Check out my cool new heading!!!
Big ups to Jess Alexander, once again, for her design work! Kzoo bands and artists, drop her a line at aisforalexander@gmail.com for any of your design and photography needs.
Much love!
-thejunkie
Monday, November 16, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Guilty Pleasures: Savage Garden, et al
You might be wondering how I updated my blog last time with "a lack of internet access." Conundrum! I really did just move, though, and I don't have internet at my house, but I have been online for a few moments here and there: at school, at the occasional coffee shop (yes, I'm that kid, sitting by myself with a too-sweet soy vanilla latte, updating my blog), etc, etc, etc.
So, anyway. As you may have suspected, Music and I are kind of on the outs right now, in desperate need of a reconciliation. I haven't been to a show in waaaaay too long, and unfortunately my life is such right now that I haven't had a whole lot of time to just chill with a new album and really explore it (though I have been hearing some good new stuff lately).
Anyway.
Let's just go old-school and talk about some stuff I already know.
While the "blogging" medium is semi-anonymous, I feel indebted to you guys for even reading this at all, and thus you are entitled to my deepest and darkest (music-related) secrets. So, while this may incite many well-deserved harshings from those of you who enjoy taking advantage of said anonymity, we're going to discuss the skeletons in the closets, the elephants in every room with every music nerd: the musical "guilty pleasures."
We all have them. And while "guilt" is relative-- while one person's go-to namedrop is another's closet fave, saved for alone-time, never to be mentioned among friend circles of self-proclaimed audiophiles-- there is always that small voice you hear inside, while you're jamming out to, oh, let's say, the Bee Gees, screaming "This is bullshit! You know better than this!" And you certainly do. I know I do. But still, the human heart wants what it wants, and our lives are spent at its mercy; why shouldn't this principle extend itself to our music?
Before this starts to sound too much like a research paper, I'll get started with the band who inspired this article: Savage Garden.
I mentioned awhile back that I spent some time in Australia, which is where I discovered (among many things) Savage Garden. Let me explain. While I, too, failed to escape the ubiquity of singles like "Crash and Burn" in the 90s, I was kind of too young to understand the concept of music as anything but what was on the radio. So I didn't realize that, like so many other bands, behind the single is a band, a real BAND, with real music that doesn't sound like it was built from a kit from Hobby Lobby of preassembled pieces to create the perfect radio work of "art;" just add soulless vocals and there you go! Fame, notoriety and spotlight on a VH1 clip show not included. But, I digress, as always. So anyway, my first couple months in Australia were spent largely in solitude; I'm not saying the people weren't nice; they were; one of the very few true "Australian" stereotypes is that they are extremely hospitable, accomodating and generally easy to get along with. I, on the other hand, am a shy, awkward, introverted bookworm who simply can't be worked with sometimes in a social setting (though I like to think I've gotten a lot better since I was 17). My high school in Australia hooked me up with a "buddy" in hopes of helping me make friends and get oriented with the school. I don't remember her name. I think it started with an A. Needless to say, we didn't really get along. But, I did end up making friends, eventually, on my own terms; that's how I like to roll. In my Australian History class, there was a girl named Yolli. Yolli was kind of the "Janis Ian" of Heathfield High School, if you're down with a "Mean Girls" reference. I remember that our first conversation was about politics; the intersections between US, Australian, and British governments (bear in mind this was in the thick of the reign of Bush II and it was a somewhat interesting time in global politics). My first inclination was to be a little bit afraid of Yolli; she had dyed black and red hair, was as outspoken as any high school girl I've ever met, and was obsessed with punk/ alt rock, especially AFI. Just as you begin to wonder where this is going: she LOVED Savage Garden.
Unlike how I am with my guilty pleasures, Yolli had the proverbial balls to be really "out" about her love for Savage Garden. She was from Sydney originally-- one of those tortured, big-city-raised arty types who, by some tragic twist of fate, end up in gorgeous but tragically-isolated and culturally-void rural places like the Adelaide Hills-- and had seen Savage Garden play in Sydney several times (Sydney is kind of the only place in Australia to have good concerts). While it is very Australian to love all things Australian (Savage Garden are Aussies, btw) I was just stricken by this mouthy, hyperintelligent hardxcore girl, with crazy hair, tattoos, and long sleeves to cover her self-mutilated arms, LOVING shamelessly-poppy Savage Garden. So, Yolli is my shining example of why it's ok to like things it might seem "weird" for us to like, even though we don't always talk about them.
So, enough of my weird life, let's talk about the music. Savage Garden! One thing you might not know about Savage Garden: they have way more music than "Crash and Burn" and that one song with a refrain that sounded an awful lot like "chicka cherry cola" (FYI: the song is called "I Want You;" unless you spent 1997 in a coma, you probably remember it. And the real lyric is "...like a drink of cherry cola.") and other "what the fuck did they just say?" lyrics. So, I'm officially on the record: I love this band. Good music if you're in the mood for late 90s pop (who isn't sometimes?), and awesome lyrics, when you can interpret them. True: it's not the "deepest" stuff out there, but it is truly quality stuff; and, they too definitely have their more brooding/ sad moments, if you're into that (and I know you are); "Two Beds and a Coffee Machine" (from their second album, "Affirmation") just might be the most unreasonably sad song of all time. And we do all love sad music. Secretly, of course.
So, let's make a pact. We all want to change the world, right? Let's just start being honest with each other about what music we like. In an effort to "be the change," I'll start:
-I really like vintage country. I found Charlie Daniels Band's "Fire On the Mountain" on vinyl about a week ago and I'm STILL stoked about it. While I get some awkward vibes cast in my general direction when I put it on when people are over, it is SO WORTH IT. The liner notes also provide the message on my epitaph, should I die (though who knows what science will come up with in the future): "Hung over, red-eyed, dog tired, satisfied. It's a long road and a little wheel and it takes a lot of turns to get you there. Thank you damn it." Though I hesitate to say "I like country," not out of shame but out of straight-up honesty, the old, old-school, backwoods bathtub-moonshine country is THE SHIT, I don't care who you are. Old school country, roots, bluegrass, Americana, folk: love that shit. Not sure if it's my lineage (Kentucky-hills Cherokee via Detroit, of course) or sheer "taste," but I love it. This album is golden no matter what you like. Country genre: "Long-Haired Country Boy;" "Orange Blossom Special," I'll take it. You can keep your glitzy Nashville popstar bullshit.
-Sometimes I listen to overprocessed Popstars. While I recognize that what they do is to music what Kraft cheese slices are to food, sometimes I, too, succumb to the catchiness. In my defense (much needed at this point) this music is designed to be irresistable. It's not my fault. It's just doing its job.
1.) Britney Spears. While her catalogue certainly is overwhelmed by overly-manufactured pop bullshit, she has her moments. And even though nearly every non-single slipped through the cracks into the oblivion that makes us all wonder why they even bother making pop albums instead of just singles, does anyone remember her cover of "The Beat Goes On?" Or the (somewhat irreverant) cover of the Stones' "Satisfaction?" Not THAT bad at all. While the realist in me refuses to recognize her as an "artist," my pop-loving alter ego would like to thank all those 50-year-old guys who made "Britney's" music happen. Thanks a lot, fellas! I don't even feel that weird about cranking up "Toxic," on occasion... that shit won a Grammy! It can't be that bad! In fact, Britney has more than her fair share of accolades.
2.) Kelly Clarkson. I have less difficulty defending myself against liking Kelly; she WON American Idol FAIR AND SQUARE! This chick has some serious pipes. And she's so damn cute. If you don't crank it up when she hits the chorus on "Since You've Been Gone," you're just not paying attention, sorry.
-Disco, funk, etc. "She's a brick.... houuuuuuse." You like it too.
-TERRIBLE Top-40 hip hop: Yung Joc, the Ying Yang twins, T-Pain, etc, etc, etc: the Autotune army. I know it's bad. But it feels so good.
-Fall Out Boy. Aforementioned in my Top 20 Albums. Not everything they've done is that bad, but for some reason it always sounds bad to admit you like them. I do, though.
-Frank Sinatra. I don't feel that weird about this, but it always seems a little bit puzzling to anyone who finds out that a 21-year-old girl loves Frank Sinatra (and yes, I put him in the "love" category).
-No Doubt. "Tragic Kingdom" is one of the most underrated albums OF ALL TIME.
Ok, this has gone on quite long enough. Let's switch gears:
Things I feel guilty about NOT liking.
-(and this is where I throw myself to the sharks) Bob Dylan. Ok, Ok, I get what he's doing. I get it, and I'll go so far as to say it's not bad. In fact, I'll even go so far as to say that it's good. But can I listen to Bob Dylan for hours and hours? ABSOLUTELY NOT. And I don't understand how people can. Out-of focus, stream-of-consciousness folk-revival just isn't my thing. As a poet and a musician, I get it, I just can't connect.
-Bright Eyes. Same story.
-Elvis. 50 million Elvis fans CAN be wrong.
-the Beatles' early work (with a few exceptions)
-Blondie (Debbie-- sorry, Deborah-- Harry can kiss my ass.)
Well, I think this has been sufficiently uncomfortable. Let the anonymous outrage commence! See you guys at the Playa Hata's Ball.
-thejunkie
So, anyway. As you may have suspected, Music and I are kind of on the outs right now, in desperate need of a reconciliation. I haven't been to a show in waaaaay too long, and unfortunately my life is such right now that I haven't had a whole lot of time to just chill with a new album and really explore it (though I have been hearing some good new stuff lately).
Anyway.
Let's just go old-school and talk about some stuff I already know.
While the "blogging" medium is semi-anonymous, I feel indebted to you guys for even reading this at all, and thus you are entitled to my deepest and darkest (music-related) secrets. So, while this may incite many well-deserved harshings from those of you who enjoy taking advantage of said anonymity, we're going to discuss the skeletons in the closets, the elephants in every room with every music nerd: the musical "guilty pleasures."
We all have them. And while "guilt" is relative-- while one person's go-to namedrop is another's closet fave, saved for alone-time, never to be mentioned among friend circles of self-proclaimed audiophiles-- there is always that small voice you hear inside, while you're jamming out to, oh, let's say, the Bee Gees, screaming "This is bullshit! You know better than this!" And you certainly do. I know I do. But still, the human heart wants what it wants, and our lives are spent at its mercy; why shouldn't this principle extend itself to our music?
Before this starts to sound too much like a research paper, I'll get started with the band who inspired this article: Savage Garden.
I mentioned awhile back that I spent some time in Australia, which is where I discovered (among many things) Savage Garden. Let me explain. While I, too, failed to escape the ubiquity of singles like "Crash and Burn" in the 90s, I was kind of too young to understand the concept of music as anything but what was on the radio. So I didn't realize that, like so many other bands, behind the single is a band, a real BAND, with real music that doesn't sound like it was built from a kit from Hobby Lobby of preassembled pieces to create the perfect radio work of "art;" just add soulless vocals and there you go! Fame, notoriety and spotlight on a VH1 clip show not included. But, I digress, as always. So anyway, my first couple months in Australia were spent largely in solitude; I'm not saying the people weren't nice; they were; one of the very few true "Australian" stereotypes is that they are extremely hospitable, accomodating and generally easy to get along with. I, on the other hand, am a shy, awkward, introverted bookworm who simply can't be worked with sometimes in a social setting (though I like to think I've gotten a lot better since I was 17). My high school in Australia hooked me up with a "buddy" in hopes of helping me make friends and get oriented with the school. I don't remember her name. I think it started with an A. Needless to say, we didn't really get along. But, I did end up making friends, eventually, on my own terms; that's how I like to roll. In my Australian History class, there was a girl named Yolli. Yolli was kind of the "Janis Ian" of Heathfield High School, if you're down with a "Mean Girls" reference. I remember that our first conversation was about politics; the intersections between US, Australian, and British governments (bear in mind this was in the thick of the reign of Bush II and it was a somewhat interesting time in global politics). My first inclination was to be a little bit afraid of Yolli; she had dyed black and red hair, was as outspoken as any high school girl I've ever met, and was obsessed with punk/ alt rock, especially AFI. Just as you begin to wonder where this is going: she LOVED Savage Garden.
Unlike how I am with my guilty pleasures, Yolli had the proverbial balls to be really "out" about her love for Savage Garden. She was from Sydney originally-- one of those tortured, big-city-raised arty types who, by some tragic twist of fate, end up in gorgeous but tragically-isolated and culturally-void rural places like the Adelaide Hills-- and had seen Savage Garden play in Sydney several times (Sydney is kind of the only place in Australia to have good concerts). While it is very Australian to love all things Australian (Savage Garden are Aussies, btw) I was just stricken by this mouthy, hyperintelligent hardxcore girl, with crazy hair, tattoos, and long sleeves to cover her self-mutilated arms, LOVING shamelessly-poppy Savage Garden. So, Yolli is my shining example of why it's ok to like things it might seem "weird" for us to like, even though we don't always talk about them.
So, enough of my weird life, let's talk about the music. Savage Garden! One thing you might not know about Savage Garden: they have way more music than "Crash and Burn" and that one song with a refrain that sounded an awful lot like "chicka cherry cola" (FYI: the song is called "I Want You;" unless you spent 1997 in a coma, you probably remember it. And the real lyric is "...like a drink of cherry cola.") and other "what the fuck did they just say?" lyrics. So, I'm officially on the record: I love this band. Good music if you're in the mood for late 90s pop (who isn't sometimes?), and awesome lyrics, when you can interpret them. True: it's not the "deepest" stuff out there, but it is truly quality stuff; and, they too definitely have their more brooding/ sad moments, if you're into that (and I know you are); "Two Beds and a Coffee Machine" (from their second album, "Affirmation") just might be the most unreasonably sad song of all time. And we do all love sad music. Secretly, of course.
So, let's make a pact. We all want to change the world, right? Let's just start being honest with each other about what music we like. In an effort to "be the change," I'll start:
-I really like vintage country. I found Charlie Daniels Band's "Fire On the Mountain" on vinyl about a week ago and I'm STILL stoked about it. While I get some awkward vibes cast in my general direction when I put it on when people are over, it is SO WORTH IT. The liner notes also provide the message on my epitaph, should I die (though who knows what science will come up with in the future): "Hung over, red-eyed, dog tired, satisfied. It's a long road and a little wheel and it takes a lot of turns to get you there. Thank you damn it." Though I hesitate to say "I like country," not out of shame but out of straight-up honesty, the old, old-school, backwoods bathtub-moonshine country is THE SHIT, I don't care who you are. Old school country, roots, bluegrass, Americana, folk: love that shit. Not sure if it's my lineage (Kentucky-hills Cherokee via Detroit, of course) or sheer "taste," but I love it. This album is golden no matter what you like. Country genre: "Long-Haired Country Boy;" "Orange Blossom Special," I'll take it. You can keep your glitzy Nashville popstar bullshit.
-Sometimes I listen to overprocessed Popstars. While I recognize that what they do is to music what Kraft cheese slices are to food, sometimes I, too, succumb to the catchiness. In my defense (much needed at this point) this music is designed to be irresistable. It's not my fault. It's just doing its job.
1.) Britney Spears. While her catalogue certainly is overwhelmed by overly-manufactured pop bullshit, she has her moments. And even though nearly every non-single slipped through the cracks into the oblivion that makes us all wonder why they even bother making pop albums instead of just singles, does anyone remember her cover of "The Beat Goes On?" Or the (somewhat irreverant) cover of the Stones' "Satisfaction?" Not THAT bad at all. While the realist in me refuses to recognize her as an "artist," my pop-loving alter ego would like to thank all those 50-year-old guys who made "Britney's" music happen. Thanks a lot, fellas! I don't even feel that weird about cranking up "Toxic," on occasion... that shit won a Grammy! It can't be that bad! In fact, Britney has more than her fair share of accolades.
2.) Kelly Clarkson. I have less difficulty defending myself against liking Kelly; she WON American Idol FAIR AND SQUARE! This chick has some serious pipes. And she's so damn cute. If you don't crank it up when she hits the chorus on "Since You've Been Gone," you're just not paying attention, sorry.
-Disco, funk, etc. "She's a brick.... houuuuuuse." You like it too.
-TERRIBLE Top-40 hip hop: Yung Joc, the Ying Yang twins, T-Pain, etc, etc, etc: the Autotune army. I know it's bad. But it feels so good.
-Fall Out Boy. Aforementioned in my Top 20 Albums. Not everything they've done is that bad, but for some reason it always sounds bad to admit you like them. I do, though.
-Frank Sinatra. I don't feel that weird about this, but it always seems a little bit puzzling to anyone who finds out that a 21-year-old girl loves Frank Sinatra (and yes, I put him in the "love" category).
-No Doubt. "Tragic Kingdom" is one of the most underrated albums OF ALL TIME.
Ok, this has gone on quite long enough. Let's switch gears:
Things I feel guilty about NOT liking.
-(and this is where I throw myself to the sharks) Bob Dylan. Ok, Ok, I get what he's doing. I get it, and I'll go so far as to say it's not bad. In fact, I'll even go so far as to say that it's good. But can I listen to Bob Dylan for hours and hours? ABSOLUTELY NOT. And I don't understand how people can. Out-of focus, stream-of-consciousness folk-revival just isn't my thing. As a poet and a musician, I get it, I just can't connect.
-Bright Eyes. Same story.
-Elvis. 50 million Elvis fans CAN be wrong.
-the Beatles' early work (with a few exceptions)
-Blondie (Debbie-- sorry, Deborah-- Harry can kiss my ass.)
Well, I think this has been sufficiently uncomfortable. Let the anonymous outrage commence! See you guys at the Playa Hata's Ball.
-thejunkie
Labels:
Blondie,
Bob Dylan,
Bright Eyes,
Britney Spears,
Charlie Daniels Band,
country,
Elvis,
Fall Out Boy,
Frank Sinatra,
Kelly Clarkson,
No Doubt,
pop,
Savage Garden,
the Beatles,
the Bee Gees
Friday, November 13, 2009
Because jokes are fun.
Knock knock.
Who's there?
A lack of internet access!
A lack of internet access who?
A lack of internet access is preventing me from updating my blog regularly. Sorry if you're feeling deprived!
I just moved; be patient. Reviews coming up for the Mountain Goats, Brother Bill and more.
xoxo
-Meg, aka the volume junkie. (Hopefully) coming soon to a music publication near you!
Who's there?
A lack of internet access!
A lack of internet access who?
A lack of internet access is preventing me from updating my blog regularly. Sorry if you're feeling deprived!
I just moved; be patient. Reviews coming up for the Mountain Goats, Brother Bill and more.
xoxo
-Meg, aka the volume junkie. (Hopefully) coming soon to a music publication near you!
Monday, November 02, 2009
I found Koji!
Koji-- if you're reading this, sorry I'm such a stalker.
You might remember Koji from my last post; I met/ saw him perform at a house show a week ago... I found some links to a show he played at The Factory, so here you go! Enjoy.
"Monsters/ Stay" (fave!)
"Two Lovers"
"To The Dogs Or Whoever" (cover)
You might remember Koji from my last post; I met/ saw him perform at a house show a week ago... I found some links to a show he played at The Factory, so here you go! Enjoy.
"Monsters/ Stay" (fave!)
"Two Lovers"
"To The Dogs Or Whoever" (cover)
Sunday, November 01, 2009
UFOs! The Re-Appearance of Angel! Severed toes! MUST BE HALLOWEEN!
I hope you've all slept off your respective Halloween hangovers. I know I have. If by "slept off" I mean MOVED. TODAY. Like moving doesn't suck enough.
But let's just say I had a Halloween blast. Which is rare, and also ironic, because I HATE HALLOWEEN. That's right. I said it. But, suffice it to say, Halloween: 21; Meg: 0. I always say I'm not going to do anything for Halloween because it is just a dangerous, awkward waste of time, an appalling capitalist mechanism, etc, etc, etc-- but I always go.
But, it all started on the actual night of Halloween, when I was meeting my folks for a very low-key, very Mexican, very anti-Halloween dinner. But, as I was getting in my car, it dawned on me that this is the first year that I have not heard "The Monster Mash!" Anywhere! At all! Its hard to admit, but as a lifelong Midwesterner, I felt a secret pang of guilt for my blatant ignoring of our collective favorite nod to the occult. For some reason, this year I went off-the-rails crazy Halloween-Scrooge to a level that even I have not yet reached. So maybe I did hear it and just repressed it. But I don't think so. So anyway, I get to Mi Ranchito, and then there is this bartender (who, I regret to say, knows me and everyone in my family by name) dressed like Charlie Brown who pours me a shot on the house, a "Dirty Girl Scout" (hey-oh), and after that, I was a lot more in the Halloween spirit (and couldn't stop saying "hey-oh!" for some reason). And then, at one point, I realize I'm texting everyone I know asking what they are doing tonight, and although I was recovering from a cold, some Halloween miracle stipulated that the duration of my moonlight as Nastycough McSleepsallday was over (or something to that effect).
I wanted to see some music. So, one perpetually-grouchy doorman and a $7 cover charge later, I found myself at the Covert Operations show at Papa Pete's. After nearly an hour of watery drinks and almost-crunchy jams, I found my faith in Halloween yet unrestored.
Usually, I probably would have just settled for the usual drunken stumble around the student ghetto as a vacuous legionnaire of a pathetic college alcoholiday. But, I was in the jam band spirit. You see, I had gone to:
DISCO BISCUITS AT STATE THEATRE 10/28 (did you like what I did there? Segway into a heading?)
Ok, you're right, it's one of my cardinal Blog Rules of Thumb* that I don't write about shows I see not-sober. So I'm not going to go on and on about this vibe and this mechanical flawlessness and this meticulous execution and whatever else I talk about in this strange forum I've vainly and inexplicably created.
--I digress; the show. Um-- I haven't seen a jam band since Rothbury. And that was Umphrey's McGee, just after the Dead, backlit by an amazing display of 4th of July fireworks (and accompanied by a legit, widely-reported UFO sighting**). So, I wasn't trying to compare it to that.
Regardless, it was incredible-- 2 sets and over three hours of insatiable jams, a combo of electro/trance and straight-up rock.
Although at one point, the cops-- real, live, legit COPS; lots of them-- showed up and it got... not necessarily scary but real awkward.
But anyway. Before any "hippie" accusations are made, let me just say-- I have never purchased a recording of a jam I was at to listen to later; I NEVER LISTEN TO ANY RECORDED JAM. I am live-only with jam, as I am with jazz. I think listening to recorded jam, jazz and a few couple other things is kind of like watching Jurassic Park on mute: not quite worth what's lost in translation. So I just won't do it. But I looooove, love going to a good jam show.
This was the second time I've seen Biscoes; the first time was on the very first night of Rothbury. And, believe it, they wailed. Of course, in that context, they were completely in their element; jam and festies go together like peas 'n' carrots. And though it was certainly no Rothbury-- no half-a-million hippies, no men in skirts, no $9 beers (close, though) and no filthy porta-potties either-- the psychedelic lighting scheme, grotesque statues and general craziness of K-zoo's State Theatre definitely make a great backdrop for a jam band. I had a KILLER time and so did everyone I saw who didn't get dragged out by cops. (special "good luck" shoutouts go to the guy I nicknamed Hunter S. Thompson, hotdog suit guy, and white-jacket-and-no shirt-guy; don't drop the soap.)
WOAH! Speaking of my fellow stage-rushers, GUESS WHO I RAN INTO?
ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!
You might remember Angel from Rootstand at Bell's sometime last month! HE WAS THERE! Equal parts flamboyant, fabulous, shirtless and sweaty. Angel, if you're reading this-- you are my favorite fixture in the Kalamazoo music scene, officially. (Sorry, Rock and the Hive-- second place will have to do. Even though I lost a chunk of my left "index" toe at your last show. Oh, read on!)
HOUSE SHOW MONDAY 10/26
Ask "who parties on a Monday?" in the student ghetto and the answer will be a resounding "We do! Fuck class tomorrow-- fuck my future! Let's get wasted and watch music!"
Yeah, boi! I love this town. (Or, this part of town.)
Soooo... there I was, in a dark, extremely crowded basement, trying desperately to not think of Great White. I don't remember who the first band was, but I don't think they were good. So, anyway, the Rock and the Hive played-- awesome-- and the requisite crowd-at-a-show chaos commenced; at one point, it vaguely occurred to me that my toe hurt; after TRATH, we were heading upstairs, and I notice my foot feels sticky. I assume someone spilled beer on it-- which they may have-- but as we come into the light, I realize my left foot is completely covered in blood. I'm spare you the (literally) gory details, but a small chunk of the tip of my toe is literally gone as we speak. Sorry, Girls Whose House That Was; I'm hoping you didn't go downstairs to clean up after the show and find a floor covered in blood; that would have been unsettling.
Sorry for the gross toe story. I'm just saying. A good show is sometimes worth losing a piece of one of your appendages. I'm also saying, unless you are ABSOLUTELY SURE you are NOT going to a show later, don't wear sandals, even if it is unseasonably warm.
So... where do we go from here?
Oh!
The best part of that show! KOJI!!!
So, I walk into the house, and my friend introduces me to a soft-spoken Asian kid with glasses; fast-forward three hours later: I'm watching this kid; he is standing on a barstool in the middle of a crowd playing songs, singing his heart out. This was a good "expect the unexpected" moment in my life. I'm not entirely sure why he chose this particular way to exhibit his (amazing) musical talents, or even if it was entirely by choice (word on the street was there was some sort of gear malfunction). Because of this, I'm not really sure what form his music "usually" takes, but I would be fine if it sounded just like it sounded in that crowded living room: literally, completely organic acoustic-and-voice-only emo (hate that word!!! ugh). But, I tried to find some of his music so I could get a link to you guys and I can't find right anything now; I will let you know ASAP when I get a hold of something.
Ah. Those those were the Halloween-week festivities! It's over!!! In related news; they're starting to put up Christmas decorations at Macy's! (just kidding, but seriously, they probably are).
*1.) any recorded album gets no fewer than 5 listens before a review 2.) never review a show when you are drunk; you will take shitty notes 3.) keep it as real as possible and always maintain your swagger. 4.) no excuses, play like a champion
** this is true, documented and literally had nothing to do with psychedelics. (not sarcastic).
But let's just say I had a Halloween blast. Which is rare, and also ironic, because I HATE HALLOWEEN. That's right. I said it. But, suffice it to say, Halloween: 21; Meg: 0. I always say I'm not going to do anything for Halloween because it is just a dangerous, awkward waste of time, an appalling capitalist mechanism, etc, etc, etc-- but I always go.
But, it all started on the actual night of Halloween, when I was meeting my folks for a very low-key, very Mexican, very anti-Halloween dinner. But, as I was getting in my car, it dawned on me that this is the first year that I have not heard "The Monster Mash!" Anywhere! At all! Its hard to admit, but as a lifelong Midwesterner, I felt a secret pang of guilt for my blatant ignoring of our collective favorite nod to the occult. For some reason, this year I went off-the-rails crazy Halloween-Scrooge to a level that even I have not yet reached. So maybe I did hear it and just repressed it. But I don't think so. So anyway, I get to Mi Ranchito, and then there is this bartender (who, I regret to say, knows me and everyone in my family by name) dressed like Charlie Brown who pours me a shot on the house, a "Dirty Girl Scout" (hey-oh), and after that, I was a lot more in the Halloween spirit (and couldn't stop saying "hey-oh!" for some reason). And then, at one point, I realize I'm texting everyone I know asking what they are doing tonight, and although I was recovering from a cold, some Halloween miracle stipulated that the duration of my moonlight as Nastycough McSleepsallday was over (or something to that effect).
I wanted to see some music. So, one perpetually-grouchy doorman and a $7 cover charge later, I found myself at the Covert Operations show at Papa Pete's. After nearly an hour of watery drinks and almost-crunchy jams, I found my faith in Halloween yet unrestored.
Usually, I probably would have just settled for the usual drunken stumble around the student ghetto as a vacuous legionnaire of a pathetic college alcoholiday. But, I was in the jam band spirit. You see, I had gone to:
DISCO BISCUITS AT STATE THEATRE 10/28 (did you like what I did there? Segway into a heading?)
Ok, you're right, it's one of my cardinal Blog Rules of Thumb* that I don't write about shows I see not-sober. So I'm not going to go on and on about this vibe and this mechanical flawlessness and this meticulous execution and whatever else I talk about in this strange forum I've vainly and inexplicably created.
--I digress; the show. Um-- I haven't seen a jam band since Rothbury. And that was Umphrey's McGee, just after the Dead, backlit by an amazing display of 4th of July fireworks (and accompanied by a legit, widely-reported UFO sighting**). So, I wasn't trying to compare it to that.
Regardless, it was incredible-- 2 sets and over three hours of insatiable jams, a combo of electro/trance and straight-up rock.
Although at one point, the cops-- real, live, legit COPS; lots of them-- showed up and it got... not necessarily scary but real awkward.
But anyway. Before any "hippie" accusations are made, let me just say-- I have never purchased a recording of a jam I was at to listen to later; I NEVER LISTEN TO ANY RECORDED JAM. I am live-only with jam, as I am with jazz. I think listening to recorded jam, jazz and a few couple other things is kind of like watching Jurassic Park on mute: not quite worth what's lost in translation. So I just won't do it. But I looooove, love going to a good jam show.
This was the second time I've seen Biscoes; the first time was on the very first night of Rothbury. And, believe it, they wailed. Of course, in that context, they were completely in their element; jam and festies go together like peas 'n' carrots. And though it was certainly no Rothbury-- no half-a-million hippies, no men in skirts, no $9 beers (close, though) and no filthy porta-potties either-- the psychedelic lighting scheme, grotesque statues and general craziness of K-zoo's State Theatre definitely make a great backdrop for a jam band. I had a KILLER time and so did everyone I saw who didn't get dragged out by cops. (special "good luck" shoutouts go to the guy I nicknamed Hunter S. Thompson, hotdog suit guy, and white-jacket-and-no shirt-guy; don't drop the soap.)
WOAH! Speaking of my fellow stage-rushers, GUESS WHO I RAN INTO?
ANGEL!!!!!!!!!!!
You might remember Angel from Rootstand at Bell's sometime last month! HE WAS THERE! Equal parts flamboyant, fabulous, shirtless and sweaty. Angel, if you're reading this-- you are my favorite fixture in the Kalamazoo music scene, officially. (Sorry, Rock and the Hive-- second place will have to do. Even though I lost a chunk of my left "index" toe at your last show. Oh, read on!)
HOUSE SHOW MONDAY 10/26
Ask "who parties on a Monday?" in the student ghetto and the answer will be a resounding "We do! Fuck class tomorrow-- fuck my future! Let's get wasted and watch music!"
Yeah, boi! I love this town. (Or, this part of town.)
Soooo... there I was, in a dark, extremely crowded basement, trying desperately to not think of Great White. I don't remember who the first band was, but I don't think they were good. So, anyway, the Rock and the Hive played-- awesome-- and the requisite crowd-at-a-show chaos commenced; at one point, it vaguely occurred to me that my toe hurt; after TRATH, we were heading upstairs, and I notice my foot feels sticky. I assume someone spilled beer on it-- which they may have-- but as we come into the light, I realize my left foot is completely covered in blood. I'm spare you the (literally) gory details, but a small chunk of the tip of my toe is literally gone as we speak. Sorry, Girls Whose House That Was; I'm hoping you didn't go downstairs to clean up after the show and find a floor covered in blood; that would have been unsettling.
Sorry for the gross toe story. I'm just saying. A good show is sometimes worth losing a piece of one of your appendages. I'm also saying, unless you are ABSOLUTELY SURE you are NOT going to a show later, don't wear sandals, even if it is unseasonably warm.
So... where do we go from here?
Oh!
The best part of that show! KOJI!!!
So, I walk into the house, and my friend introduces me to a soft-spoken Asian kid with glasses; fast-forward three hours later: I'm watching this kid; he is standing on a barstool in the middle of a crowd playing songs, singing his heart out. This was a good "expect the unexpected" moment in my life. I'm not entirely sure why he chose this particular way to exhibit his (amazing) musical talents, or even if it was entirely by choice (word on the street was there was some sort of gear malfunction). Because of this, I'm not really sure what form his music "usually" takes, but I would be fine if it sounded just like it sounded in that crowded living room: literally, completely organic acoustic-and-voice-only emo (hate that word!!! ugh). But, I tried to find some of his music so I could get a link to you guys and I can't find right anything now; I will let you know ASAP when I get a hold of something.
Ah. Those those were the Halloween-week festivities! It's over!!! In related news; they're starting to put up Christmas decorations at Macy's! (just kidding, but seriously, they probably are).
*1.) any recorded album gets no fewer than 5 listens before a review 2.) never review a show when you are drunk; you will take shitty notes 3.) keep it as real as possible and always maintain your swagger. 4.) no excuses, play like a champion
** this is true, documented and literally had nothing to do with psychedelics. (not sarcastic).
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