Monday, September 26, 2005

Back at home, the red tide is worse than usual this year.


Sure, since we're listening to country radio: "Big Blue Note," a headscratcher of a Toby Keith (or, as the site just linked to has it, "Keith Toby") single that adopts a quite Jimmy Buffet island-groove while attempting to be about obsession or at least bad cathexis (see the verse where he goes to the psychiatrist!), but between Keith's cloying phrasing and the clumsy payoff lines, it's the sort of thing that's only a hit when anything you release is. On the other hand, dug Martina McBride's near polka/nortena update (plus some ABBA intro/outro strings; is that in the original) of "I Never Promised You a Rose Garden."

Oh, and if we're making fun of U2? We used to have this whole routine about what went on backstage circa The Unforgettable Fire

Other band member: "Bono, c'mon, we were supposed to be on 10 minutes ago."
Bono: "But I still haven't found what I'm looking for!" (adopt Lucky the Leprechaun accent if poss.)
OBM: "Well, where do you think you left it."
Bono: "Where the streets have no name!"

There was probably more.


dB's: the 2 new songs were, well, the new songs, but everything else was spot on, didn't seem like they had enough rehearsal time to get uptight about it, and Stamey, esp., is a fascinating guitarist; younger keyb dude was very impressive as well, nailing solo bits on "Amplifier," which turned into a kind of trading fours thing. Stamey looks a bit more comfortable w/himself as a never-quite-got-there than Holsapple, but I could just be projecting from what it must be like to stand in the shadow of Darius. I'm not in the critical mode that would allow me, here, to explain why I don't think the good stuff -- "Ask For Jill," say -- doesn't require special pleading, but, um, it doesn't. Power-pop that punk didn't have to happen to because the art-damage had come earlier (heard those Sneakers recs lately?); the particular combo of not being idiots, liking love songs, and having a good drummer on offer ("Cycles Per Second"!!) can only make me dislike Death Cab all the more. Saw a guy, 10 yrs my junior, who knew every word, but I'd say St. Louis fixture Beatle Bob, up for the weekend, would be more representative of the crowd.

On either end, caught bits of Sam Roberts (actual hits in Canada, blandly anthemic) and The Ponys (a more palatable J. Fireater); skipped out before the M's (a less-plush D. Warhols, from what I'd heard on the radio the previous day).


Also: Red Krayola at Empty Bottle. Not their best showing, honestly -- just Mayo and Tom, in town to finish a record, with Tim Kinsella sitting in on drones and Synsonics. But (this would be where they differ from the dB's), I'm still interested in hearing new material: One song here was a timeline of various colonial struggles, punctuated by "won"/"lost" as the case may be.

In case you're not sure I'm old yet, I heard a Wilco song and enjoyed it. "I Am A Wheel," if you must know.

Finally, if you're curious, Bree's been to two different cabaret open-mics w/o me (not singing quite yet, just checking out the scene), and we're two for two on (1) "Being Alive," the worst song from Company, and (2) selections from Wicked, which Bree claims are "even less well-written than 'Imagine'." (This is hard for a song to be, by her lights.)


Later for the poetry, I hope.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?