews soon, namely that Bonnaroo re-affirmed his faith in festivals. I'd also bet on them at Coachella next year, now, and I'd bet the set won't be half as good.

My Morning Jacket: For fuck's sake, why'd I leave and miss "Get Down On It" and "Home Sweet Home?" Ask my beer. At least I saw Kirk Hammett sit in on "One Big Holiday" and a bit of "Oh Sweet Nothing." Anyone have recordings of this? It was probably hard to get, since it was in the middle of a torrential rain storm.

Lowlights: Missing most of Metallica, who rocked, to sleep in prep for MMJ. And Kanye: Dude, way to ruin my (and about 20,000 other people's) trips. All it would have taken was a before-set apology and all'd be forgiven; now, you just look like a chump.

and some backstage thoughts: Taking pictures of people eating is harder than it looks. I should, however, take more pictures with hot girls. I may be in love with a groupie; Paige, if you're reading this, sorry for calling you a groupie, but I've heard things :). Sneaking food's easy if you get to know the woman serving it; waiting in line for free beer's rarely worth it, and Jack Johnson sounds best lying in a tent waiting for the night to begin. And one more thing: I have "heard" that a great life experience can be had if you're um, rolling, and there's a karaoke tent that has a live band with which to sing Bel Biv Devoe's "Poison." I'm just saying.

Brooklyn Vegan

2008-06-11T02:09:00.000-07:00

Somehow, a big blog found me. That's pretty cool.

Beck at the Echo

2008-06-10T15:45:00.000-07:00

Last night, I saw Beck at the Echo.

It was kind of just OK.

You can read about it here.

Mudcrutch @ Troubador

2008-04-30T13:08:00.001-07:00

As if to prove that I'm as insane a person as many think I am, I left Coachellaland to come back to LA for one night. But I had an excuse: Mudcrutch, Tom Petty's original band (1972-1975) was playing at the Troubadour. And I had a ticket.

Let me start by saying that nothing gets old about seeing a rock hall of famer in a tiny club, and even moreso, watching a couple of men who "had successful careers teaching" (according to Petty) blast their way through bar rock in a band containing three hall of famers (two of the Heartbreakers are also in Mudcrutch.) To me, the most fascinating part of the show was imagining the phone call in which Petty informed his former guitarist that Mudcrutch was re-forming. I imagine it went something like this:

Petty: Hey, man!

Guitar guy: Hey, good to hear from you. I just got done mowing my lawn.

Petty: You do that? Anyways, I'm putting the band back together.

Guitar guy: *sighs*, *thinks: fucking Tom is going to make another bazillion dollars on tour* "hey, great. when are you coming to town? Can I get backstage, or are you going to make me wait in line with the autograph hunters again just to say hi?"

Petty: "No, man, Mudcrutch! Let's play together again"

Guitar guy: *faints*

Anyways, on stage it all worked quite well: Petty played bass and was less animated than usual, Guitar Guy wore a smile the whole time, Drum Guy is bald and loving it (and wheezed his way through each fill, which was mostly charming). The music: eh. But the record's probably great (lots of Graham Parsons-ish country rock, not a bad thing) . I was just exhausted. And there's more to come.

That said, "Crystal River," with it's 15-minute-or-so-jam, was sick. In an "I miss Phish, kinda" kind of way

Coachella.

2008-04-26T12:51:00.000-07:00

I'm at Coachella for the OC Register. You can read about it here.

Eddie Vedder, Henry Clay People, and Eels

2008-04-15T16:35:00.001-07:00

Wow. Life is just a big game of ketchup:

Eddie Vedder @ Wiltern: When I was a kid, I thought I hated Eddie Vedder because I thought Kurt Cobain hated Eddie Vedder because he was kind of a jock, whereas Kurt was kind of the arty type. But now it's plain to see that Vedder is a survivor and a consummate musician -- something I always doubted, as, even as the frontman, he was the least musically relevant member of Pearl Jam. His solo set was proof positive, especially "Arc," a dreamily haunting looped-vocal performance with a bit of kitsch, thanks to an on-stage reel-to-reel. But he's forgiven.

Other highlights: The "hey" in "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away," the Ben Harper-Liam Finn-Jack Irons jam of "All Along the Watchtower" (even if it was a mess) and spending time with Hillary, all the way up front, as if the rules didn't apply to us.

Oh yeah, they didn't.

Henry Clay People @ Echo:

The Henry Clay People - Children Of Chin (Live) from Rock Insider on Vimeo.
'Nuff said.

Eels @ MBE: I think I realized I was one of only about 7 people watching E and The Chet play masterfully and hauntingly through a ton of E's best songs, including "Bus Stop Boxer" (with The Chet playing Saw, with a bow!) and "Last Stop: This Town" as well as "I'm going to stop pretending," still devastating and relateable. Looking very much forward to Thursday, now.

Playing catch-up...

2008-04-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

Uy, what have I missed?

Hmm.

Steel Train @ Von Dutch: Though it was great to see the guys, and I was surrounded by women each more beautiful than the next, the best part of this show was how much it felt like SXSW in LA. Let's examine the evidence:

Weird Location?: Uh, a parking lot on La Brea? Check.

Free Booze?: Patron and V2, warm. Check.

Shitty sound?: Daniel sounded like he'd blown his amp -- before the band started. Check.

D-list celebs?: Who's that to my right? Oh, it's Mike Birbiglia. Check.

Awesome Show?: Check Check Check. Lots of fun, and a crowd that was into it despite having obviously never heard of the band. Wanted to play "Rock Band" against them, but that wasn't to be.

So I got drunk. Sorry.

Bamboozle Fest:

Another surprisingly great day, and the beginning of Festie season for me, which means I should start buying stock in Gold Bond (and, apparently, those Kanye Shutter-Shades, which couldn't stay on the hot topic-rip-off-booth shelves long enough.) Who killed? Reel Big Fish, for one, who are ripe for a comeback; Steel Train, for two, who valiantly played opposite Paramour in the back of the fairgrounds for a dedicated few hundred; Paramore, for three, fronted by a girl/woman who doesn't flaunt her sexuality so much as use it to empower the 16 year olds in the audience to NOT empower themselves (pretty awesome); An Angle, for four, who sounded like a great Wilco rip-off. Who didn't kill? Well, lets just say I finally need to face the fact that I used to be a Jimmy Eat World fan. Now, I'm ready to give up.

Watching Nathan take a pic with Jack (and having the camera not work?): Priceless.

Gave Alia a ride home and found out the Arrested Development movie rumor's not just conjecture! Woo-Hoo!

Jonathan Rice @ Spaceland:

Backed by a crack band and playing heartbroken raves that could be equally beloved by Counting Crows or Bright Eyes fans, Jenny Lewis's boyfriend way won me over. Maybe that's because I got to chat with Nels Cline and Pat Sansone for a minute, or maybe it's because every time I go to Spaceland I fall in love at least 9 times, but I think maybe it was the songs.

Maybe.

Tokyo Police Club/Voxhall Broadcast

2008-03-27T11:57:00.000-07:00

Last night, with Paula -- Tokyo Police Club at the Troubadour (the photo's from my interview with their singer, Dave, at SXSW.)

I'm just not sure about them. Dave's one of the best interviews I've had in a while, and his acoustic set was aces, but with the band things get a bit messy and same-y. They had those huge arcade fire-ish lights, which were great and added drama, but I left thinking they might be a hype-machine casualty. The kids, though, loved it; maybe I'm missing something.

Where I'm not missing anything: Voxhaull BroadCast, who played Spaceland on Monday. Motown-influenced swampy rock with great hair. Totally rad.

Vampire Weekend/PUSA

2008-03-24T20:56:00.000-07:00

So much for posting every show. It's catchup time:

Vampire Weekend @ El Rey, 3/20/08

Theoretically I was supposed to go to this show with Mr Wener, but circumstances out of his control forced a ticket switch and a giveaway to what was probably the most coveted show so far this year in LA. Thankfully, the band was in rare form: by far the best of the four times I've seen them so far, thanks to a room packed with highschoolers who knew every word and weren't afraid to sing along. "White Sky" the new stomper, was great; based on a drum loop -- is it safe to say that this next record could be their "Rhythm of the Saints?"Dunno. You be the judge.

Presidents of the USA @ Roxy, 3/21/08

Weird Al sat in on "More Than A Feeling," Wayne Cramer joined them to "Kick Out the Jams," and I was invited backstage for a photo session. Who am I again?!?!?

SXSW

2008-03-14T19:14:00.001-07:00

I'm there. Read about it here.

Wilco, 3/7/08, Houston (Aka "Via Houston) (Aka "I Have Gone To Houston")

2008-03-09T13:29:00.000-07:00

One more show on the the mini-tour, and it came via a last-minute plane switch to visit my brother. Unsurprisingly, more of a whimper than a bang after the superlative Chicago shows; it didn't help that Jeff had what sounded like the beginnings of layringitis, which he commented on frequently. The setlist:

You Are My Face
Muzzle Of Bees
Remember the Moutain Bed
Company On My Back
California Stars
Impossible Germany
Shouldn't be Ashamed
Pot kettle Black
Handshake Drugz
Shot in The Arm
Side W The Seeds
Via Chicago
When You Wake Up Feeling Old
Forget The Flowers
Airline To Heaven
Box Full of Letters
Jesus, Etc
Walken
I'm The Man Who Loves You

E: Heavy Metal Drummer
Hate it Here
Kingpin#
Red Eyed & Blue*
I got You
Monday

#: Living in...Houston
* W/ a Fake ending, Jeff singing as his Dad

Some really fun stuff: Jeff commented that the lyrics to "Hate It Here" were "pathetic" (um, allow me to disagree) and then talked about how his father listens to music by repeating the lyrics that've already been sung -- which he proceeded to do on "Red Eyed & Blue". But Jeff's vocal problems were so prevalent they brought the band down -- with the exception of a little noodling during "Box Full of Letters," I barely noticed Nels, and, though we were on Pat's side, it seemed he was just going through the motions. Not going to count it against them, but on the sliding scale: 6.5. Hey, not every show can be amazing when you're the best band in the world.

I fought Foo

2008-03-07T00:00:00.001-08:00

and as usual, foo won.

Read the review here.

I fought Foo

2008-03-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

and as usual, foo won.

Read the review here.

Another night...

2008-03-04T19:35:00.000-08:00

...another night onstage accidentally. This time, I sat in with The Henry Clay People. It was my first time seeing them, and I was impressed by their ability to look effortless at looking effortless. They asked for a guitarist, I replied by playing guitar on their fantastic song "Children of Chin." Maybe a repeat in Texas?

Also: when will I stop dating girls with boyfriends?

Wilco, Chicago, Day 5

2008-02-21T13:50:00.000-08:00

Setlist:
Sunken Treasure
One By One
Shoulda Been Ashamed
You Are My Face
Side With The Seeds
Pot Kettle Black
War On War
Pieholden Suite #@*
Muzzle of Bees#
It's Just That Simple
Nothingsevergonnastandinmyway(again)
I Thought I Held You
What Light @
When You Wake Up Feeling Old #
Summerteeth#
Jesus ETC #
Walkin@
Hummingbird #

-------

Via Chicago
Blood Of a Lamb#@
Can't Stand It@
Box Full of Letters
Heavy Metal Drummer
Hate it Here@#
Thanks I Get @
Just a Kid
Red Eyed and Blue #
I Got You
Casino Queen
I'm a Wheel
Less Than You Think# (w/drone)

e: I'm the Man Who Loves You
Dreamer In My Dreams

---------

It's amazing this's come to an end, this bizarre, bizarrely redeeming trip to Chicago. The band seems to have sensed the craziness, finally, playing a show that amounted to a greatest-hits of the past few days (Stiratt sings again! Box Full of Letters Electric! The Thanks I Get With Horns!) and a couple of rarities that were slam dunks (I still can't believe they played "Just a Kid.")

The sense of fun was palpable on stage and thankfully made its way to the balcony for the second set; before that, it was a lot of sitting and wondering why people'd made the trip. Stirrat nailed one of the best bass-bin jumps I've ever seen during "I Got You", and he and Jeff hugged after "It's just that Simple," which was very very sweet.

"Less Than You Think" was...difficult. I'm thinking the song is actually about Tweedy's resentment at being called genius for his experimentalism ("there's so much less/to this than you think") and that the end drone coda is almost a dare: "call this great. we have no clue what the fuck we're doing." Once that came into my mind, I almost wanted to jump the stage and slap the man: it's fine to be humble, but another thing altogether to be dismissive.

Of course, the drone was beautiful. Even if he has no idea what he's doing. So there is that.

Sliding scale: 8.5

Wilco, Chicago, night 4

2008-02-20T09:26:00.000-08:00

The setlist:
Outtamind (Outtastite)
I must Be High
Impossible Germany
Radio Cure
Leave Me Like you Found Me*
Company on My Back
Handshake Drugs
War on War
Shake it off
Summerteeth
In A Future Age
ELT
Shot in The Arm
Poor Places ->
Reservations ->
Spiders (Kidsmoke)
On and On And On
-----
Hotel Arizona
Too Far Apart
Was I In Your Dreams@
Misunderstood
Someday Soon
California Stars
Hate it Here@
The Thanks I Get@
Walken@
I'm the Man Who Loves You@
I'm a Wheel
Kingpin
Outtamind (Outtasite)
e: The Late Greats

---------------------

From minute one, it was clear that everyone in Wilco was aware that tonight's show was being broadcast on the radio to far more people than the 2500 of us crammed into the Riviera; it was also clear that they really didn't care. The opener -- the Sesame Street-ish version of Outtasite (Outtamind) was anti-radio unless all of a sudden it's 1967 again; anyone tuning in accidentally probably thought that the DJ had unearthed some previously-unavailable Beach Boys b-side.

And so it continued: the noisiness of "Poor Places," the swollen intimacy of "On And On And On" (delivered by Jeff in his best Eddie Vedder, huddled under his denim coat as the band played the interlude), the horn-y, horny desperation of "The Thanks I Get." Sure, the second set was stacked with rockers, and apparently in Chicago "Walken" is like the equivilant of, say, Paramore, but it sure seemed like the set was put together to turn all but the biggest fans off.

Which is to say: wow.

Set one was very possibly my favorite wilco set I've ever seen: somewhere in the middle of it they just coalesced. Glenn hit these enunciated beats in "Poor Places" that made me melt. "Spiders" sounded like I was hearing it for the first time. At some point, Pat did that Pete Townshend thing he does and it was as if he'd just invented it.

So even if it fell off a bit -- it did -- I left smiling, remarking (again) about how taking this trip was a great decision. Tonnight, there are only 5 album tracks left -- meaning either a repeat-heavy show, or (one can hope) one full of rarely-heard songs, perfect for those of us who made the journey.

I will try to understand, either way.

Sliding scale: 9

Check out the official review here

Wilco, Chicago, night 3

2008-02-19T10:04:00.000-08:00

The Setlist:
Blue Eyed Soul
Remember the Mountain Bed #
Bob Dylan's 49th Beard #
Hesitating Beauty #
That's Not The Issue #
Wishful Thinking
You Are My Face
Side With the Seed
Shot in the Arm
We're just Friends
Kamera
Handshake Drugz
How To Fight Loneliness #
Jesus Etc #
Should've Been In Love
Pick Up the Change #
Theologians
Walken @
I'm the Man Who Loves You @

------

Set II:
Via Chicago
Impossible Germany
She's a Jar
Do you Miss Me
Box Full of Letters
Always In Love
Hate It Here #@
Late Greats #@
Red Eyed & Blue #
I Got You #
Monday @
e: My Darling
e2: Can't Stand It @
NothingsEverGonnaStandInMyWayAgain

----

Anyone who's ever followed a band closely knows that the setlist doesn't tell the whole story; on paper, this third night should've been a jawdropper. 5 rarities to open, an encore that included a song that hadn't been played in a decade, horns, andrew bird, and a roaring second set.

But instead, it came up short: the band seemed a bit stiff (though Nels certainly gave Via Chicago his all) and some of the older songs -- "Always In Love," "Do You Miss Me" -- were rough around the edges. The audience, too, was missing some of that urgency, probably due to the bitter, blistering cold outside.

Still, there was magic: hearing "We're Just Friends" for the first time reminded me of how I used to feel about that song in college (and unfortunately prompted a text message I'd rather forget;) "Hate It Here" exploded with horns to be a soul-drenched frenzy, and, motsly, "How To Fight Loneliness," re-arranged into a samba shuffle, Glenn Kotche barely touching the cymbal that propelled the song.

Wilco sliding scale: 7. But a solid one.

Tonight....well, Pieholden Suite!

Click here for my official story

Wilco, Chicago, Night 2

2008-02-17T15:09:00.000-08:00

Not just a superlative Wilco show, but a superlative night, with superlative people, all of whom I'd have been hesitant to call superlative before last night. I haven't done one of these music road trips all alone for a long time; hanging with Steve, Drea, and Kelly was a reminder of what I was missing: the anything-goes, all-bets-are-off awesomeness that comes from being among your kind.

First, the setlist:
Someone Elses Song
Hell Is Chrome
Handshake Drugz
Muzzle of Bees
I am Trying To Break Your Heart
Hotel Arizona
Shot In The Arm
Impossible Germany
It's Just that Simple*
When You Wake Up Feeling Old
Too Far Apart
Hate It Here
Jesus, Etc#
Forget The Flowers#
Dash 7#
Christ For President#
Walken$
I'm the Man Who Loves You$

---

The Late Greats
Heavy Metal Drummer
Red Eyed & Blue #
I Got You
Magazine Called Sunset
Monday $
Casino Queen
Kingpin
Passenger Side #
Dreamer In My Dreams#
The Lonely 1 #
--
e: ELT
Hoodoo Voodoo

* Stirratt on Vox
# W/Andrew Bird
$ W/Horns

---------
After saying a quick Hello to Pat Sansone on the street, Steve and I met up at what we soon realized was perhaps the only gay sports bar on the planet for a pre-show beer.

What's amazing about these things is how we both can geek out, entirely, without any apologies: an hour of talking about what they'd play there led to meeting up in the front section with Kelly and Andrea -- whom we continued to pontificate with before being pushed up against the railing in back by some inconsiderate assholes who drank our air and stole our souls.

Thankfully, after reminding myself I could just decide to leave and balcony it, I did. Smartest thing I've done: gone was the view of the back of one man's head, and instead a wide stage-view where I could make out actual people. And, man, did they play: Dash 7 was lovely and intimate (only the 7th time played -- and I'd seen it once before, at the Fonda), while even the repeats found new ground (Walken, for one, seemed more punctuated.) Poor Andrew Bird: sits in for half the show, but can only be heard while whistling on Red Eyed & Blue.

I had no seat, so I sat on the stairs; not only was I delivered drinks, but I screamed alogn with the guy next to me, who was beyond pleased that I shared his predeliction towards the singalong. After "i'm The Man Who Loves You", he looked at me and said "you gotta love Chicago -- everyone's singing along!" I asked if he was from here.

Of course not. He flew in from Ontario. Genius.

Potentially the best wilco show I've seen, thanks to a phenomenal setlist, a rowdy audience (they wouldn't let the band leave; pre encore the house lights came up, PUSA's "peaches" came on, and raodies started taking down the stage: ELT and Hoodoo Voodoo were actual, real-life encores. Not only that, the latter featured a Nels vs Pat call and response solo. Ridiculous)

Also ridiculous: the rest of our night. Chinese food (nothing was supreme about that seafood, but goddamn that pineapple and ginger chicken: you do it to me every time) and bar-hopping with 18-year old burnouts and kids way cooler than anyone I ever spend time with (or would like to spend time with.) Steve, you're right: If I was banned from the second club for leading the Electric Slide, I don't want to be a member of that club anyways.

Tonight: Live band Karaoke. Anyone following along at home that I've bitched to about needing the right trip to reset my engine? I think I found it.

Click here for my official review

Wilco, Chicago, Night 1

2008-02-16T11:52:00.000-08:00

(photo from Santa Barbara Bowl, last year)

Wow. I can't believe it's been over a year since I posted.

Well, I'll be better.

I'm in Chicago for five nights of Wilco, who're playing their entire catalog in 10 sets. I'm covering for Relix, The Orange County Register, and The Chicago Sun Times. I thought I'd post setlists and my unedited notes here, for posterity.

------

Setlist (thanks to BigShoulderSporter):
ELT
Shot in the Arm
Side with the Seeds
You are my Face
I am Trying to Break Your Heart
Pot Kettle Black
At Least that's What You Said
What's the World Got in Store
When the Roses Bloom Again
Airline to Heaven
Ashes of American Flags
Either Way
Jesus Etc
Too Far Apart
Can't Stand It
Sunken Treasure
Spiders (Kidsmoke)

-break-
Misunderstood
Far, Far Away
Why Would you Wanna Live
Impossible Germany
Sky Blue Sky
Please be Patient with Me
Cars Can't Escape
Hummingbird

-encore-
Hate it Here
Walken
I'm the Man who Loves You
Heavy Metal Drummer
Candyfloss
Outtamind (outtasite)

Night one of 5 was a reminder that what Wilco does best is subtlety: even in their loudest moments, it's all about the minor details (and sometimes the mistakes) that an enhance a song: Nels soloing in “Why Would You Want to Live In This World?,” enhancing the ending with a melody that's hidden before, or the near-whisper of jeff's voice in “sky blue sky.” I started thinking that Mikael was the most underrated member of the band; every single thing he does is subtle, yet, take him out, and all of a sudden the songs would sound empty.

Much of the night was spent with Mikael and Pat both on keys, hiding Pat from view and hiding his musicianship, sometimes, from the songs. Watching him play shaker on “Heavy Metal Drummer,” though, only enunciates the point about subtlety: even on an instrument meant to hide, it's used so sparecely that you only hear it when you're trying too.

The horn section was underused; hopefully they'll come back tonight (I'd love to hear them on “I Got You”). Lots of Motown touches throughout; are wilco the only american band that successfully can draw from Dylan, The Temptations, The Beatles, and Sonic Youth equally? I say yes. “Can't Stand It” should be played way more: it was embued with an urgency that the recorded version's missing, thanks (again) to Nels Cline's aptly trained ear.

One thing that was very very interesting about night 1: most of Sky Blue Sky was played, and almost none of AM was. It should be fascinating to see how they mix up the remainder of the catalog over the next few nights.

Wilco Sliding Scale: 7.5

Some notes:
Horns on Cant Stand It/Walkin/I'm The Man Who Loves You
Pat on Keys for almost all the first set
Pat on Banjo! for What's the World Got In Store
I'm the man who loves you dedicated to Suzie
Jeff told an antecdote about Spencer calling the Foo Fighters the Poo Fighters, since they beat him at the grammys.

Here's the thing about NYC

2006-11-04T17:51:00.000-08:00

Today we tried to see borat, but it was way sold out. So E.G. and I sat and watched a ton of TV.

And that was OK. Because the rock was still all around us.

The Killers

2006-10-29T10:47:00.000-08:00

What's weird isn't that I was onstage with one of the biggest rock bands in the world last night.

What's weird is that that isn't weird anymore.

So...

2006-10-21T23:21:00.000-07:00

I'm in this conundrum about how to write this Les Claypool story that I'm working on. You see, I had lunch with Sr. Claypool the other day and he was a thoughoughly alright and decent fellow, but after transcribing our three-hour conversation Im beginning to think I asked him all the wrong questions. And I wish that I was willing to just take the easy route with him, at least at some point, and ask the questions I know the answer to instead of asking all these other questions that don't make a good story. Damnit!

In other news: last night Dave and I went to see Yo La Tengo and it wsa good but they were LOW KEY. Like, sleepytime gorilla museum low key. Which may explain why I passed out at the Boom Boom Room during the Al Howard/K23 set right afterwards.

In OTHER other news, every time a train passes Dave's apartment, I duck under the desk.

In OTHER OTHER OTHER news, I watched the CityStock video of Indie Rocker today and began thinking about how excited I'll be in July next year for CityStock II, assuming I don't get sidetracked by this new job thingie and become a real member of society before then. Please don't let me do that kids.

In OTHER OTHER OTHER OTHER news, Vegoose's lineup is the best divide for a festie ever, though Im bummed that Tom Petty won't be in the stadium, mostly because it was kind of cool to be in the back there but it will kind of suck to be in the back of a field for his set. I've done that twice already this summer. I wanted to see him rock the Stadium, yo!

In OTHER OTHER OTHER OTHER OTHER news, I never blogged about the detour festie, but it was the shit. Beck was phenomenal. Here's a picture of him and my friend Rob. I'm proud of Rob.

In OTHER OTHER OTHER OTHER OTHER OTHER news. I'm bored. I was super productive today. Now it's time to party. Where's Dave?

Partying like a rock star

2006-09-20T07:22:00.000-07:00

So this'll be a quick one.

Last night I hung with Evan from Steel Train, who took me to a bar called Black and White that apparently is the indie hang.

We listened to Bohemian Rhapsody and Should I Stay Or Should I Go.

Members of many smallish-time (but major-touring) bands were there.

I was outside when I felt something wet. I looked up and a woman in her 60's was yelling for us to be quiet while she poured water on us from the fire escape. She drenched some poor girl. It may be the funniest thing I've seen in a long time.

We went for pizza with some friends of Evan, including this big dude who I later found out is in Cobra Starship and Gym Class Heroes. And though you may not know who they are, I promise you that hot, hot 16-year-old you saw on Venice does. And would take her shirt off to meet him.

But me? With him, I just partied like a rock star. I didn't drink, I didn't smoke, I didn't sniff.

No, to party like a rock star I ate pizza and discussed video production. But that works, right?

Mark Ibold is a Bartender

2006-09-19T08:17:00.000-07:00

...and that's not a dis. Just go visit Jones in Manhattan. The former bassist for Pavement (and current bassist for Sonic Youth) will serve you a drink. Extra points if you are embarrassingly wearing a shirt that says "Thurston Moore In Training." And don't realize it.

Nice guy, though. And good Hefeweisen. Think I'm going to give him the City Museum disk today.

This year's ACL Rundown:

Definitely the most personally insignificant ACL in memory. No nudity (at all.) No barfights. No hanging with rockstars at Magnolia's at 4am. Just me, Mitch, and some great music. Highlights:

The Polyphonic Spree late night. Hung with Andy A, their publicist, and they came out in fatigues instead of robes. Chatted up a very cute girl at the bar, had a few beers, they played "Lithium," I yelled like I was seeing Nirvana again. "Light and Day" twice in a row. Cathartic.

Sufjan Stevens, late night: Whoa. We only made the second half of the show, but it was outstanding. The singer/songwriter -- who I was never a fan of -- and his 20-something piece band all with angel/butterfly wings on singing songs that lull and sway and echo. Timeless. I'll revisit "Illonise" when I get back home.

Raconteurs: I wasn't floored when I saw them earlier this year, but what a difference 20,000 people make. Jack sounded better than ever, hitting impossible notes as he stood face to face with brendon, making huge rock moves and singing a version of Sonny Bono's "Bang Bang" that would kill a lesser man in a tragic ski accident...too soon? Pix below.

TV On the Radio: The new album's SO good. Can't wait to see it in a club. Most crowded photo pit I've ever seen.

Flaming Lips: I don't give a shit how many times I've seen them: When they unleash the confetti and Wayne smiles that bright, shining smile, it's transcendant. I want to be Wayne Coyne when I grow up.

Backstage Access: I'm a spoiled little shithead at this point. I don't know if I could do a huge festie (save Coachella) without it. And not for the vips -- for a spot to sit.

Rain: God it feels good sometimes.

Did I mention Mark Ibold is a bartender in NYC? And I went into his bar randomly? How fucked up is that?

Oh, and I'm listining to "The Information." But it's my first time, so I can't tell you how it is yet. Don't ask.

Oh, and I applied for a full time job in NYC.

Oh, and I also applied to ghost write Flava Flav's new book.

Oh, and...

Hello! I've waited here for you! Everlong!

2006-08-31T00:39:00.000-07:00

It's been a while again.

Sorry.

I threw a festie in my parent's backyard. It was a hit.

But tonight I Fought Foo in an acoustic sense and had a drop dead, near-tears, mindfuck of a night with rachel r., who always seems to be next to me when I'm hit in the head with the love of rock and roll.

Tonight it was Dave Grohl who did it to me, and he's done it before: he's a funny guy, he writes great songs, and he was in the band that started it all for me, so he gets extra credit. But tonight at the Pantages, he rearranged everything, meticulously; simple drum builds became instrument sweeps, lead picking became jazz handling, and the Foo Fighters went from being a great rock band to one of the greatest bands in the world, BAM, like that.

Which is ironic, because their acoustic record might be the worst one-disk in the Foo's history.

But here it wasn't just those songs that were rearranged: it was Marigold, Dave's only Nirvana contribution, careful and concise. It was My Hero, with a solo from Roland Joffee that was soft, gentle, and hard-hitting, all at once. It was Best Of You, still raw, still participatory.

But mostly it was dave, who carries himself on stage the way I'd like to, with humor and a confidence that is far from swaggering. He told off the Virginians in the front and represented for the 818 -- and then played lullabies that I hope, someday my kids will hear.

Can't wait for the DVD. And I'm bummed that I need to spend my night tomorrow watching The Mars Volta and RHCP. That's fucking weird, isn't it!

J

Beach, Bitch

2006-07-29T12:49:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting looking out over Venice, my foot all bandaged, bruised, and banged up and I'm realizing that this summer's turned out A-OK so far...lots of good stuff, thought I've been in LA for weeks now instead of the usual 1-trip a week life.

That means shows. Flaming Lips, twice. Once at the bowl, where the majesty of their spectacle finally met its match, and once off of hollywood boulevard, where you could get close enough to remember the first time you smiled at hundreds of balloons full of confetti popping over an unsuspecting audience. I officially want to be Wayne Coyne when I grow up.

Then: Gnarls afterparty, and a reminder that things...happen.

Josh Klinghoffer -- bert. Fan. Now touring the world in Gnarls, ex of Beck, PJ Harvey, and Jon Frusciante.

Brandon Boyd -- again, bert. Fan. Now member of platinum-plus fan.

Brian Smith -- Knitting Factory alterknit. Now, Troubadour.

Me -- Gorilla. Ithacan. LA Times.

Crazy, man.

moe., twice (should've been three times, but there's a big fucking rod on sunset with my name all over it.) Nostalgia. People on E. Me getting zoned, not on drugs, just zoning. Realizing I don't know the names of the songs offhand anymore and it doesn't really bother me. Wondering if that means I'm old. Or spoiled. Or apathetic. Or all three.

Yesterday I spent too much at a bachelor party at hooters for a guy I never see. And the food wasn't that great, but the company was. He got a ball and chain. Today I get to smell the sea air and heal my foot. Tonight I drink beers. Tomorrow I play music. Monday I play more music.

Tuesday I play music

Wednesday I see music

Thursday I play music

Friday I rest.

Or not. You decide.

Personal to Monica

2006-07-07T18:08:00.002-07:00

Monica:

Thanks for the comment/email. I saw the private beck show at Sony Studios. It was for "friends and family" of the band; I'm lucky enough to be good friends with one of his puppeteers. Were you there?

Do I know you? How'd you find the page?

Any way you slice it, glad you're reading!!

Jeff

Forever

2006-07-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

I know I haven't blogged in forever, and so much has happened since then, so many festivals, so many road trips, so many recording sessions, so many bands. So much life, too. Can't forget that.

But: I saw Radiohead from the second row at the Greek last night.

Not only was that fucking amazing, but it was fucking unexpected too. I got to the venue, the publicist told me she had some bad news, then handed me a pit wristband.

WHO ARE WE?

I don't know. But "Myxamatosis" was one of the best concert moments of the year, up there with My Morning Jacket's "A Quick One While He's Away" a couple weeks ago at bonnaroo and prince's whole set earlier this year...and "Crazy" at Coachella and "Hang me Out To Dry" at the troubadour. Oh, and the Beck secret show that I meant to blog about and then didn't. I saw beck with 300 people at the soundstages at Sony. It was amazing. His kids were on stage playing with the puppets. Who am I, again?

Damn.

So, yeah, I'm alive. And this is the new background on my computer:

I'll be gone the next couple days. Miss me, if you want.

J

26 hours, 22 minutes, and a bit of sleep in the life of...

2006-04-11T12:32:00.000-07:00

26 hour, 22 minutes, and 2 hours of sleep in the life of…

My longest day since college began with a phone call. I take that back. It started with breakfast. And since this is my blog and I can do things however I want to (and I’m on a plane and still haven’t caught up on my sleep) there will be tangents. That’s a promise.

I wake up at 8. Can’t get back to sleep. Toss. Turn. Alarm. Shit. Publicist is going to call . Must get breakfast. 9:30 am. Poached eggs. Too runny. Bacon. Not cooked enough. Toast. Good. Breakfast: $32. Sony, thanks for the per diem. Next time, give me cash so I can eat $10 sushi and spend the rest on the ubiquitous, really disturbing adult cartoons.

10am the publicist for the movie – ostensibly the reason for this entire trip – called to postpone the set visit. 3pm, she said. I say, “great.” I mean it too. I was hoping for another day of running around the city. I didn’t realize at that point what I was getting myself into…

I’m out of my room by 10:45. On the subway by 11. At Akihabara Electric Town by 11:30.

Akihabara Electric Town. Not just the band playing Silverlake Lounge next week. It’s CES meets every chachki flea mart you’ve ever seen meets Alex Rose’s wet dreams. The photo blog will have more explanation. Let’s put it this way: there’s something for everyone geeky you know, from your perverted uncle who collects ubiquitous, disturbing adult cartoons, to my brother, who would have dropped trou for the digital cameras. And that’s not even mentioning the arcades. Or the skill cranes. Dave, never go to Tokyo.

By noon-thirty-and-change I’m out of there. I’ve got cherry blossoms to see.

The blooming of cherry blossoms is apparently a big deal. I’ve heard there’s Sake drinking and blubbery old men. I’m excited. But when I get to the park, there’s no sign of sake, and no blubbering. Perhaps that’s because it’s drizzling. But there are cherry blossoms, and they are both on trees and littering the ground, looking like post-new-years confetti and nearly out-of-place amid the bustle I know is beneath this park that overlooks a place that I think is called Ubesu (I have no map with me on the plane any more. Sue me.)

A walk, a Zoo, a closed sign. Not just Akihabara Electric Town’s debut album, but my hour.

Another walk, some farmers stalls, some cirashi…mmm…chirashi…one of the weird things about Japan is that you have no idea whether people are talking about you – so when I paid and the woman said something that sounded like: hamikiha balmiaka ramrashi and the dude looked at me and laughed – yeah, that was probably: the white dude just ate intestine! Yum, is my response.

Then: Hotel. 3pm. Meet publicist. Long car ride. Toho studios (where they filmed Godzilla!) On set. Cool house. Expaining origin of the Grudge. Amber Tamblyn. Cuter in person. No photos allowed. Talked music. Talked karaoke. Asked her to play poker. Sketched out publicist (“Is this part of the interview?” Um, yes.) Talked to director. Talked to Exec producer. Cool guy. Lives down the street from the Troub. Likes Pearl Jam. Lots. Future HOJ (that’s Husband of Jenn.) Left studio. Entire work portion of trip: 4 hours.

Here’s where things get interesting.

It’s 9. I get to the hotel. I have an e-mail. From Bridget. She lived in Tokyo for 9 months. Has suggestions, including top of Park Hyatt. Lost in Translation. “The Best Bar in the World,” she says. And she knows. She’s traveled. Lots. Roponnggi. Bar suggestions. Friends to say hi to.

I’m in. Because – at this point – my plan is to go to the fish market at 5am for the Tuna Auction. Who are opening for Akihabara Electric Town, by the way. So I gotta stay up all night, right? It’d be crazy to go to bed.

I go to the station where she says to find the park hyatt. 9:30 pm. Here’s what progresses. In 13 easy steps:

1. Exit train station. All I know: Skyscraper District. See sign. Walk.

2. Walk. Ask british guys where the hotel is. Go into alley. Look for food. “Massage?” No, thanks. “It’s good.” No, thanks. “It’s cheap.” Um, no. Thanks.

3. Out of alley. Back on street.

4. Walk

5. Walk.

6. Walk by tour group. Wonder if they speak English. Realize I now have no idea where the train station is. Walk.

7. Backtrack. Where is the fucking hotel? Where is the fucking train station? Does the fucking tour group speak English? Cool backpack. Spikey.

8. Out of a building I hear English. Accented. German. Meet older, business-suited men and women. I call them the Asian/German Contingent. Who are playing spaceland the same night as Akihabara Electric Town. I may pull double duty. I digress. Anyways, the Asian/German contingent thinks it’s the building with the three pyramids. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I need to pee. And I’m sketching out the Asian/German contingent. So I leave them. And walk.

9. And pee.

10. And walk.

11. And pee.

12. And walk. Under bridges. Through parks. I’m so lost. So I get in a cab. “Park Hyatt.” Soubaki? “Park Hyatt Hotel?” Fukibak? “Park Hyatt Hotel.” Aah, Park Hyatt Hotel! Cab driver points in front of the cab. We haven’t moved. We’re in front of the Park Hyatt Hotel. Jebus.

13. 12:30 pm. I go upstairs to the bar. Lost in Translation indeed. Buy a beer. $10. Best goddamned $10 beer ever.

We’re not done. Not even close.

I leave. Take a cab. $40. Holy fuck this city’s expensive. Except for Chirashi (mmm, chirashi.) Via Roppongi. (“I dreamed about killing you again last night/and it felt suki yaki…”)

“Massage?” You’re hot. But no thanks.

Bar #1. Geronimo’s shot bar. I ask for the Hong Kong bartendress. No longer there. I buy a shot. Bartender pours me two. They’re gross. I drink. It’s obviously a tourist bar, but I don’t care because somehow I feel some semblance of “normal.” Not ‘cause I’m drunk. ‘Cause I’m speaking English to people who understand.

1:30 AM. “Massage.” You’re hotter. “Sree Sousand Yen.” Oooph. Tempting. No thanks.

“You want see titties tonight?” Yes, please. But no massage, please. On second thought – better no titties, for fear of hidden massage cost. And that whole body-part-falling-off thing.

Bar #2 – Patty Foley’s. I can’t escape Irish bars. I’m supposed to find Kara. There is no Kara here. There are five guys. They’re closing up. May as well have a beer. Somehow I mention I play music.

And then…

Three beers later, we’re in a heated debate about whether Motley Crue is the next Rolling Stones. That’s from superfan #1, who’s seen the Crue – get this – 63 times. He’s the bartender. He’s younger then me. He’s wearing a Hendrix shirt, and has a huge fro. And he wants to jam.

Side of the bar: Francisco, from Peru. He owns the one rock club in town. His vote? Santana. And Judas Preist.

Next to him: Matt, 19. Direct quote: “Joe Satriani is so much better than Hendrix.” Dude, seriously?

My vote: a surprise. Green Day. Huge debate on who the best punk band ever is. Misfits? Ramones? Clash?

Why did it take me 4 days to find my peeps?

3am. It’s officially going to be an allnighter.
Bar 3: “Vanilla.” 1000 yen cover covers our drinks, too. We hear it’s Eurotrash. It’s not. We get a “Living on a Prayer” remix -> Pretty Fly For A White Guy set that ends up into “Testify” (Kanye, not Rage)-> Golddigger. Hotness. Red Bull Vodka. Darts.

On our walk, we see cops. I take out my camera. Ed (the Crue dude) looks at me. “Don’t shoo themt. Yakuza!” What? “Japanese Mafia. I know those guys.” Yeah, adventure.

Bar 4: We do flaming doctor peppers. My night gets a bit spotty. I meet a Taiwanese bartendress. We dance and shoot a picture. I dance on a table to “Killing in the Name,” “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and “Fight For Your Right.” Why’d it take me 4 days to find my bar?

Bar 5: Francisco’s bar. Drum kit. Jam to RHCP DVD. Bartendress serves us drinks. It’s 4:30 am, and in walks her roommate. We start talking. She’s half-Japanese, half-Brazillian. And Rivers Cuomo said it best: “Goddamned those half-Japanese girls, they do it to me every time.” And that redhead said she played the cello.

And I’m jello, baby.

She’s a stripper, just off work. I tell her I wish I’d found her club – because Titties? Yes. Massage? Not so much. She’s nice and very not-strippery and very shy. I’ve got a crush.

I’m gonna go to the fish market. No I’m not. Francisco knows, “The best sushi in Tokyo.” I’m in.

6am. Sushi breakfast. 2 more strippers meet us. We lose Ed and Matt. See ya, guys. Neither stripper’s very strippery. One’s Israeli. I wish her happy Passover. She laughs.

7am. Fish market? No. Just ate. Damn fine Toro.

Karaoke.

Oh shit.

Here’s something: people who have no irony live in Tokyo. They sing Mariah Carey songs poorly at expensive karaoke bars at 7am, and wonder why you change the words to The Humpty Dance and sing along a bit with “The Power Of Love”. They go from being flirty to sketched out by you. And they end the night with a slow Japanese song. That sucks.

I pay. $32. To do karaoke in Japan at 7am? Priceless.

It’s 8:30. We say goodbye. The girls go for handshakes. I go for cheek kiss. They laugh. I leave.

I get to my hotel. “Good Morning!” No. “Goodnight.”

I email Kevin.

I get into bed. 9:48 am.

I wake up, two hours later.

And I think: Goddamned right. It’s a beautiful day.

Live at Bukkodan

2006-04-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

There's so much to cover about the last two days. It's been whirlwind.

Got off the plane yesterday at 3:30 or so and immediately realised that Jack's comment about Japan being an alien planet was completely dead-on. Even the airport felt like a different world. Unlike anywhere else I've been, the language is SO different than english (and the writing, too) that it doesn't even seem phonetic; from now on when I see someone Asian speaking English I'm going to think it's strange.

My Hotel is (of course) on the other side of the city from the airport. By the time I figured out the bus system it was 4:30, by the time the next bus left it was 5:30, by the time I got to my hotel it was 7:30. So much for my first day.

But push-push-push was the theme. I got settled, figured out e-mail, sent a couple out. Ate. Terrible food. Buffet and they were going for Western; why the fuck should I eat western food in Japan? Oh yeah, it's free.

At the desk, I found an english speaker and asked her where to go out at night. I told her I wanted crazy. "Did you see Lost in Translation?" Yeah, of course. "That's Shubuya. You don't want that crazy." Um, yeah I do.

She hands me a map of Ropongee. "This is easy to get to," she says. I think about all the cities I've been in with a "nightlife" that turns out to be a letdown.

I leave the hotel, and walk through a mile of moving walkways, corridors, and steps before I reach the train station. Different planet? Um, yeah.

How the fuck am I supposed to read the subway map?

After a bit it becomes obvious that the map does, in fact, have English translations; not only that, the announcer says (in a Japanese accent), "Next stop, sorinjariku station." AND each station has a different name! there's Seibu-Senjuku, Higashi-Senjuku, and Minami Shinjuku. And, of course, Shinjuku.

Actually, the subways are great: they run on time and the station-masters all speak english (kindof) and have been exceedingly helpful. I've only had two disasters. The first was when I was standing, lost, in a station and a woman offered help (this seems to be unheard of here; even when I've talked to english-speaking people they seem to eye me with more than a little distrust). The second was after Bon Jovi (yes, I saw Bon Jovi. It was awesome, mostly because of the un-ironic fandom of the guy in front of me, and the fact that 52,000 people phonetically sang along with "Livin' On A Prayer" while I sat in the back row gleefully taking notes and thinking about how I'd spent more on a ticket for fucking BON JOVI then I'm going to spend on the rest of the trip combined.) Anyways, there are two different kinds of lines, the regular lines and the JR lines (as far as I can tell, this does not mean junior.)

Long story short, JR lines aren't marked well and I ended up in the wrong place. But I found my way back.

Where was I? Oh shit. We haven't even gotten to night one.

So she sent me to Ropangee, and said it was tame. Which it is, if you've been spending your life drunk, high on cocaine, and sleeping with hookers all while eating raw meat and listening to Hulk Hogan records in Amsterdam. Seriously: this place made every "nightlife" scene I've ever experienced look like the nonexistent bar next to Pirates of the Carribean. I was offered a "Massage" as I got off the subway (no, Mom and Dad, I did not accept. I had that chance once in Amsterdam, I did not take it, I will never take it. She was cute, though.) Then, walking through the street, pimp after pimp invited me into their "bars." These are places with pictures of naked girls outside and free beer offered. And I did not accept. Why?

Because I've heard too many horror stories of foriegners leaving places minus body parts and I'm a scardey-cat about that shit. And I'm not here with anyone.

AND: There was a beatles cover band!

They were all japanese, and were fantastic. I shared a table with a japanese couple (who I think had previously been massaging each other); the three of us (and the rest of the packed crowd) sang along to "Eleanor Rigby" and "Two of Us." And I came back, put on "Lost In Translation" -- and promptly fell asleep.

Which brings us to day #2. Again, where to start? This morning I searched Craigslist and found another American alone in Tokyo, so I offered to meet up with her. I have no cell phone. This did not work. If Roberta is out there, I waited 30 minutes for you before perusing the chachki shops and eventually finding food.

Did I mention it was sushi? Did I mention it was delicious? Did I mention I spent $10? Did I mention I stuffed my face? Did I mention even I'm jealous of myself? I didn't? Now I did. MMMMM.

Other things I did: Went to the bridge where the Harijuku girls hang out. Now, here' the thing -- pre Stefani, I wouldn't have known nor cared where Harijuku girls hung out, 'cause I'd never heard of them. To explain the freakishness -- let's put it this way, one of the girls was in a Pokemon outfit, with white face makeup and somehow looked goth. Basically, it's schoolgirls in fetish outfits, but not sexual in a weird way. And everyone wants their picture. So it's exhibitionist. But not. In a weird way.

Weird.

I went shrine-seeing, ended up at a chachkimart/amusement park/farmers market, and then realized I was only two subway stops (on the cursed JR line) from the Bon Jovi show. It was 5:45 pm; I HAD to at least check it out, right?

Right.

Unfortunately (and unbeknownst to me) the show started at 5pm, promptly (that's something about these Japanese -- they. are. prompt!) But I really didn't need more than an hour of the Jovster, and I had the cash on me (yes, the ticket was expensive, no I didn't pay for the trip, no I don't want to think about the fact that the "massage" would have been less expensive than an hour of Bon Jovi).

So what'd I get?

Bed of Roses -- with a rose on the enormo-dome screen.

I'll Be There For You -- "From the album New Jersey" (no screams.)

Bad Medicine -- With clapping and singing.

The Jovster: "If I were a Baseball player at 44 years old, Id be retired!"

Raise Your Hands -- With Unironic hand raising

Some new slow song. Bathroom.

Living on A Prayer -- I love that I was the only one in my (nosebleed) section who recognised "You've got to hold on to what we've got" as the Jovster strummed his acoustic to intro the song. Oh yeah.

E:

Some new slow song. What's up with that, Jovster?

One Last Cigarette -- featured a really dedicated fan trying to jump the 15-foot security barrier and getting grabbed and thrown to the ground by the beyond-ubiquitous security. Dude, give it up! Jovster: "Another Satisfied Customer" (note: he said this at least three times in the hour of Jovi I caught)

Runaway -- This song sucks

Keep The Faith -- this one sucks even more. But everyone clapped, which kind of made it cool.

I left after this, when the Jovster said "Thank you Tokyo! Gracias! Bonisima! Aragatto!" Apparently there was more, because I thought I'd beat the rush and have some ramen, but as I was finishing dinner the show ACTUALLY let out. Which kind of pisses me off, because it means I could have seen "You Give Love A Bad Name."

So my one regret so far is that there has been no karaoke to speak of. That may change tomorrow (I hope so.) I wanted to rally tonight, but my bed's looking oh-so-fucking-good. I will sleep...

Aragato, Gracias, Thank You,
Another Satisfied Customer

Pix

2006-03-15T09:16:00.000-08:00

Another Travelling Song

2006-03-15T09:07:00.000-08:00

Austin, TX:

I'm sitting in a dorm-type apartment with members of Steel Train and Limbeck strewn all over the floor, the destruction from an alt-country/neo-jam hoedown all over the floor. THree girls pepper the all-guy crowd -- a manager and two very young, um "band aids," who I don't think actually aided any band last night (not for lack of trying from the bands. So maybe the girls are just teases.) The apartment was given to Steel train for free in exchange for a show they're playing at the apartment complex tonight; it's a sweet deal for them and a tough decision for me, sinc it means deciding whether to watch them again or go into town and brave the SXSW crowd.

Last night, the band played at 5pm outside in Austin for a bunch of ad execs and their kids, who clapped happily along to "Road Song" even though 20 minutes earlier Jack's guitar totally shit the bed (see, Weigel, it happens to everyone.) Then -- drove to San Antonio, for a show that everyone was confused about but ended up being the best Steel Train show I've seen on this tour. The band had nothing to prove and 60-or-so-fans that were rabid and pushed to the front of the small stage at club Sanctuary. Then: Limbeck, the OC alt-country band that floored me at the Echo a few months ago. Unfortunately for them, everyone left. Jack from Steel Train sat in, I got very drunk, tried to help ST's manager pick up a girl, failed, drank more, did the electric slide and the boot-scoot during Limbeck's set, smoke an enormous joint with Evan and two girls from MySpace (one cute -- and Evan's -- one, um, not.) Drank more. Slept in the van. Came back. Slept on the couch.

SXSW starts here, in a living room in austin, with two bands and two semi-band aids. Last year, it started in a living room in ausitin on a couch with anal lube. Last year was crazy. Let's make sure this year's crazier.

More pix above.

Training Pix

2006-03-12T22:20:00.000-08:00

More Pix:

It's gonna ride on til the end...

2006-03-12T10:27:00.000-08:00

I've been out with Steel Train for two days now, and already I'm overwhelmed with decisions about the story, which I may or may not have more time with the band to write. Here's some of the things that are possibilities, just so I can remember them as they come up:

First night: "I love two things == Jesus And Drugs." -- homeless man ,the show, after Jack, Evan, and I give him a dollar each. Our money went to a good spot.

Jam inside, with Daniel, the tour manager writing a new song on the spot. A great example of the kind of thing that would have impressed me 5 years ago and now seems totally natural. OF COURSE the band jams with their tour manager, of course everyone plays music, of coruse it's loose. But it still sounds so sexy on paper.

Fans at that first night show: The band hasn't played florida for two years, yet 60 people still show up to see them, including two girls the band haven't seen since then (one member, unnamed, works that angle, two other work it elsewhere, and all claim "this doesn't happen much." We'll see...)I talked to one guy who saw them open for Finch of all bands, and he said he was the only person when he saw them who even liked them a little - which makes sense, I mean, that's the weirdest thing about this band is where their fans came from. We talked about that last night for a while, the label situation, and they understand the weirdness but of coruse want fans from wherever they can get them. Last night, at the hotel, five girls and a guy whe were obviously underage and obviously at langerado walked in and the guys started talking to them, trying to get them to go to the late-night show. Quote of the night: "Mom, he's not hitting on me, he wants me to see his band!" Later, Jack: "Um, isn't that hitting on you?" Gold.

After the first show, they did an outdoor two-song mini-set (Allycat, Blown Away, W. 12th St) after a comment from Jack onstage when a fan requested "AlleyCat" IT's this kind of thing that really sets this band apart -- yeah, small bands love their fans, but these guys go more than out of the way.

Right now, at this moment, Jack and Evan are sitting on the couch in our hotel room writing a song -- straight Billy Bragg/Wilco style. Not surprising, since all of today was spent talking about wilco, swimming while talking about wilco, and wathcing, well, wilco. Who were amazing tonight, 9/10 on my sliding Wilco scale. "Monday" and "Forget The Flowers!" Where did those come from?

"The Carters did it, that's why I wanted to do it." -- Matt

So much more, but I'm...under duress. I hope I have a bit more time to write. Here are some pictures.

A tale of dos casitas

2006-03-09T22:41:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since a long blog post. Much has happened. Bands have come and gone. Shows have been played. Relationships have changed. Houses have been broken into. And I have grown -- and shaved -- one weirdbeard.

But the time is right again. So, from Orlando, Florida: My Life's Craziest Road Trip has come to, well, at least a beginning.

I've spent the last three days drinking, playing games, and, occasionally working with my friends from FF, or, as our clients called us this week, "Happy Feet." And there's not much to say, other than: our fearless leader, W, went from saying that we had to respect the clients to wearing one of their thong panties after trading his boxers for them. We played a game heretofore known as "Pimps and Hos" that I won by, well, kissing 4 women in a row, 2 of whom were married.

Did I mention drinking?

When we were working, we were entertaining these people with a fake game show-type thing and building a tinkertoy racetrack. You had to be there. Or see the pics.

Today, we went to a Universal theme park, where I learned some words of wisdom.

I also rode the coolest rollercoaster ever, The Incredbile Hulk, which shoots you up into a loop. I rode it twice in a row. Then I rode it four more times, because it's empty here. Tomorrow: water park, if I ever wake up. Then I meet up with a band for a week of tour. Craziness? I hope so. I'll be here, always.

Oh: Gold Bond. Good thing, for days like today, with lots of the walking and the rubbing. It will make a return at Langerado, SXSW, and Coachella. All coming up, very, very soon.

Flizoridiza Bizitches!

2006-03-07T23:09:00.000-08:00

Day 1:

Feet first event = irrelevant to the "game" based on The Game in which things are going down that aren't going down at all. Just a little way to pass the time. Went on a rollercoaster at some amusement park and made a bunch of bank people think I was cool. Drank 5 beers and 3 shots, played Tekken, and turned down TV Guide.

I have a fun job.

Um, Prince?

2006-01-25T01:55:00.000-08:00

So Duds calls me at 5:30. Prince at the Roxy tonight.

Huh?

I've got plans with Mareka. But that's OK. 'Cause I'm gonna see prince. Fuck it.

I call Mareka. She agress that we gotta go to Prince -- after we see her band. Fine.

We see her band. We go to the Roxy. I think we're not gonna get in, but -- get this -- tickets are available at the door. $31.50.

Duh.

Turns out it's not a prince show, persay, but his protege, Tamar, with him on guitar. You know what? I don't give a fuck. Because even though the only prince album I own is his greatest-hits record, he's one of the top musicians and concert draws on the planet -- and there he is, dressed in purple, playing guitar for the baddest soul band...welll...anywhere. I mean, they were as tight as jeans on a model, tight as a taut rubber band, tight as britney spears on her wedding night (to Jason Alexander, not Federline.) And whoa can Tamar sing: she brought the house down with "When a Man Loves a Woman," OK!

But Prince: when I talk about guitarists, from now on, I'll compare him to Hendrix and Page and Santana. Wailing got a new name tonight, as did pomposity, but that's to be expected; Prince and the rest of tonight's group railed through the history of funk with a genuine energy that's rare and exhilarating. The covers of "Love Rollercoaster" and "Play that Funky Music" were icing on a delicious cake; I'd been won over an hour earlier when the sweet Diana Ross voice came out of Tamar's mouth. I stil feel the sweat on me.

See you at the Viper, Feb 9.

J

Saint Louie

2006-01-14T16:10:00.000-08:00

I'm in St. Louis for the last day, and it was a trip and a half. Last night I learned how to two-step and scared away a bunch of country-kids at Wild Country, where, at midnight, they have a Thong Contest. It's also 18 to get in.

Most of the contestants had black ink on their hands. I should have entered in the men's competition. I would have rocked the pretty-boys.

That was after my first (and hopefully not last) visit to The City Museum, the namesake for teh new band and one of the coolest places I've ever been to in my life. Here's how I explained it to A.R.:

First you're in a forest and then BAM it's a mirrored hall and then BAM you're crawling in an air-duct and then BAM you're at the shoolace factory and then BAM you're sliding down a slide and then BAM there's someone playing classical piano in an empty room. It's like a huge art installation/playground all in one. Totally amazing. Pix online at:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/68411270@N00/sets/

I'm ready to go home, back to the "real" world (which this week will involve attempting to stow away on the Dave Matthews cruise, drive cross-country with Steel Train, and getting free T-mobile phone and service.) Lots of shows, lots of people to see, lots of things to take care of.

For now, though: Karaoke.

J

Where is my iPod?

2006-01-12T17:24:00.000-08:00

This is the question I ask myself sitting in St. Louis musicless. It was a devastating discovery that I hope is short lived -- but for now, yes, I am pod-less. Hopefully it is in LA. If not, I may soon discover this new "iPod Video" I keep hearing all about.

Aw, fuck it. It was 3 years old anyways.

Colorado: Skiing, not much of it because we slept in, but I rocked the slopes if I do say so myself. It was EMPTY out there, maybe 100 people on the slopes, which didn't hurt. No bunny runs for me -- straight to green.

I rocked the Hump at Karaoke, and bailed before I could see whether it was a DOP. I think yes. So does Dave.

Kansas City Harrahs: How do I love you? You are 59 dollars a night, have a huge breakfast buffet, and gave me $150 of my fellow gambler's money. I've seen you before, and I very well may see you again.

St. Louis: Has a bread place owned by Panera and a mexican place owned by Chipotle. And fucking freezing brick buildings with basements straight out of "Blair Witch." I'm doing my laundry down there right now. Will stand in a corner later.

Tonight: Joe's, a renovated house that's now a word-of-mouth blues club. Tomorrow: City Museum and country line dancing. I love that my brother has discovered these places. It gives me hope.

J

That fucking roller coaster...

2006-01-09T00:25:00.000-08:00

One day past Vegas and this year's CES, and I still didn't ride that fucking roller coaster at NY NY. Seriously, it's a life mission at this point.

I did, however, watch a transsexual tie up a naked, beautiful woman at a party. So that happened. C'mon, it's porn-convention weekend too.

Spent a lot of time hanging out with S.S., an editor at a prominent men's magazine who got us invitations to the party that involved nudity and ropes and cuddling and a speeded-out host who wasn't nearly as open minded as he said he was and us falling asleep in the corner. Also met a rep for a cell-phone company who might hook me up with free shit. And we all know I like free shit.

David and I drove through Utah today. Listened to an album from a band called Band Of Horses, on sub pop, which is very cool -- reminds me of the best Shins stuff meeting the best Modest Mouse stuff. I've got to go back to it, but a definite reccommendation for those of you keeping track.

Also listened to old Tweedy for the first time in a while. "Gun" maybe one of the best songs he's ever written.

If you're ever in Utah at JD's Restaurant, ask for Ceeson. She has a boyfriend named Mike. He's 18. They like having sex in the snow.

Don't ask how I know that. I don't even want to know.

The Avenue, Wanting Revenge, and Not going on NY NY

2005-12-23T15:03:00.000-08:00

It's Vegas time, baby.

Saw Avenue Q last night -- broadway musical brought to Vegas, and part of the reason for the trip. Funny musings on being out of college and looking for a purpose, breakups, one night stands, and friendship. I thought it was great, but even better was the old couple behind us.

"This is like Sesame Street!"
"Honey, they don't talk about this stuff on Sesame Street. I don't think."

Nice. Lost some money playing poker at the Wynn. That's what I get for playing poker at the Wynn. Tonight will be at the Rio. I think I'll do better.

Saw She Wants Revenge with Rachel R. at the Troub earlier in the week. I talked to a TV producer who thinks they sound like Devo. Devo? More like a supremely watered-down Interpol. Cool frontman, though. Guess he used to be a white-boy rapper. Some people think this makes him a sellout. I think it makes him cool.

David's being a pussy. Which means yet another Vegas trip without going on the NY, NY rollercoaster. Fuck.

Have a happy hannuchristmakah if you're reading this. 2006 is gonna be a good one. I can feel it.

J

Sick

2005-12-12T09:31:00.000-08:00

Ugh. I couldn't feel more terrible.

I guess that's what it takes for me to not really enjoy the White Stripes, Coldplay, Death Cab, etc.

I'm going to curl up and die until the Dr. calls back. I hope I can go on meds today.

Yuck.

J

Coachella: The Movie

2005-12-07T16:44:00.000-08:00

Last night, Ben and I went to see the first screening of the new Coachella movie. Now, let it be said that as much as I love music -- and as much as I love festivals -- I often find live music DVDs, shows, etc, relatively dull. Some of them ("I am trying to break your heart" comes to mind) are great, but others (like the record of the Gram Parsons tribute show) make a night that often is trancendental look incendental.

So that's what's so great about the Coachella movie: it's not like that. At all.

The colors are super-vibrant. The vibe comes through. And the "importance" is there as well.

Yeah, it's a bit long; I could have done without the Kool Keith segment, even though it added to the range of music, and there are a couple of others (um, Oasis?) that fall into that this-is-boring-on-screen-category.

BUT, as a longtime attendee, the coolest thing is seeing performances you missed -- like FIscherspooner, who look incredible, or Saul Williams, who stirred the pot. There's a great segment with both Williams and Noel Gallagher talking about politics in music (guess who doesn't like it?) THe lips are edited together to make it look like Wayne rolled the bubble DURING yoshimi (instead of at the beginning of what ended up being a sliced set), and it looks amazing.

I learned that I never want to camp at Coachella, thanks to heat and wind, though it does suggest that everyone that's camping is a hot, hot hippie girl. I learned that I should make my way to the dance tent more often: that place pulses.

I feel like people who dont "get" festivals should see this movie: it doesn't slight the bad (and those huge audience shots give the impression that, yes, it's shoulder-to-shoulder people, and that sucks sometimes) but it give the impression of the magic of a great performance, too. When the Arcade Fire come on, the energy is palpable; I talked with Goldenvoice's Paul Tollett about it after the screening, and he told me they almost didn't play.

That's where it's at, though: the career-making performance that nearly didn't happen. That's good viewing, and it totally, totally works.

A+.

Holla we want prenup!

2005-12-04T08:52:00.000-08:00

WE WANT PRENUP YEAH!

When I got the e-mail from J. at HOB on Friday that I had two tix waiting for me for Kanye West, I was pretty fired up. Unlike most hip-hop performers (and, really, Kanye IS unlike most hip hop performers anyways) he's a great live act; when I saw him at the HOB two years ago I was floored by his presence. But that was when Kanye West wasn't yet Kanye West, the best producer, rapper, and -dare I say - musician on the planet, before he worked with Jon Brion and Adam Levine and before, even "Through the Wire."

So I was excited for the show. You know.

Court picked me up and we raced in, got there JUST in time, before "New Workout Plan." And as I rapped and sang along with the black industry dude next to me and the white superfan in front of me, what kept dawning on me were just how many fucking GREAT songs Kanye West has managed to release in just two short years. I mean, here they go, from the top of my head: "New Workout Plan," that album opener (featuring Adam LEvine, BORN for hip-hop-harmony), "Golddigger" with Jaime Foxx gloating and acting like Ray Charles (a little weird, but, hey, he can do anything at this point, right kids?) the song with patty lebelle, the two songs with common, I'm missing, you know, "Through the Wire" (just teased, which is fine), "Diamands from Sierra Leone," and a ton more.

You know, virtually every song was a great one. I wish I'd been able to see his band -- they were hidden behind opaque screens, but you could see Miri-Ben-Ari getting down, and she looked great -- but that's my only criticism. No "he can't control a crowd' or "he resorts to tired hip-hop fundamentals" or, even, "it sounds dull after and hour, and 90 minutes is pushing it." His braggadacio, even, doesn't bother me; when he says "This is the best show you've ever seen in your life," it's definitively NOT (not even the best of the year *echem* Green Day *echem*) but, for this music critic, it'll be the best of the month. And December's a solid month.

Can he maintain? A year ago, I thought he was crazy to release another album so soon. Now, I'm not so sure. Hey's Kanye. He can do whatever he wants.

Super Sleepy Animals

2005-11-30T14:01:00.000-08:00

Not the band: me, at the show, upstairs, sleeping.

The band was great -- very psychedelic, great light show, swapping between guitar-heavy blasts and synth licks, some feigned harmonies and tricked out licks. And they write damn good songs, too: songs that stick as they're sung, swirling and licking and hitting. Hard.

But it wasn't enough to fight off the staves of sleep, so that was me: sitting in between Roxanne and Rachel R., asleep.

Opener Caribou? Roxanne's client, and also fantastic -- post rock squalls and walls of keys, mostly, again with the psychededlic cartoon videos and nonsensical xylophone fills. Didn't sleep through them.

Then: Music Biz cornocopia, across the street for the Subways and Steve Aioki's birthday. I need to meet this Steve Aioli.

I also found out that one of my comrades in rock-arms is no longer with her job. Instead, she joins the peace corps. To actually make some difference in the world.

She's nobler than I.

The Subways are the Last Big Thing

2005-11-29T12:07:00.000-08:00

So last night was the first Spaceland evening in a while -- dressed in my new orange kicks, my Greg Storms jacket, and the Oceanic shirt to fit in, since I was seeing the O.C.'s favorite next-big-thing, The Subways.

Steve K. lives stumbling/rolling/walking distance from the club now, in one of those dope silverlake pads with a picture window. Glad to know someone in the hood for sure. Had a beer, went to the club.

In the corner: Greg S., who used to play with beck, and his A&R rep girlfriend. Todd N. and Rick G. sittin' up front. Music bizzers.

But lots of "indie" fans as well. And, like the band, they're mostly style, little substance. I mean, I get off on watching an enthusiastic, cute blonde bassist as much as anyone, but the sound is just raw raunchy rock. Nothing overwhelming. And "Rock and Roll Queen," while the best song the Vines never recorded, ain't gonna break down any barriers.

I guess that's not the point. The point is to sing along.

Caught up with Bronson on the way out, who felt the same as me. And he's got good taste. So I'm comfortable I'm not just being naive.

But someone thinks they're the Next Big Thing. And more power to them.

Sneaking into the Symphony

2005-11-27T10:43:00.000-08:00

...is what B. and I did last night. But we couldn't sneak into Fiona. Hmmm.

Chalk one up for us, though.

From Double to quintuple

2005-11-19T11:13:00.000-08:00

For some reason, I felt like I was on really great drugs all night last night. And until the end of the evening, there was nothing to support this theory. No girl, no dance-off, no weed, no extacy, no nothing.

Great music though.

First stop: the Australian Pink Floyd show. There's something strange about a bunch of men in their 40s recreating note-for-note the music that someone else wrote. But there's something almost noble about a band recreating a real pink floyd show, down to the lazer lights and the inflatable animals, and sounding JUST LIKE FLOYD. I mean, close your eyes (hell, keep 'em open: the lights are fantastic and no one remembers what any of those guys look like) and you're at a floyd show in 77, except that concert security sucks nowadays and the hippie in front of you is 50 and fat instead of 25 and topless. But, whoa! I've seen a ton of great sing-alongs, but I don't think anything has ever beaten the one-two-three knockout punch of "Wish You Were Here"/"Another Brick in the Wall (pt II)"/"Comfortably Numb." So great that I was happy to stay, thinking I'd miss part of...

Stop two: The el rey, where Old 97s went on an hour late and propelled through "Barrier Reef" (with the oh-so-clever chorus "what's so great/about the barrier reef/what's so fine about art") and "The New Kid" (who's "got my girl/the girl I used to have...") Yeah, hearing "Rollerskate Skinny" was kind of hard for the part of me that's letting go, but, hey, I believe in Love. And it once believed in me. Plus, Rachel Bilson from "the O.C." was there. I tried to dance with her. No luck. I may have tried harder, but, hey, look outside: there's Steve!

Stop three: Disney Concert Hall, for what was billed (to me) as the industry party of the week. Er. James Lavelle playing to me, Keir, Celeste, and a bunch of people who looked like interns at Interscope? not that I'm a player, but I at least expected to see Bronson there. Cool: A DJ set in the Disney hall. Not cool? $6.00 beers. No wonder no one was there: even power-players appreciate an open bar.

Well, the bar shut down at 1. Which meant one thing:

Stop 4: St. Nicks. The hotness was not at the level promised by Jenn S., but that's OK: I nursed a beer, barged in on Kevin's game for a bit, watched two kids get kicked out, and thought about grilled cheese. But ended up at

Stop five: Swingers, where I swing-danced with a girl who could have cared less, played "Range Life" on the Jukebox, and ate the most unhealthy thing possible.

It felt good. And was a reminder: No one (no one!) has more fun than us.

Double Duty

2005-11-18T02:19:00.000-08:00

Rachel R. is such a sport when it comes to double-duty. She wanted to go to Spoon. I wanted to go to Apollo Sunshine. Both. Good night.

With sum bummer moments. Like not finding tix outside Spoon and paying full price for the first time in a LONG time. Like Britt Daniels making Rachel feel a bit lonely. Like missing Apollo Sunshine.

But every bummer has some sunshine. Limbeck played after Apollo at the Echo and they were awesome, the best parts of Drive-By Truckers meets the best parts of Lucero and the Jayhawks -- so, basically, they sound like AM-era Wilco. Rachel hit it off with a member of AS and is talking about going to AZ to see them on Monday. And I...

...hmm. Pulled double-duty. Always a good thing.

Freelancing is dating with words instead of kisses

2005-11-12T09:45:00.000-08:00

The definition of success for a freelance writer is different than most fields. As far as I can figure, it’s basically this: you need to be in demand. Like dating, you can’t appear too desperate, or you’ll scare your potential client off; but you need to be persistent. You need to let them know you’ll be around when they need you, but give them space to start missing you.

In other words, there’s a reason I’ve been both good and bad at it.

So, after a great day of teaching 5th grade (which I will get to in due time, hopefully with some audio files to soothe your soul), I was supposed to have a meeting with A.S., an editor at a magazine that I’ve been wanting to write for since I was a wee lad (or at least since I knew what rock stars looked like.) He and I had spoken on the phone, he told me to come in Friday afternoon, I’d called back and left a message that I’d be there at 3:30. Great.

On the train in, I envisioned being led around the office and introduced to each editor. I’ve done this before and it backfired. Like walking into a room full of women and losing my voice (which has also happened before), my mind just went numb. So this time, I prepared:

“This is the editor of the new bands section,” AS would say. And I’d reply: “Why haven’t you covered ALO or Giant Drag?”

“This is the editor of the feature well.” “I’m surprised you haven’t done a story on rock-cruises.”

Of course, they’d admire my moxy. And I’d get a story.

But here’s the thing: AS wasn’t there when I called.

There’s nothing sadder than a freelancer being told to leave an office in Manhattan. Unlike, say, being fired from your financial job after being caught stealing from the coffer, you’ve failed before you’ve succeeded. Coupled with the editors at another major publication not calling me back all week – well, I was more than a little bummed. In fact, with no work coming up this month and looking ahead to winter holidays, I was starting to think that maybe this trip was a reminder to me that I’ve been living the charmed life way too long.

I sat down, called mom, she tried to help, just made me mad. And then: Rachel R., who is often my voice of reason.

She gave me a new number to try, a friend of a writer friend at the magazine. And when I called, he answered the phone.

And I told him one of the saddest things I’ve ever told anyone: I had an appointment, and AS wasn’t there.

Now, I know reading this this is not paramount to: Your dog is dead. Or: this isn’t working out. But when you’re a freelancer and you tell this to an editor, you get one of two responses: sympathy, or your funeral at the mag.

Thankfully, this time, I got the former.

And I went into the bigshot’s office. And he came out in the uniform I’d wear to spaceland – ratty hoodie, ratty jeans, ratty sneakers. And I’m dressed sharp. And I think: he’s just a guy. He’s no bigshot. I can do this.

He looks at my book. We talk. He’s nice. And responsive.

Awesome.

I walk out on a high that’s the exact opposite of the low I felt before. And I call the other office, the one full of the people that have been blowing me off all week.

They answer this time. And I say: “Hi. I’m still in town. I wanted to stop by before I leave. I’m at (insert name of mag) office now.”

And they sound impressed. And they invite me over. And I meet with them. And I tell them I’m a fan. And they grill me about what they do. And they tell me that, maybe next year, I will be able to do it.

And I’m happy. Because, like dating, it takes a string of rejections – even from the same person – for a little success. But when that success comes, it overpowers those rejections, and you don’t care that you were blown off and left for dead before. Because now, they know what your face looks like.

In a couple months, I may have a byline in one of these magazines. Or maybe not. But I’m patting myself on the back right now.

Because: I tried.

And the trip was worthwhile.

NYC, BSS, and the perils of freelancing

2005-11-08T14:42:00.000-08:00

So I post from a Starbucks at Broadway and 81st, wondering what I'm doing back in NYC less than two months after the last time I was here, when I had a "reason" (CMJ) and a rhyme. OK, no rhyme.

Oh yeah: I'm here because I'm not working at all this month. And that's a bit frightening. It's like my fear of everyone realizing I'm a hack has come true and bit me in the ass. So I need to pick up some work, stat.

Yeah, it's the end of the fiscal year, so everyone's out of money, and, yes, I saved a lot of money this year for this very reason, 'cause the same thing happened last year, and, yes, I still have incoming checks from Maxim/Giant/LA.com to get me through the month without dipping into that savings account too much.

But still. The perils of freelancing.

And, of course, I only have one meeting scheduled. So if anyone knows any editors, by all means, let me know.

Last night: Broken Social Scene at the Henry Fonda. God, I'm so attracted/repulsed by indie rock girls. The whole anglular silverlake smoking thing is so hot from a distance and can be so despicable when you actually talk to those people. But some of them have good taste in music. Like Jamie's friend Jen, who couldn't have been more pretentious. She's "Over" death cab 'cause they're in commercials. Please. I really hope she has a secret Abba fetish or something.

But...still drawn in, once in a while. And the whole aesthetic there was so hip it almost made me hate the band, and almost made me love the band. In reality, the music's pretty fucking great -- way greater, in fact, then I remember it being at Coachella or ACL or when I saw them at Stubbs in Austin. Very danceable indie without being like Franz, with some noise-jams and a slightly jock-looking guitarist who can really play. And a horn section.

Gotta love the horn section.

Jamie K. took me to the show, which was nice 'cause I haven't seen her in like 6 months and haven't hung out with her in like a year-and-a-half. She's still half-with her ex so we talked about that a lot at dinner.

Shocking, really. Not like anyone else I know in LA. At all.

Shout about Lame Packaging

2005-11-03T16:18:00.000-08:00

One of the things I'm most proud of doing this year is working on Shout About Music!, the Hasbro DVD game that's in stores now. But when they put out a box like this, you know, it's hard to believe you're destined for anything but falilure.

2005-11-01T13:23:00.001-08:00

Trey and Les. They look like they're having fun.

2005-11-01T13:23:00.000-08:00

"This Steel Train....is gonna ride on 'til the end!"

2005-11-01T13:22:00.001-08:00

Yes, I work for ClearChannel. And I will steal your soul!

2005-11-01T13:22:00.000-08:00

Note the beautiful finger in this shot

2005-11-01T13:21:00.001-08:00

moe. in a stadium?? Crazy, man, crazy!

2005-11-01T13:21:00.000-08:00

"Elvis Was Involved."

2005-11-01T13:20:00.000-08:00

I think her name was...Tracy

2005-11-01T13:19:00.000-08:00

Vegoose Photos!

The Goose is loose!

2005-11-01T12:10:00.000-08:00

This past weekend was the first Vegoose festival in Las Vegas. Some highlights:

Beans w/Holy Fuck: A rapper who used to be in the anti-pop consortium, getting down with two electro knob tweakers, a bassist, and a drummer. Totally impressive.

Beck: A fantastic performance from a fantastic performer. It's always great to see the dude, but when he busts out the large-scale ghettoblaster and gets down with some dance moves, well, that's the way to rck it.

Trey Anastasio: Trey's new band sounds great, almost surprising since his second guitarist is way more Jared-Youngesque than jamband rocking. Still, his late night set was nearly phoned-in, at least until First Tube, which I got to bust the first tube dance moves to. Yeah baby!

Onyx: Covers have never sounded better than out of this band, who played the brew-pub at Monte Carlo on Sunday night. Wait. Covers have never sounded WORSE!

Moe. late night: A reminder of why I love this band. THey dressed in costumes -- first set good, second set evil. Darth Vader sang "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap.)" Fantastic. I didn't think I'd be into it at all, but moe. reminded me of what's so great about a band that jams -- you don't know what's coming next.

The Flaming Lips: I have now been onstage with them twice. This time there were 30, 000 people in front of me. Holy Fuck, indeed. I've never experienced anything so close to my teen dream of rockin'. As far as the eye can see putting their hands in the air and waving them like they just didn't care? Whoa.

Vegas: Gotta give it up for Vegas. Though the debauchery wasn't as intense as, say, my January trip there (no nudity at all this time), I did get married. Yes, it was fake, and one of the strangest experiences of my life (to say 'I will' to a woman you've never met and never will see again? Um, yeah, totally strange.) But elvis was involved, so that was cool.

10/26/05: I live a bizzare life

2005-10-26T01:26:00.000-07:00

So here's a tidbit from my life:

Today, I was planning on going to moe. in Anaheim. Santa Barbara I slept through their set as Xingolati and waking up to write for four days in a row (plus 4 shows and 2 parties in 2 days) all caught up to me. So, Anaheim.

Then I get a call that there's a ticket for me from meg (thanks meg) for the Johnny Cash show, which I heard had Foo Fighters, U2, Dave Matthews, and many more.

I bail on moe. ("Dude, I'd bail too, don't sweat it" -- Kevin. Thanks, Kevin.)

I go to the show. I wait in line, wait for meg after the line goes in, fuckers aren't even going to let me in, Phil Gallo shows up, bam! extra tickets, cut the line, go in great seats.

Then (and here's where it gets weird) I see Topher Grace. Topher you may know from That 70s show or Traffic. But his best friend in high school was my college roommate, Dave (who, for the record, also went on "Trip" with Alex and I).

So: Topher. I say hi.

Now, think about where we're at. I'm at a tv taping of a show that's airing nationwide with some of the biggest artists in the world talking to a movie star who lived with my college roommate. I'm there for free, and I'm there because I ditched another great show -- that I also would have gone to for...wait for it...free.

Oh, by the way: Foo Fighters pre-taped their song, and sucked. They didn't show the U2 song, Dave Matthews didn't play, and Jerry Lee Lewis was cut off.

I should have gone to moe.

Jeff

ps: Thanks to all the Xingolati partiers who've e-mailed me about the blog. I really appreciate you reading. See you all in Vegas!

2005-10-18T14:39:00.001-07:00

This is Arah. I thought she looked funny.

2005-10-18T14:39:00.000-07:00

"G Love, I'm all in"

2005-10-18T14:38:00.000-07:00

On the left: Publicist. To her right: The Filter kids, Trevor Kelly from Alt. Press, and me. Getting drunk. Shockingly, this is a part of all of our jobs

2005-10-18T14:36:00.000-07:00

Jenn and Lily sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.

2005-10-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

"There were 25 people in the hot tub yesterday, some of them naked, none of them me, and every time I walked by they�d scream hello."

2005-10-18T14:25:00.001-07:00

Glad alex made it after all

2005-10-18T14:25:00.000-07:00

"There�s a hairy guy on the boat wearing a rug and spikes on his head. I mean, 70�s southern rock hairy. Lynyrd Skynyrd hairy. Devandra Barnhardt hairy. Ryan Adams hairy."

2005-10-18T14:23:00.000-07:00

Not in the blog. But the best picture of the trip. Notice the guy sleeping in his towel on the floor -- couldn't find a seat?"

2005-10-18T14:22:00.001-07:00

"Tatooed people are simulating group sex."

2005-10-18T14:22:00.000-07:00

"I gotta head up to the pool!"

2005-10-18T14:21:00.000-07:00

"Major Smiling. Water. Find Hippie girl with light. Point. Smile."

2005-10-18T14:19:00.000-07:00

"Bohemian Rhapsody!"

2005-10-18T14:18:00.000-07:00

"I�m backstage with a group of brits in furry rabbit costumes, a woman wearing a goldfish mask, a panda bear, a sheep, and two Jesus�s (Jesi?)."

2005-10-18T14:17:00.001-07:00

"There was a guy making T-Shirts"

2005-10-18T14:17:00.000-07:00

"Met Wayne. Still a Personal Hero"

2005-10-18T14:16:00.000-07:00

"Won a shirt. Children's small. Fits Well."

2005-10-18T14:15:00.000-07:00

"My pimp gear is officially off the hizzle"

Holy Xingolati!

2005-10-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

It's a day after the Xingolati cruise and I know I'm still not looking at it properly. While I was there I wrote three blog entries -- posted below in order (Friday, Saturday, Sunday.) What an incredible trip. Photos to follow.

Please e-mail me if you are reading this blog -- just to let me know if people are still spotting it. Jeffmillerla at gmail.com.

J
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Yosemite People: Xingolati, Day 1, 10/14/05

It’s something of a surreal experience to be on the deck of a cruise ship watching a band of percussionists, fire-dancers, and hula hoopers play to a crowd as freaky as them.

Let’s back up. I’m on a boat with 15 bands and 1000 of the most insane people I’ve ever seen. I mean, Jenn and I are among the “normals” here, and we’re fucking weird.

Last night was “Formal” night. My pimp-gear is officially off the hizzle.

There’s a hairy guy on the boat wearing a rug and spikes on his head. I mean, 70’s southern rock hairy. Lynyrd Skynyrd hairy. Devandra Barnhardt hairy. Ryan Adams hairy.

Chewbacca hairy.

He has laminates from all the other jam cruises. What the fuck does this guy do for work?

The tattoos are amazing. I saw a Vaudville collective with sword swallowers and topless women playing 40’s pop songs.

That’s the kind of weekend this is shaping up to be.

The music is almost irrelevant.

I don’t even know where to start. Howbout the naked, completely bald woman in the hot tub – before we left port? Beers in line with the guy who runs the Burning Man singles website? Fucking running into a guy I played poker with in Reno BEFORE WE GOT TO THE DOCK?

Dude threw up all over our bathroom.

“In his defense, it was mainly in the sink,” says Jenn. “Then I made him go to the toilet.”

Won a shirt. Children’s small. Fits well.

Almost got in two fistfights seeing a band called Slightly Stoopid, one over jealousy and one because a dude was such a big fan of the band he didn’t want anyone else in his personal space.

Particle played “California Love” with G-Love on Harmonica.

Willie Waldman is everywhere.

Did I mention I watched a guy swallow a fluorescent tube?

K-23 Orchestra=sickness.

Um, let’s see.

This is what life were like if it were co-directed by Tim Burton, David Lynch and Wes Anderson. I may need some time to put it in perspective.

Good thing my Rolling Stone deadline is Monday.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10 15 05: Animal Pass?: Xingolati, Day 2

Again: where to start is a major debate. Woke up this morning to a ship full of very groggy, very confused people, many of whom have dreadlocks. “It feels like everyone on this ship had a one-night stand with everyone else, and this is the awkward day you have to spend together afterwards” said Jenn, and she was right. If that’s true, I have a feeling that when I leave my room today it’ll feel even worse – maybe like forgetting your one-night stand’s name on a larger scale.

I was supposed to check in at the main ballroom at one to interview Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips, who’s a personal hero. I checked in. I interviewed Wayne, still a personal hero.

I told him I wanted to wear a costume. He told me who to talk to.

I went into mexico. I ate fish tacos. I bought some rum. G-Love was there. He doesn’t remember me.

Then: Jenn and I went to the pool. We met a guy there who is an artist; his work is incredible. He sits with you, interviews you for 15 minutes, and then distills your life into a phrase that he writes on a T-shirt for you. He has a photographer with him, and they are putting out a book.

Mine says: “Thurston Moore in Training.” Jenn’s? “The Guest List is the Best List.”

Nice.

Then: blur. But, somehow, at 10:30pm, I’m backstage with a group of brits in furry rabbit costumes, a woman wearing a goldfish mask, a panda bear, a sheep, and two Jesus’s (Jesi?). We’re about to go onstage with one of my favorite rock bands. We’re told to stay within the white lines. We sense anticipation.

“Fight Test.” Blur. Sweat. Adulation. “Bohemian Rhapsody!” Rocking. More sweat. Water. Unzip. Photos. Forrestt in the front row. Find Jenn with the spotlight. Get a disapproving smile from Entertainment Weekly writer. Almost pass out. “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots pt. 1” Major smiling. Water. Find hippie girl with light. Point. Smile. Try to lead the hustle. Fail. Sweat. Sweat. Sweat. Look to my left. Two couples have proposed. Women are making out. The girl to my right asks if she can propose to me next. Yes. “A Spoonful Weighs a Ton.” Shit. It’s done already? Soaked. Sweat. Rile the crowd up. Sweat. Swimming in it. “War Pigs.” The freaks are singing to Black Sabbath. Smile. Smile Smile. Done.

Well, not yet. ‘Cause I gotta head up to the pool deck after a shower (lots of sweat in there) to see what the organizer called “What you’re going to be talking about when you get home.”

See Jenn. Drunk. See puke dude. Drunk. See Jeff and Jane. Drunk, high. See hippie girl. Hug. Name’s Amanda. Drunk. Me: sober. Loving it. Drink.

Music starts. People writhe. Woman sings, lovely but incoherent.

Mayhem. Tattooed people are simulating group sex. A trapeze artist hangs. Women are topless. A woman is wheeled out on a pedestal, naked, and gets painted. She is a life sized statue. No, a life sized fountain! The devil comes out. More women dance. More groups writhe. Is this simulated? What are these people ranting about. Still sober, but it doesn’t feel like it. The music moves. The people move. They are dancing, we are dancing, they are writhing, I am not a part of it because I’m a ‘normal’ and never before have a felt like this much of an outkast and still a part of it before because I’m dancing again and there’s Jenn and she’s shocked because she saw ‘the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen’ where’d hippie girl go? Oh well, I dance dance dance then….

Olospo plays the super Mario brothers theme song. 3:00 am.

Jenn is asleep and I am eating a cheeseburger on the Lido deck. I see Mike, the near-fistfight from last night. I apologize. “She does crazy things when she’s drunk,” he says. “And she’s always drunk.”

I apologize.

I eat the cheeseburger.

I wonder if today can even compare. I wonder if the rest of my life can even compare.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10/17/05 Xingolati Day 3: “Suddenly, Everything Has Changed.”

I wish there was a way to bottle the feeling on this ship and sell it as a drug. It would be safe and legal extacy, minus the bizarre twitching feeling that comes about an hour-and-a-half in. There were 25 people in the hot tub yesterday, some of them naked, none of them me, and every time I walked by they’d scream hello. Everyone talked to everyone. Lots of knowing looks – I saw you there, I danced with you here, was that you?

But there’s more. Event-wise, today was a hit-and miss. Hit: taking G. Love out playing poker. “G Love – I’m all in.” Miss: Missing the Zaireeka “listening party” with Wayne introducing song after song after song from the four-disk opus – probably the most “special” on boat event -- in order to have dinner with G.Love. But we did. And he ordered us Dom. And got in a fight with his girlfriend. It was very romantic. The kids from Filter are still giving me shit about it, and probably will as long as I know them (and I think we’ll know them a while, I think they’re our peeps.) “It was a lifechanging expeience,” one said. “Did G. Love play you a harmonica solo?”

He’s joking, of course. That’s the thing about this – not only are the artist journalist barriers broken down but the artist-fan relationship has changed to something approaching intimacy. That’s kind of a problem for a band like the Lips – how much larger than life can they seem when Wayne is eating eggs next to you at breakfast – but it also is so “special” to know that that’s an experience that you share with a very select group of people. I talked to Neal, one of the organizers; he said they tried to weed out just the people that “got it.” “It” being: inclusive exclusivity. Let’s put it this way – there’s a VIP room that I never saw being used – until last night, when it was commandeered so that a paying customer could lead a group sing-along of “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me And My Monkey.”

I’ve got to remember this feeling because it’s so important to not let go of. When I’m at home, alone, working on a shit story, I’ve got to remember that there’s a whole group of people out there willing to open up to the idea of a traveling community (yeah, I said it, it’ shippie-dippy) that’s essentially a utopia. A lot of people here were comparing it to burning man. If this is what burning man is like, sign me up.

There’s a downside, too: we heard a rumor this morning that two of our fellow sailors had OD’d. That’s just fucked. As Jenn said – “There’s a whole side to this cruise that you and I didn’t see.” And for every, happy candyflipped couple, there’s something they’re running into or away from. Last night I talked to a girl very, very late. She was dressed like an Indian princess – pearls, scarves, face makeup. Beautiful.

I asked where she had to go back to tomorrow. Immedately her mood went from joyus and celebratory to pale and depressed. “I don’t want to talk about tomorrow,” she said, and that was the end of the conversation.

The truth is, I’m always thinking about tomorrow. But now, three days in, waiting for the coast guard to give us the all-clear so I can give Jenn a ride back to her office, re-charge my batteries, and DJ a party for Nederlander Concerts, I also have to remember that yesterday and today are equally important. I’m going to try to live today like it was on the boat: when I want to get up and take a walk, I will.

Wish me luck.

Last night...

2005-10-11T11:44:00.000-07:00

...while walking from the Roxy's Tracy Chapman show to Metal Skool at the Key Club, I walked by the Rainbow Room. It smelled like marijuana. I looked over and saw B-Real from Cypress Hill entertaining a table with the biggest joint ever.

Aah, Sunset Strip.

Tonight, I was an American Idiot

2005-10-10T01:39:00.000-07:00

Whoa.

I mean, whoa.

Who thought Green Day would ever be the biggest band in the world, let alone the best? Yet tonight at Home Depot center, there was no doubt that they were both. Ask the 8-year-olds waiting in line to buy their ties. Or the fifty-something couple digging the cover of "Stand By Me" (yes, the punk rockers sang along.) Ask the workers who texed the big-screen before the show. Ask Jimmy Eat World, destined for at least arena-stardom after proving their ground here. Or, well, ask us: me, Jenn, and Samantha, all three of us competely struck for their entire two-hour sweaty marathon of singalongs and clap alongs and songs our children (and their children) will, and should know.

Spectacle? Yes. But not in a gaudy, KISS way, though there was plenty of fire, or an ironic Weezer stadium tour, though there was a drum riser. Billy Joe just has this way of running all over the stage and leading huge crowd cheers of "oi. Oi. oi. Oi!" with genuine enthusiasm, reminding the audience that, yes, he loves his job; he's no rock-star wannabe or pretentious indie asshole. He loves playing to 40,000 people, and they all adore him, they are hitting the balconys to prove it and screaming through the 9-10-11 minute songs, they are onstage with squirt guns and playing in Billy's band and learning Op Iv songs and being called out for being a 19-year old virgin (hey! I was once a 19-year old virgin!). And he's the best Feet First employee rock star Feet First never had; I could learn some tricks from this guy, running across the football-field-sized stage but still seeming, somehow, like the guy playing the toilet bar at Molly Malones on a tuesday.

Did this make sense? No. The setlist is inconsequential: a bunch of songs from 'American Idiot,' surely our generation's 'Who's Next' if not it's 'Revolver,' and it could be that; the Op Iv cover, 'Shout' and 'Stand By Me,' Longview, Basketcase, She, Minority, Time Of Your Life, Maria, JAR, whoa.
Whoa.

You know what? Read Ben's review. It's really good. http://blogs.ocregister.com/poplife/archives/2005/10/punk_of_epic_pr.html#more

All I have to add is that I leaned over to Jenn and whispered: "I know we've got Wilco and Pearl Jam. But, objectively, I have to ask -- Is Green Day the best band in the world?"

That was two songs in. Now, I don't even need to ask.

I know.

Rally, Rally, Rally

2005-10-08T02:50:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-07T09:50:00.000-07:00

Jefe Rockin at SXSW

Back From The Dead

2005-10-07T09:34:00.000-07:00

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