scene and herd: a boston beat

The evening started with walking from one end of Central Square to the other, and then crossing over that path diagonally. Finally, we landed in Central Kitchen and proceeded to eat and drink to a ridiculous sum. However, I did have a handful of the best fried potato product ever -- the frites there are insanely amazing.

Anyway, finally headed over to the Middle East, as the show was upstairs. We saw a local-ish band with a name that I do not remember do some surf/rockabilly. There was something about the lead singer, and how his band had been pretty big 15 years ago, but then his brother (who was also in the band) died, and then he stopped playing altogether. The things you learn outside while smoking, I swear.

Oh, also, the lesson for the night? Pay it forward. There was a girl on the ground throwing up like madness, and her friend looked fairly terrified. Went to the shop and go them some gum and water, and tried to track down the thired person in their hapless band of college girls. Third Girl was totally put out that her friend was ill, and even the Second Girl wavered on going with the First Girl in the ambulance that finally came to collect her. Seriously, kids today.

Back inside for one of the best live performances I have ever seen by the World's Greatest Sinners. I can't even describe why it was so amazing except the fact that there were saxophones and singing and gorgeous ladies and it was amazing. AMAZING. At one point, the lead singer said, "We're going to do it fast, because it seems like you like it when we do it fast," and I was like, "Huh, is that a Tina Turner shout out?" and then they kicked into "Ragdoll" and I lost my mind. Seriously, I may have been the only fucking person who knew the words, but who cares? "Do I love you, my oh my? River deep, mountain high, oh oh ohhhhh yeeeeah!" Classic. We stood there and pretty much said, "How the fuck did we not know about this band?" I love how this city just brings forward so many different genres of music, and so many talented folks.

Then, randomly saw one of the boys from Disc, a ridiculous indie film I did ages back, and got caught up. Finally went back inside to randomly see one of my friends onstage with the Gobshites. Hilarious. Earlier, I had asked a friend if it would be like Black 47 when he warned of impending pogo'ing, and he said "Well, yes, but without the rage." But what is Black 47 without the rage? Actually, it probably does sound a lot like the Gobshites. (I recommend "Drinking Again," if only for the singalong insanity. I love a singalong!) In classic fashion, the lead singer was wearing a tee shirt that said, "I didn't fuck your missus" on the front and "But I did fuck her girlfriend" on the back. Or something along those lines. And of course was having a go about Shane McGowan at the bar afterward.

Finally, what we all came for: World/Inferno Friendship Society. I don't even know how to describe this music. Some people say Northern Soul, or Soulcore or whatever, but it's just entertaining. Pogo'ing like madness, singalongs, glints of the lead singer's red eyes (contacts, I hope!) in the lights, more people on stage than it could support, and just an entire room filled with happy folks. It was a pretty amazing feeling.

Cab ride to Dear Girl's house ended in hilarity as Her Boy showed off a guitar he had won that evening and we discussed our levels of drunkitude. Home for sleeps, and My Boy went to work this morning like a good darling. I seriously think he's only missed work once -- he's gone sick, hungover, half asleep. He is just way more hardcore than I am.

So, things learned tonight: Being nice always helps, there is always more music than you think there is, and sometimes eating copious amounts of fusion cuisine is just necessary.

Like usual, it starts with a boy. And it ends at an area club watching a band that seriously sounded like it stepped out of the early '90s. The bad part of the early '90s.

Right. I will admit, loud and proud, of my love for Oasis. Okay? Noel Gallagher is a fucking g*d in my opinion. They are the best fucking Beatles tribute act of all time. I hated the Beatles until Oasis came along! No fucking joke. ANYWAY. So, here we have my love for Oasis, so you know I can totally appreciate terrible pop pub rock. On the other hand, there is my massive hatred for bands such as the Goo Goo Dolls and the Gin Blossoms. I hear that sort of music, plaintive Empire Records-style crap and I want to seriously shake babies.

Anyway. So we go to see this band. This band called Minky Starshine and The New Cardinals or SOMETHING. Yes, I know. See, I was totally fine with the fact that the lead singer considered Minky to be his alter-ego, blah blah blah, mostly because he was older than me and still rocking badges on his lapels, but I guess I was expecting something a bit more. Um. Rocking? Anyway. I felt like I was stuck in VH1, circa 1996. Yes, I know. I think I may have enjoyed myself more if the band actually engaged with the (albeit minimal) audience. Because some of the smallest shows I've gone to have been the best, because the band used it as an opportunity to hone their craft of showmanship, of performance, not just using the good acoustics for a rehearsal. Because, ultimately, that's what this felt like. No movement on stage, nothing. I can forgive a lot re: musical stylings, as long as you entertain me. But if you don't entertain me, I don't care how good you sound (Hello, Tool at the Tweeter Center last fall!), I'm going to fall asleep. I could go home and listen to your album if I wanted to hear you. Going to a show is about the entire experience.

(Seriously, while writing this, I had to go to that MySpace page a couple of times and I seriously am listening to Maximo Park on 11 right now to clean out my ears. Agh!)

Look, it's fine, it's honorable, keep on keeping on. But. Like. I want to stop being crazy because they are nice enough guys and all, but I just read on their blog that they were selected by the CW to be used on an upcoming show this season. Are you fucking kidding me? I remember when the WB first started using "indie" music in their shows -- it was actually awesome to see bands like Guster on television and hear things that you normally wouldn't on primetime. That only lasted for less than a year, until the corporate whores upstairs figured out that they could repackage the tunes on compilation albums and make a fucking mint and pay the bands close to nothing for their music. SO. On top of the fact that I was bored fuckless, to find out that they actually were selected to be on the CW plus the fact I think the CW is run by a bunch of See You Next Tuesdays, I just have no space in my tiny black heart to like this band.

I really, really wanted to like this band. Who wouldn't like a 30-something hipster with crazy hair and badges on a well worn blazer? Come on! This is my bread and butter, people. What would it take?

Maybe if Minky learns how to shake his ass on stage. Maybe.

As it usually goes in Boston, a friend heard about a record release party while she was working the merch booth at another band's gig, and I got dragged along for my eyes and ears to partake. So last night, Miss Starkey and I (sans Miss Sooz, which was sadness!) T'd it out to Pleasant Street and drank tequila-based products at the Sunset Cantina and then hopped over the Paradise.

We were pleasantly surprised to find that a salsa band was opening up the night, and quite enjoyed their show. Unfortunately, there were no strategically placed males to con into dancing, so we just chair boogied. The keyboardist must have been the lovechild of two of our friends, and it was completely uncanny the resemblance -- and then we discussed the various horn players embouchers and the adorableness of the bongo player. All very nice people, as I got to talking with a few of them while I was tarring my lungs. There first show in Boston, too! They were very good, and I hope to see them again, and perhaps get some dancing action in, as well.

Didn't see too much of the whole Boston Eclectic scene, as we were running around and drinkin' beers, but everyone was really nice. It's bizarre for me to go to a show and not know a soul there -- I'm really happy that as I get my life back and have a new professional life that nicely dovetails into my personal pursuits that I'm meeting new people and seeing different sides of the greater Boston area.

Stuck around to see Delhill perform a few songs, and discussed how Boston rock has a very particular sound. It's not quite plaintive, not quite earnest, but fairly unique. Examples would be early Guster, KIMONE, Taxpayer, Aberdeen City and the like. Boys (and sometimes girls!) with guitars and sweet vocals. It's so strange to have that sound juxtaposed with one of the other really strong scenes in the city -- the hardcore scene. I mean, to know that Massachusetts is one of the beating hearts of hardcore in the nation is always awesome. I hope to see more of the Boston indie-pop-rock scene in the upcoming months, outside of the core bands I've already named.

Also, the thought that The Boy and I have tossed around the idea of starting a really ridiculous cover band resurfaced again last night. We just need players who have a healthy sense of irreverance, and totally no shame. Hmmm.

There's a few constants in the world -- one is that morons with CT licenses don't know how to drive. The other constant is that I always get lost in Hartford, without fail. We ended up in the deeeeep end of Hartford, because I'm awesome like that, but luckily found a 5-0 at a gas station who then proceeded to give us a police escort. No, I am not joking. Amazing. Love the po'!

Finally got parked (for free!), scooted inside, found Darling Girl and got our passes. Had a beer, and finally found our seats. The Meadows is a strange indoor venue (during the summer, it's an ampitheatre), and it feels like a high school auditorium, but bigger. There are also crazy primary colors all over the walls, which clashed appropriately with My Chem's black-and-white set. Again, missed the opener. So sad. Right.

The Black Parade came out, and they were immediately better than the first night of the tour in Manchvegas. However, our very small section of people would not stand up. It was bizarre. I relaxed for a while, but when they were wrapping up with "Famous Last Words," I grabbed the kids sitting next to us and was like, "Let's jam!" I also turned around and made everyone stand up. Dear Girl commented, "You're not even drunk!" I was just feeling the need to jam, whatever! Thankfully everyone stayed up for the MCR set, and Gerard also managed to really bring the punk with some of the early tracks. Cute Kid next to us actually said, "It's like he's drunk again!" Terrible! But, well, I understand what she was trying to say. I really hope that he can keep his edge on stage and keep his body sober. They were much tighter even with the older stuff, and Gerard really opened up and started in on the screaming and such. I'll be interested to see how the show matures when they come back in May with Muse.

02-25-07_1521

Then they were doing a group photo, and honestly, there is no way in hell I was going to be on a radio website with a bunch of tweenies, for serious. So we bounced, and hiked all the way back to Boston. Hartford, I love your free parking and your surprisingly helpful cops, but, seriously, there is no city but Boston.

Also, I really enjoy concert moms. There was one behind us that was rocking harder than her kids. Hopefully, I can be half as cool as she was when I grow up!

There isn't any other word to describe watching Dragonforce live except for joy. They're just so unashamed about who they are and what they're trying to accomplish. At its best, it's white magic metal, and at its worst, it's just goddamn fun.

Snagged a decent spot outside the floor to watch the festivities, and counted 17 crowd-surfers. Just during the first song. Lost count after that, because it was mental. However, there was one memorable dude who sang and threw horns the entire time the crowd carried him and even down when the security boys grabbed him. Classy! The band was good, but sadly obviously into their cups. But, even at their drunkest, they shred like something heaven-sent.

02-23-07_2316

My first My Chemical Romance experience coincided with their first night of their American tour, which was a bit nice. After tooling up the coast to Manchester with Dearest Girl and dealing with mustard disasters of the Burger King proportions and headaches fixed with powders from a local gas station, we got snowed on and then felt-up by the venue staff. Emptied pockets, opened smoke packs, fingers up underneath the hems of my jeans -- the whole nine yards.

Luckily, missed the openers, and managed to get seated all together. Our original seats were not next to each other (but they were free, so I am not going to complain), and there were 16 year olds with asses firmly planted in them. Went two sections closer, and enjoyed four seats to the three of us.

Rumors abounded regarding pyrotechnics and stage craft, and we weren't disappointed. The band opened as "The Black Parade," fully costumed in their soldier garb with face paint. Gerard was thankfully raven-haired again, and came out on a hospital bed. They kicked into the new album, and played it from start to finish. Drum set was set on a revolving platform, and the set-ups were switched off during the show.

Boy from Reggie and the Full Effect who made Darling Girl cry on her birthday two years back was playing keys for the Black Parade, and it took Gerard introducing him for us to believe that it really was him. Lesson learned: Never doubt a lady regarding a boy's moves on stage.

The singalong factor to most of the tracks was insane, and the crowd was packed with crying/screaming/fainting girls. Forgot my ear plugs, as I was in a rush, and ended up stuffing my ears with tissues the girls behind us were so piercing.

The singalong bits were quite nice, though, especially when they got to the "I see you lying next to me, with words I thought I'd never speak, awake and unafraid, asleep or DEEEEAAAAD!" Lights came down after the latest single, and they did a quick change and came out as "My Chemical Romance," with a "REVENGE" backdrop. Opened up a mini-set with "I'm Not Okay," and ended it out with "Helena." During the latter, a wee blonde was pulled from the front, and had to get carried off. At other points, Gerard instigated a pit, and there was just a lot of bizarre behavior from the crowd.

While I'm sure Those Boys never thought that they'd be a "teen idol" band, I do find it strange how uncomfortable they sometimes are with that attention. If you don't want to be huge, don't sign to a major. And if you sign to a major, use your power to say, "Only 18-plus shows, no arenas." It's the money machine, do not get me wrong, but there are ways to be comfortable and get paid. This was an all-ages show, and maybe I'm cranky and old, but I found it off-putting how often Gerard swore to the crowd, calling us all "motherfuckers." I have a really big pet peeve with someone calling me a curse word -- I really don't care about using curse words as expletives, but when you sit there and call me a motherfucker, I kind of want to kick you in the balls, y'know?

We'll see how the Hartford show turns out. Surely the Black Parade set will be the same, but Dearest Girl is holding out for her favorite jam, an old-school ditty called "Vampyre". This time I'll bring ear plugs, though.

Oh, I love it when Axis oversells when they have actual shows. Even starting out with the opener, the place was packed. Maybe it was because it was Lily's last night in the States, but I think it has more to do with the fact that it was an all-ages show and folks realized too late in the game that they should have booked Avalon instead.

The opener was some crazy DJ who really wanted to showcase the fact that he had a sick vinyl collection and a flash PowerBook. The tracks he mashed up were interesting, but the actual output was lacking. I will admit my love for Sean Paul took over when he started to play some house music, and even though I wanted to pull the plug on his soundboard, I had a bit of a dance.

Boy got to escape to do a quick meet-and-greet with Lily, which pretty much consisted of "Hi! How'r'you?" and a quick piccie. Mostly, he noticed that she was really wee, and he was excited he got to show off his Greg Biffle tee shirt. Ah, urban elitists with a love of NASCAR. We are really that cutting edge.

The crowd was mostly girls, and a terribly amount of young scenesters mixed with quarter-life crisis kittens with blowsy hair and ridiculous stillettos. Lily apparently appeals to the disenfranchised suburban doll, because she came out to squeals and cheers. A few manly men let loose with "I love you, Lily!" and there may have been one "Show me some skin!" However, I think that came from the Beverage Patrol dude (No joke, he had an orange jacket that detailed his profession.), but you never know. Strange to know that the kittens love her, when in fact Lily is fairly street back in the UK.

Full band, including sax, trumpet, and trombone. The label must love her, to give her that kind of up-front cash to go on tour with that many folks. Dressed in a ridiculously cute black dress that I wish I could get a copy of for myself (size 10 US, thanks), Lily came out and giggled through a number of songs, sipping on her red wine the whole time. She's damn cute, I will give her that. But, it wasn't enough to make me stay after "Smile" for the encore. I scooped up Boy, and we bolted up the icy streets to the car.

We saw Slayer.

I know for years I've been pretending that I am cool enough to have already seen Slayer, but it was not true.

But, now! Now I am that awesomecross.

However, the city of Providence always provides wretchedness, and it took us over a half-hour to get from the highway to the venue and then another 15 minutes to find parking. Absolute terror. There is no parking in downtown Providence on a Friday night, apparently. And, then, the walking and the ice and the terrible RI drivers, oh my.

While we were waiting outside to get into the very poorly placed Lupos, there was a mass of black hoodies as far as the eye could see and boys shouting, "Slaaay-errrrr!" "Who you gonna see?" "SLAAAAAAYYYYERRRR!" No, really, I couldn't make this up. There was maybe a handful of girls, and totally only one other one that wasn't completely townie. The clump of folks behind us complained about $5 parking fees. I believe I have lived in Boston too long. When we found out it was $5, I about kissed the guy.

Once inside, it was much of the same, except in a converted theater that was terrifyingly overcrowded with a scarily inaccessible pit area. The Boy and I hoofed up to the balcony, and scored some decent general admission seats behind a gentleman who was working hard to conceal his bowl. Aw, smokies. We also overheard one of the strangest conversations I have ever been privvy to in that peculiar Rhod'eyeland accent.

Hey-Dude: Yo, you see this? I told that lady at the bahr to go light on the ice, and you can see, she went light on the ice!"
Dude-Hey: Yeah, that's good, man, I'll have to 'member that one.
Hey-Dude: Seriously, light on the ice, see, I can actually move it around. We shoulda gave her a bettah tip, I shoulda known.

There was also a girl with a tee shirt that proclaimed "Fuckin' Slayer!" Amazing.

Slayer finally came out and destroyed the entire theater. They're getting up there in years, with gray in their beards and such, but they completely killed. Very tight. I knew more songs than I thought I did, and I managed to keep in time with the fucked up syncopation on their older stuff. You couldn't see the pit/standing crowd at all, which was sad, because watching the crowd at metal shows is part of the experience. Sometimes it's better than the damn band! But, whatever, Slayer did it up.

We left early enough that it was on a high note and we managed to find the car, which we learned, in downtown Providence on a Friday night is apparently a very difficult task.

Holy crap, Justin.

02-06-07_2222

Best Girl and I were on the ledge. Like, the seats were so mad expensive that they fed us dinner for free. Amazing.

Timbaland was there! And he did up a medley! And I got a really ridiculously funny text from That Girl asking why everyone was singing along to the DJ that pretty much made me respond with "It's Timbaland! I want to have his studio babies!" Oh, that boy, for reals.

The new "My Love" remix is amazing. and one of the dancers totally looked like Britney. Oh, and during "Cry Me a River," he said, "you should have gave it up to me," and I about DIED. Also, there was hand-held camera work and insane stage set up, and justin totally impregnating the entire arena with one look.

Thanks to lovely label folks, Boy and I were able to see Paolo Nutini's soundcheck at the Paradise. Between scarfing free pizza and dousing our livers with free drinks, we saw this wee Scottish lad play a few songs for us. Now, the most I knew about Paolo going into this was that his name rhymed with "Pablo Martini," which is sadly what we ended up calling him for most of the evening. But he definitely has a voice bigger than his teenaged years. However, the poor thing looked almost in pain to be up on stage, stooped over his microphone like he was about 80 years old. I will say that "Jenny, Don't Be Hasty" really worked for me, and his guitarist was deadly gorgeous.

Boy brought home a promo of his album the next day, and I'll admit, it's interesting. Not as terrible as James Blunt, but definitely hasn't hit his stride yet. I feel like he's more suited for dark, smoky dive bars, but that he's being pushed to be a mainstream pop artist. Do not fall to the dark side, Pablo Martini!