Archive for April, 2005
April 29, 2005

The Concert List to End All Concert Lists.

me with Harry ChapinI started to going to concerts at a young age; I can honestly say I don’t remember a damn thing about my first concert. My mother and father took me to see Harry Chapin every year at Carowinds, until they split up and thus we no longer did family outings. In fact, my mother likes to tell me that while pregnant with me she had some difficulty making it through a Harry Chapin show, as it required her to sit on the floor, something not altogether comfortable for a woman 6 or 7 months pregnant. I suppose I have them to blame for my teenaged groupie syndrome as well, since yes, that is a picture of me, aged 4 or 5, sitting on Harry Chapin’s lap. I’m pretty sure that brush with fame at such an impressionable age is what made me think it was absolutely necessary to show up 5 hours early for the LA Guns concert at the 4808 a decade later, lest we miss our chance to meet them before the show.

I have been to a lot of concerts in my lifetime. From arena spectacles to the little club shows, I’ve spent a lot of time watching bands & artists pour their soul out on stage (or at least sweat profusely under the lights) while sacrificing my hearing for the experiences. Mostly for my own entertainment, I’ve begun to compile a list of all the concerts I’ve seen. Even with my super-memory, I’ve forgotten many dates, opening acts, and exact locations, and at the time that I’m publishing this, I’m positively sure this list isn’t even comprehensive. I’ll be updating it periodically, as my memory is jogged, or when I have a new entry to add. I’ve limited the listing to bands that were of a national exposure level - meaning no Charlotte or Southeastern area bands unless they actually achieved some level of notice outside of NC, or they were opening for a national act at the time. The list of Southeastern based acts would likely be well over 200 bands, many of whom I saw multiple times, and heaven knows, lots of those were so utterly forgettable that even I have long since lost track of who they were or why I was there in the first place. This also doesn’t include one band that I saw many times in LA, that eventually was signed to Virgin Records (though their album was never actually commercially released) or another band I saw in LA that had one of the guys from Weezer in it.

Again, this is mostly for my entertainment, but if you find it at all interesting, you might want to bookmark this entry, as I fully intend to update it as time goes on. I may also illustrate it later, with pictures and ticket stubs, etc. when I get all of this stuff out of storage. I’d also like to state, for the record, that the majority of this was completed from my memories. A little research was needed to place a year or a venue sometimes, but really, I have a lot of this lodged in my brain. That might explain why I can’t seem to remember to close the bedroom window before I leave in the morning; the memories of seeing Elliott Smith 7 times take up the space that would normally control that. However, for some reason, my memory is *much* clearer for the events that were more than 12 years ago; the Internet is helping a lot with 1995 (which was a really good year for me apparently) and beyond, but 1993 and 1994 are very fuzzy. I can’t really explain that.

Some keys to reading this list: A entry with a link will take you to a story I’ve told that mentions this event, just in case you might be interested. (At the time of posting this, there’s only the one, but there are more to come when I’m inspired enough to tell them. Special requests for specific events may be honored.) If you see a question mark, either in parentheses by itself or after a name, it’s because it’s something I’m not entirely sure about. If you happen to have information that will complete that entry, please let me know. There are lots of notes in italics, mostly for me, some for your reading enjoyment.

In chronological order, best I can remember it at least:

(more…)

April 28, 2005

URL ABC’s.

Ok, since I did the meme that Ms. Bitch sent my way, I’m also going to do one that I just personally found entertaining, even though no one asked me to do it. I had to cheat a little bit, since some of the URLs that came up first in my browser are admin links for my hosting and my work, and I’d rather not publish those to the world, y’know?

I won’t tag anyone outright, but I think this would make for some interesting reading if you all played along with me. Go read some Defective Yeti while you’re at it.

These are my URL ABCs: (mouse over the links if you’re inclined to know why these are in my history)

I meme, you meme, we all scream at ocB for tagging me with a meme.

Ok, I don’t necessarily hate memes, but I hate the idea of feeling obligated to do something, especially within a certain time period. This would be why I don’t get along with the whole concept of “work” all that well sometimes.

But I’ve been tagged, and by such a sweetheart (I don’t mean to blow the girl’s bitchtastic cover, but she is a doll really), that I have to do it. So here goes:

If I could be a gardener… I would grow veggies and herbs and yummy stuff. Sadly, every plant I’ve ever taken in has died horribly, though mercifully quickly, and living in a 8 story apartment building doesn’t really afford one an opportunity to garden much anyhow.

If I could be a psychologist… I would probably be immensely happy. I am completely fascinated by psychology, and I seem to have a natural aptitude for comprehending it. I sometimes think of going back to school to actually get a degree, and psychology would be one of the fields I would consider for a major. But then I remember that going back to school would take a lot of hard work and time, and well, it’s just not something that I’m prepared to do in this current stage of my life. But I do like to play psychologist (and psychiatrist, and therapist) with my friends.

If I could be a farmer… I wouldn’t last even one whole day. That whole being-up-before-sunrise-being-outdoors-shoveling-shit-sweating-hard-physical-labor thing doesn’t work for me. No sir, not at all.

If I could be a justice on any one court in the world… I would replace Justice Scalia (or maybe Justice Thomas) on the Supreme Court. I would be constantly accused of being an “activist judge”, but that would be ok with me, because that would be my job. I would love to pick Justice O’Connor’s brain. I would make a very good justice really, but again, that whole going to school and studying bit would just be a little beyond my current level of enthusiasm.

If I could be a chef… I would end up weighing about 500lbs, so let’s not go there, alright? I love food far too much.

Whew. Glad that’s over with.

Well, actually, it wasn’t really that bad. Ok, I kind of enjoyed it, much to my own dismay. And I’ll have to hope that Rachelle, JerkOAT, and Zane will find some joy in it too, because they’re next.

Here are the rules boys and girl:

Pick 5 items from the following list, and complete the sentence in your little corner of the blogosphere. Then you’re supposed to tag 3 other people to continue this modern equivalent of a chain letter (without the promises of fame and fortune). Enjoy!

If I could be a scientist…
If I could be a farmer…
If I could be a musician…
If I could be a doctor…
If I could be a painter…
If I could be a gardener…
If I could be a missionary…
If I could be a chef…
If I could be an architect…
If I could be a linguist…
If I could be a psychologist…
If I could be a librarian…
If I could be an athlete…
If I could be a lawyer…
If I could be an inn-keeper…
If I could be a professor…
If I could be a writer…
If I could be a llama-rider…
If I could be a bonnie pirate…
If I could be an astronaut…
If I could be a world famous blogger…
If I could be a justice on any one court in the world…
If I could be married to any current famous political figure…

April 27, 2005

You should never go anywhere without your towel.

Yes, I took my purple towel along with me this evening for the sneak preview of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and I was rewarded for completely geeking out. Not only did the towel actually come in handy several times (wiping the butter from the high carb popcorn off my hands, drying my hands after leaving the restroom, and making a little cozy in my lap for the popcorn to sit in), but those of us who came prepared to hitchhike received a free t-shirt.

I still wonder what they gave the people who showed up wearing their bathrobes. (Which of course, is the American equivalent of Arthur’s dressing gown.)

Oh, and the movie itself? A solid 4.5/5 in my opinion.

I was pleasantly surprised; it was much better than I expected. True, it doesn’t follow the book strictly, but it’s definitely got the spirit of it, as well as the sly humor. And really, considering the book was done after it had been a radio show, and the BBC television series wasn’t a strict retelling of the book, why should it be a direct translation? It is quite evident that Douglas Adams himself had a big hand in a good bit of the script before his death. I applaud the producers for staying true to his work.

Mos Def was actually fantastic as Ford Prefect, which is the one bit of casting I had the most misgivings about, and Sam Rockwell was completely over-the-top, just as anyone playing Zaphod Beeblebrox should be. Alan Rickman’s voice as Marvin… well, hell, I knew that was going to be brilliant the minute I heard about it. The depiction of the actual Hitchhiker’s Guide was inspired, and true to form, Henson’s creature creators did much justice to the ugliness that is a Vogon. The cuts to narration were near perfect in timing, and Stephen Fry brought the perfect amount of dryness to the part.

Still, I have to leave off the half credit that would give this movie the ranking of perfect in my eyes. There were a few moments (but really, very few) that dragged a little, where I found my attention drifting. (Though some of that may have been due to the distraction of the person next to me, see below.) The only other criticism I have though is that so very much of the book is left out… so many fabulous bits of humor that I think could have survived the cut. If they indeed filmed some of these segments, I am truly looking forward to a DVD release for the extras, or (dare I dream?) a director’s cut.

I honestly can’t imagine having not read the books - I have done so repeatedly through the years - but this is one case where I actually think someone who hasn’t read them could enjoy the movie just as much as those of us who could already quote lines without having seen it. (”Here I am, brain the size of a planet…”) I think they might not be able to fully appreciate the quirky qualities of Rockwell’s portrayal of the President of the Galaxy, and I will say there were several moments of hilarity sort of falling into the area of inside jokes that will swoop right over the non-book fans’ heads, which is a pity. But I’d still recommend it to just about anyone.

Just a friendly piece of advice: if you should find yourself in the theater to see this movie, hang around for the credits no matter how badly you have to pee. It’s worth it. Also, pay close attention to the planets that are shown at Magrathea.

Of course, this all means that I, she who actually abhors much of the general public, was forced to stand in line and watch a movie with a full house of actual people, many of whom were only there because it was a free screening. This was slightly torturous at times, especially since the lovely fellow next to me felt the need to exclaim, at every slight turn of plot or funny moment, “Nuh uh!” or “Naw!” quite loudly, sometimes while pointing at the screen. This was made more painful for me because Joe had pointed out his companion as being a movie critic for the Plain Dealer (the newspaper here in town, for those of you who have much better named newspapers). Really… you’d think a movie critic would have well trained movie-going friends.

The best people related moment of the night though was when the group behind us in line began wondering aloud why so many people had towels. (It did actually say on the pass “Don’t forget to bring your towel” - though I’d like to point out the fact that I was planning on doing that long before I saw these passes.) They discussed this amongst themselves for a few minutes, and of course, could not come up with any sort of reasonable explanation. So they asked the group of geeks standing next to us (who were also wearing their bathrobes) why they had towels. One of the boys perfectly deadpanned, “You should never go anywhere without your towel.” I remembered why I love geeks in that moment.

The funniest joke ever.

There are two penguins in a bathtub. The first penguin looks at the second and says, “Hey! Will you hand me the soap?”

The second penguin replies, “What do I look like, a typewriter?”

An oft told funny from my high school days. I always thought this was something my completely insane (and usually chemically altered) friends from years ago had come up with. It would appear that I was wrong.

More of real substance coming tonight. If all goes well, I’ll have a review of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy for you.

April 26, 2005

Still working on the obsession mixtape.

I’m still trying to put together a mixtape of obsession songs. I’ve added a few songs to the list based on suggestions, but I need more help.

To recap, I’m looking for songs about obsession, but I’m going for a dark feel. Something a little creepy… not pop sounding at all. Here’s the current list, in no special order yet, with additions at the end:

“What Do I Have To Do” - Stabbing Westward
“Every Breath You Take” - The Police
“I Put A Spell On You” - Marilyn Manson (by far the creepiest version of that song ever recorded, and that’s saying something)
“Something I Can Never Have” - Nine Inch Nails
“Rid of Me” - PJ Harvey
“Invisible Hands” - Joseph Arthur
“Wicked Game” - Chris Isaak
“#1 Crush” - Garbage (the original version)
“Possession” - Sarah McLachlan (the acoustic version for the darker feel)
“There Is No If…” - The Cure
“I Don’t Want to Get Over You” - Magnetic Fields (though this one’s iffy… the vocals have the right feel, the music is a little light)
“A Collection” - Marillion

I still have room for a couple more songs… any ideas anyone?

April 24, 2005

I’m dreaming of the Four Horsemen.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had one of these lazy days… going nowhere, doing nothing, just lying around and being a vegetable for a little bit. (Today seemed to be the right day, what with the late April snow and all.) I’m sure for many people that sounds incredibly boring, but for me it’s blissful. If I could, I’d do this this at least once a week.

Though I have learned something today: Falling asleep on the couch while the boyfriend is watching a History Channel documentary on the Apocalypse will lead to some very interesting and disturbing dreams interrupting a peaceful Sunday afternoon nap. Just something I think I’ll try to remember.

April 23, 2005

I do have a husky voice, but I prefer to think of it as sexy rather than manly.

As much as I feel like I am a part of the gay community (in the same sense that PFLAG is a part of the community), I can’t pretend to know what it’s like for a gay man or lesbian to come out of the closet; to admit to family and friends that you are in fact a homosexual. I can’t fathom having kept a big part of my life a secret for years, and then choosing to reveal that secret, knowing full well that it may be met with hostility, anger, shame, etc. This is because I am, in fact, a heterosexual and that isn’t really an issue for us straight folk. Though I do believe, if I were gay, I would have told everyone about it pretty quickly. I’m not very good at keeping secrets really (you might want to remember that if you’re talking to me…) and I will more or less tell you anything about me you want to know, and may well tell you things about me you don’t want to know. (Though I do have a few things I don’t share easily - a girl has to have some mystique.)

In the last year though, I’ve gotten a little taste of what it must be like, albeit at a very different intensity level. This is because, at least once a week, I find myself having to come out of the closet as a hetero.

For those of you who have not picked up on this yet, I work at a gay & lesbian department store sort of shop. We sell gay & lesbian themed books, movies, music, magazines, and all things rainbow and pride. (In addition to the ever popular porn, lube, and sex toys.) I am the sole heterosexual employee at the store, and I sometimes feel like I should be wearing a big sign that says “Hey! I’m a straight girl! Don’t hate me because I’m straight.”

It’s not that I feel the need to declare my sexual orientation constantly. Just like anyone else who works anywhere else, the fact that I prefer intimate relationships with men has absolutely nothing to do with my ability to work the cash register. But I talk to my customers a lot (I talk a lot in general. You think I’m wordy here? Just come in to say hi sometime.) and, maybe because of what I’m selling, conversations with my customers almost always include some moment where I reveal my hetero-ness. Sometimes it’s because I say something about my boyfriend, or I’m asked by a new girl in town where to go to meet girls, or I’m offering my opinion when someone’s trying to decide on a rental. (”Yes, the Bel Ami titles are very popular - and rightly so. Yes, I’ve watched a couple myself, yum, so many cute boys… doing so many things…”) Occasionally, it’s because I’m getting hit on by a woman, and I feel like I should be honest about the situation, though I will admit I’m always immensely flattered by such attention. I usually have no problems with this, and near as I can tell, my customers don’t either. It’s kind of like the skinny bitches (um, I mean ladies) who work in Lane Bryant. They may not be fat girls, but does that really mean they can’t work at a store that caters to those of us of a slightly larger persuasion?

I suppose that everyone who comes in the store for the first time assumes - because I work there - that I’m a lesbian. I don’t really mind this assumption, and truthfully, I would probably think the same thing. I do have the fashion sense of the stereotypical butch dyke, so I can totally understand why someone would think the girl behind the counter at the gay store, who is wearing a men’s plaid flannel button down shirt and jeans with black boots, is a big ole carpet muncher. But this sometimes presents a challenge. Ever so often we will be visited by the type of lesbian I refer to as a man-hater. The man-haters, for whatever reason, seem to have the opinion that men - gay, straight, whatever - are the root of all evil in the world. They are usually vocally appreciative that there’s a woman working at the store, and they generally seem to assume that I am of their ilk.

By the by, I happen to like the members of the opposite sex quite a bit. Most of my closest friends throughout my life have been men, straight, gay or otherwise, and all of my sexual relationships have been with men. I’ve never even experimented really, though I did get kissed by a lesbian once. There have been times in my life when I’ve questioned why I like men (because some of them are indeed evil), but the answer always comes back to me: to put it bluntly, I like dick.

Ok, maybe it’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the basic idea.

Anyway, after exchanging the usual pleasantries of conversation with the man-haters, often there comes a point where they make some disparaging remark about men, usually while bitching a little about the abundance of penis-oriented merchandise as compared to the boobie stuff (there’s just a lot more merchandise aimed at men available - believe me, we get in as much of the women’s stuff as we can find). Then I have to decide whether to let their assumptions ride or politely correct their impression of me. To be honest, for the man-haters I usually just let it ride. I will remain as pleasant and helpful as ever, but I only really answer direct questions and I don’t get very chatty with them. I’ve even had to play the pronoun game, cleverly omitting the “he” when speaking of my significant other and dodging questions about my living arrangements. I always feel a little bit creepy after one of these encounters; I feel like a liar.

So I’ve gotten a little taste of what it’s like to pretend… to cover up who you really are and fake it, if only for a little while. I don’t envy anyone who’s living the double life because I know I wouldn’t be able to take the pressure. A few minutes of this every once in a while is more than I can really take.

Still though, I’m a bit perplexed about something that happened a couple of days ago.

A man came in alone when the store was empty. He browsed a bit, then timidly approached the counter.

Random Guy: “It must be fun working in a place like this.”
Me: “Yep, it is. I am one of the lucky ones that can truly say I love my job.”
Random Guy: “Can I ask you a question? I hope you don’t mind me asking, it’s a little personal, but you know, this is a kind of open place right…?”
Me: “I guess…”
Random Guy: “Are you a transexual?”
Me: “… uh, no… um…”

Unfortunately, before I could say the next thing I was thinking, which was of course, “Why would you think I am??”, the phone rang. While I answered the caller’s question, Random Guy ducked out the door in a hurry.

If I ever see him again, I intend to ask him that question. It’s kind of bugging me.

P.S. - I had the husky voice long before I started smoking, so all you anti-smokers out there can just shut it. (I sang baritone - yes, BARITONE - in chorus in middle school because none of the boys at that age could sing that low. It’s always been this way.)

April 22, 2005

If you’re looking for the Boing Boing voicemail…

If you’re a Boing Boing reader looking for the voicemail that was mentioned today, check here or here to see if these links will work. Bandwidth issues suck.

Otherwise, welcome to my humble abode.

(Thanks to Noelle for the mirror!)

An album review… of sorts.

I used to be an actual music writer.

Ten years ago in Charlotte, NC, a few friends of mine had decided that there was a need for a publication in the area that shined a spotlight on local culture - arts, music, events, and even politics - that was conspicuously absent from the existing local press. They started a monthly magazine called Tangents that attempted to do just that. I joined the staff as a music writer for the third issue, just as they started to really get noticed. (Ironically enough, I jumped in because I snagged an interview with a national act that was starting to get some airplay and the other publication I’d been writing for didn’t want to cover the band due to a bit of controversy. It was a little band you may have heard of called Marilyn Manson. There’s probably a story to tell around that event - but that will have to wait for another night.) I continued working with them for several years (until the magazine’s demise1), interviewing bands and writing album reviews. I gained a small amount of credibility in the local music scene with my work, and I even managed to nab the title of Music Editor at one point.

If you want to know the truth though, I totally suck at writing about music.

Despite the tidbit of veracity that lies in the (unattributable) quote “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture,” I think it can be done well, just not by me. I can’t explain it really, but when I try to convey what I feel when I listen to music that moves me, I fail miserably. I wince when I read reviews I wrote in the past - I find them inane and shallow; pointless. I once wrote a review of The Geraldine Fibbers’ “Lost Somewhere Between the Earth and My Home” - a brilliant gem of an album that never quite got its due - in which I managed to communicate nothing more substantive than “I really, really, really like this album.” I was aware of my shortcomings even then, and one of the first things I did as Music Editor was to stop writing the reviews myself, shifting things so that the much more talented writers on the staff were assigned albums from genres they enjoyed to review. I stuck with interviews and the background management that was necessary as the magazine flourished.

And here’s the point of me telling you all of this: I find myself tonight in a position where I’d really like to tell you about an album. I want to find the right words to describe how beautiful I think this album is; to relay how the music has moved me, how the voice touches my soul. I want to express the beauty I find in the poetic lyrics, and the unexpected poetry I find in the cover of a well known 80’s pop tune made famous by Madonna. I want to give you a reason to follow the links to the artist’s website, to sample the music, and to request your own copy of this album.

The problem is, as I’ve already said, I TOTALLY SUCK at writing about music. So, I’ll give you this instead:

Evan Gold - Steal the Scene: I really, really, really like this album. A lot.

I mentioned him a couple of weeks ago after discovering a song of his while participating in a music research project. I liked the song that was featured there enough to seek out his web site, where I found another MP3 that caught my ear. Those two songs were enough to convince me to send an email to the address given on the site to see about getting my hands on the album.

The reply came back, from Evan himself, that he was actually out of the pressing that was done for Steal the Scene, but that he would burn a copy for me if I wanted it. He offered this for free, with one condition: if I liked it, I was to share it with other people that might like it. Well, of course! (I do that with any music I like really - I can be quite insistent that other people need to listen to music that strikes me.) I was pretty sure I would like it - there was such strength in the two songs I’d heard that I couldn’t imagine not liking the other 3 originals. And how fucking cool was that to even offer? He indeed lived up to his word, and earlier today I picked up a package at the post office that contained a copy of Steal the Scene, along with some other goodies.

And indeed - I like it. A lot. Enough that it’s pretty much been on constant repeat since I got home a few hours ago.

I’d like to live up to my end of the deal, and that’s where you come in: Check out his web site, listen to the MP3s that are available there. Or check his purevolume page or his Myspace page for streaming audio and a little more information about him. As much as I personally love his work, I’ll readily concede that this is not necessarily the kind of music that you might like. As I said when I first mentioned him, if you like Bright Eyes / Desaparecidos / Conor Oberst or Jeff Buckley, you might dig this. I think fans of Jeff Mangum or Neutral Milk Hotel (or other artists of the Elephant 6 clan) might enjoy Evan Gold; I can find some resemblance in the vocal stylings and nonlinear arrangements. Think folky singer/songwriter skewed slightly to the alternative rock side of the music world, with some heartfelt passion in the vocals.

If you think you might like to hear more, email me and we will work out details of me getting a copy to you. (I’ve cleared this scheme with him already - this is fully sanctioned music sharing.) The first person to take me up on this offer will also get a copy of the Lollipop Magazine MP3 CD that Evan appears on, since he kindly included two copies of it in the package he sent to me.

I really do love finding new music, and I get a bit of a thrill out of sharing my passion with others, so I welcome any takers on this.

1Despite a tangible bit of success, a fair amount of regard in the community, and a respectable distribution of 10,000 copies a month, Tangents met its demise at the hands of sketchy ad revenue management and petty jealousy among the all-volunteer staff. Even though I no longer live in Charlotte, I still mourn its death.

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