Hello readers (reader? maybe?) of the world!
I have returned.
Not sure why I stopped writing here for awhile, but the time has come to begin again! Yes!
Also, long-time readers (reader? maybe?) will notice a new blog title at the top. Why did I change? Probably because I never liked the old title (Blind Spots) all that much anyway... Why this title? Well, I liked it okay. It didn't seem to bad. Plus it wasn't taken. Listen, I suck with titles. And trying to come up with a new title for this thing kept me from working on it for a while. So the fact that I've decided on anything is hopefully enough...
But enough of that! I am back. Where have I been?
Nowhere. Nowhere at all. But now nowhere will be a matter of public record. Stay tuned...
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Monday, June 23, 2008
Existential Malaise and Teriyaki Chicken: Lunch at the Golden Koi Chinese Buffet
Not too long ago, my friend and co-worker Jonathan and I went out to lunch, as we do most every day. We wanted to try a new Italian place that had opened downtown, a few blocks from our office. Alas, though, they were filled, and as we only had our designated hour, we couldn't wait for a table. Walking back to the car, I joked that it wasn't so bad, and there was always the Golden Koi. We laughed a bit, but it was a cold, empty laughter. We both knew, suddenly and with finality of a crashing weight, whether we wanted to or not (and really, we didn't want to), we were going to Golden Koi.
We had gone to the Golden Koi Chinese Buffet for the first time a few months prior. Maybe it was a year ago. It’s hard to keep track. It was the kind of day when we didn’t have any real lunch plan, and we were simply driving down Battleground when we saw it there. “Ah,” we thought, “Chinese food could be good.” And so we went in, and our fates were sealed.
From the outside, the Golden Koi looks like a typical restaurant, a small, rectangular building, painted red. Its relatively new, I think—or at least recently reopened. Not much parking, but that’s to be expected from someplace on busy, crowded, overdeveloped Battleground Avenue. Paintings of Koi fish border the roof.
Inside, though, well, inside is something else. Golden Koi is one of the most depressing places I’ve ever been, but not in a soul-wrenching Holocaust Museum kind of way. Rather, the malaise of the place is mixed with a feeling of dull, enveloping comfort. You don’t notice it at first, but it sinks over you slowly. It’s like sitting in a room where the light is slowly fading—it’s a blanket of sadness.
The dining area is a big open space, with lots of unremarkable tables and chairs. The ceiling seems to hang just a foot or maybe even a few inches too low, and it hangs over you like a storm cloud. The place is lit by a bunch of big fluorescent ceiling lights, the kind used in basement corridors or big box stores, but only half seem to be working, and even those are sickly and dull, seemingly ready to putter off at any moment. The floor and walls are beige or grey, or some other non-color. There are a few of those big light-up pictures of waterfalls and Chinese river villages, like you always see in Chinese restaurants, but their backlights are turned off. Other parts of the wall are mirrored, so that you can gaze at the dead emptiness in your own eyes as you eat. Sound is kind of dissipated throughout the space, so you don’t hear talking or movement or even eating, just a thick, inescapable hum.
The closest approximation to the dining room I can think of is a dingy nursing home—only without the old people smell and twice the sense of impending death. Or maybe a crowded emergency care clinic, where everyone—even the staff—is afflicted with a particularly debilitating flu. It’s like eating Chinese food in Purgatory.
The wait staff doesn’t help. Most of the waitresses have a defeated look—I imagine they work at Golden Koi as some sort of slavery they sold themselves into to escape having to work at seedy Hong Kong brothels. One woman, the owner I guess, is older and usually behind the register, constantly complaining about not getting enough business and promising that the restaurant will soon close. But it never does.
The actual buffet is located in a room separate from the dining room, awkwardly separated by an area holding the cash register, the doors, and the waitress’s station. The room holding the buffet is a sick yellowy color, and there is no decoration. At the back of the room is a counter area, like a take-out counter you see at lots of Chinese express kinds of places, that is completely abandoned. The serving area behind the counter is dark. Above it are pictures of various Chinese dishes, but all are faded and dusty. The impression given by the area is decidedly post-apocalyptic.
To be fair, the food is pretty good. Or at least ok. There are some teriyaki chicken sticks which are quite good despite being a weird bright red color that doesn’t exist in nature. And there’s a big bowl of a sauce—it’s like a soy sauce with chunks of garlic and onion in it—that’s actually really good. I particularly like putting it on the fried shrimp. Most of the dishes are, if nothing else, as good as any other Chinese buffet I’ve been to. Still, it’s not quite enough to compensate for the crushing weight of the world sadness that comes with the Golden Koi experience.
And yet, Jonathan and I have eaten lunch at Golden Koi at least four times. We go months without thinking about it, then out of nowhere, we’ll both suddenly feel the need to go. We may not even want to—we try to get out of it by suggesting other places, but as soon as it’s mentioned, we know there is no choice and that nothing else will really satisfy.
So we did end up going a few weeks ago. Pulling up, Jonathan pointed out (accurately) that even the painted koi on the outside of the restaurant look dismayed. We proceeded regardless. Inside, it was the typical Golden Koi experience. Dull sadness, unsmiling patrons, soul-crushed waitstaff, tasty fried shrimp, a feeling of encroaching death.
When we went to check-out, a different girl was working the register. She was younger than the usual, but looked equally sad and broken. As we paid, she chatted with us about how stressed she was because the restaurant was so busy (it was about half-full), and how hot it was outside. Normally, an interaction like that is generally pleasant, but at Golden Koi it was sinister and suspicious. There was a nervousness to the girl’s speaking and a desperation in her eyes, like she was a hostage with a gun at her back trying to act normal. Leaving the restaurant, I quickly checked our receipts to see if she had scrawled “please help me” somewhere on the back.
Leaving, we wondered what kept bringing us back to Golden Koi. At first we blamed this odd compulsion on something addictive in the food, but I don’t think it’s that—I think its something deeper, and more insidious. Perhaps it’s almost a catharsis—after facing a lunch at Golden Koi, nothing else seems so bad—colors seem brighter, the air is fresher, and no matter what your problems are, at least you’re not there anymore. Or maybe Golden Koi is some wicked thing, a particularly banal evil that has sunk its claws into us, and lures us back again and again, until we succumb to it and face a hopeless future of sesame chicken and gloom.
God help us.
God help us all.
We had gone to the Golden Koi Chinese Buffet for the first time a few months prior. Maybe it was a year ago. It’s hard to keep track. It was the kind of day when we didn’t have any real lunch plan, and we were simply driving down Battleground when we saw it there. “Ah,” we thought, “Chinese food could be good.” And so we went in, and our fates were sealed.
From the outside, the Golden Koi looks like a typical restaurant, a small, rectangular building, painted red. Its relatively new, I think—or at least recently reopened. Not much parking, but that’s to be expected from someplace on busy, crowded, overdeveloped Battleground Avenue. Paintings of Koi fish border the roof.
Inside, though, well, inside is something else. Golden Koi is one of the most depressing places I’ve ever been, but not in a soul-wrenching Holocaust Museum kind of way. Rather, the malaise of the place is mixed with a feeling of dull, enveloping comfort. You don’t notice it at first, but it sinks over you slowly. It’s like sitting in a room where the light is slowly fading—it’s a blanket of sadness.
The dining area is a big open space, with lots of unremarkable tables and chairs. The ceiling seems to hang just a foot or maybe even a few inches too low, and it hangs over you like a storm cloud. The place is lit by a bunch of big fluorescent ceiling lights, the kind used in basement corridors or big box stores, but only half seem to be working, and even those are sickly and dull, seemingly ready to putter off at any moment. The floor and walls are beige or grey, or some other non-color. There are a few of those big light-up pictures of waterfalls and Chinese river villages, like you always see in Chinese restaurants, but their backlights are turned off. Other parts of the wall are mirrored, so that you can gaze at the dead emptiness in your own eyes as you eat. Sound is kind of dissipated throughout the space, so you don’t hear talking or movement or even eating, just a thick, inescapable hum.
The closest approximation to the dining room I can think of is a dingy nursing home—only without the old people smell and twice the sense of impending death. Or maybe a crowded emergency care clinic, where everyone—even the staff—is afflicted with a particularly debilitating flu. It’s like eating Chinese food in Purgatory.
The wait staff doesn’t help. Most of the waitresses have a defeated look—I imagine they work at Golden Koi as some sort of slavery they sold themselves into to escape having to work at seedy Hong Kong brothels. One woman, the owner I guess, is older and usually behind the register, constantly complaining about not getting enough business and promising that the restaurant will soon close. But it never does.
The actual buffet is located in a room separate from the dining room, awkwardly separated by an area holding the cash register, the doors, and the waitress’s station. The room holding the buffet is a sick yellowy color, and there is no decoration. At the back of the room is a counter area, like a take-out counter you see at lots of Chinese express kinds of places, that is completely abandoned. The serving area behind the counter is dark. Above it are pictures of various Chinese dishes, but all are faded and dusty. The impression given by the area is decidedly post-apocalyptic.
To be fair, the food is pretty good. Or at least ok. There are some teriyaki chicken sticks which are quite good despite being a weird bright red color that doesn’t exist in nature. And there’s a big bowl of a sauce—it’s like a soy sauce with chunks of garlic and onion in it—that’s actually really good. I particularly like putting it on the fried shrimp. Most of the dishes are, if nothing else, as good as any other Chinese buffet I’ve been to. Still, it’s not quite enough to compensate for the crushing weight of the world sadness that comes with the Golden Koi experience.
And yet, Jonathan and I have eaten lunch at Golden Koi at least four times. We go months without thinking about it, then out of nowhere, we’ll both suddenly feel the need to go. We may not even want to—we try to get out of it by suggesting other places, but as soon as it’s mentioned, we know there is no choice and that nothing else will really satisfy.
So we did end up going a few weeks ago. Pulling up, Jonathan pointed out (accurately) that even the painted koi on the outside of the restaurant look dismayed. We proceeded regardless. Inside, it was the typical Golden Koi experience. Dull sadness, unsmiling patrons, soul-crushed waitstaff, tasty fried shrimp, a feeling of encroaching death.
When we went to check-out, a different girl was working the register. She was younger than the usual, but looked equally sad and broken. As we paid, she chatted with us about how stressed she was because the restaurant was so busy (it was about half-full), and how hot it was outside. Normally, an interaction like that is generally pleasant, but at Golden Koi it was sinister and suspicious. There was a nervousness to the girl’s speaking and a desperation in her eyes, like she was a hostage with a gun at her back trying to act normal. Leaving the restaurant, I quickly checked our receipts to see if she had scrawled “please help me” somewhere on the back.
Leaving, we wondered what kept bringing us back to Golden Koi. At first we blamed this odd compulsion on something addictive in the food, but I don’t think it’s that—I think its something deeper, and more insidious. Perhaps it’s almost a catharsis—after facing a lunch at Golden Koi, nothing else seems so bad—colors seem brighter, the air is fresher, and no matter what your problems are, at least you’re not there anymore. Or maybe Golden Koi is some wicked thing, a particularly banal evil that has sunk its claws into us, and lures us back again and again, until we succumb to it and face a hopeless future of sesame chicken and gloom.
God help us.
God help us all.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
new music: The Red Album
Aw jeez, Weezer. You just keep finding ways to get worse. Hrm...
Like with Radiohead, I have some specific history with Weezer (missing them in their initial popular run due to my middle school ignorance of popular music; discovering them years later when the Blue Album essentially soundtracked a terrific (magical!) summer stint at writing camp; one of my favorite concert experiences ever seeing them live before their big Green Album comeback; my first officially published music review being for the Green Album in Raleigh's now defunct Spectactor Magazine). I'll admit I gave up on following them pretty much beyond the radio singles after disliking the Green Album, and those singles didn't suggest I was missing much. The ones from Maladroit, whose names I can't remember right now, were ok but not essential, and the singles from Make Believe--the atrocious "Beverly Hills" and even more atrocious "We Are All On Drugs"--were more than enough to convince me that record's bad buzz was entirely warranted.
But I suppose I was curious for this one. First single "Pork and Beans" seemed to be getting good reviews, the cover art was goofy, there was talk of a proggy epic built around the "Shaker Song"--it all sounded like Weezer was going to be fun again. Even if they wouldn't return to heights of the Blue Album and Pinkerton, they would at least not be as soul-less as they were on the Green Album or singing about how we are all ON DRUGS.
But alas, the Red Album is bad enough to actually make me nostalgic for the bland pop-punk of the Green Album.
To be fair, there are a few decent moments. Opening track "Trouble Maker" is a good rock song, and there's even some nice lead guitar punch in the second verse. The aforementioned proggy epic "Shaker song" takeoff, "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived" exists, and though I didn't get much mileage from it (I'm really not at all nostalgic for lower school music class), it at least is fun and goofily endearing, and few parts of it have some nice classic Weezer guitar chug. Classic Weezer guitars also drive "Dreamin'", and it's pretty good.
The rest though is pretty disastrous. "Pork and Beans" is fine I suppose, but it strikes me as smug: Rivers Cuomo complains about having to write a hit and smarmily talks about getting Timbaland's help to "top the charts," but Weezer has been successfully topping charts for years. It all just sounds so disingenious coming from the guy who wrote "Beverly Hills" (though in its own way that song was equally as smug). Things only get worse with "Everybody Get Dangerous," which sounds like Weezer doing a shitty Red Hot Chili Peppers song.
For the first time in Weezer's history, the other guys come in to contribute songs-one each. Initially, I thought this would be an ok idea, as Rivers Cuomo clearly wasn't the font of inspiration that he used to be, and it seemed like one of the other guys might be able to more accurately nail the Weezer sound. But, nope. Hope vanishes pretty fast when guitarist Brian Bell's "Thought I Knew" starts: its got programmed beats and acoustic guitar. Individually, I like both of those things, but when put together as the prominent pieces of a song, it almost always leads to some of the worst music ever. Things get worse when Bell starts to sing in a nasty, nasally autotuned voice: the whole thing gives off an Uncle Kracker vibe. Bassist Scott Shriner (who is most certainly no Matt Sharp) sounds pretty much exactly like he looks on the album cover, which is to say, like an asshole. And the fact that, as a friend pointed out, his song "Cold Dark World" sounds like Kid Rock isn't helping Brian Bell out any. Drummer Patrick Wilson comes off best on his song, "Automatic"-it's completely unremarkable. The record is sequenced poorly too: all of River's songs (except the closing track) are at the front of the record, then we get the other guys' all in a row at the end. Obviously the songs were not recorded in this order (and Cuomos blandly sings the chorus of "Cold Dark World"), but the impression made on the listener is that Cuomos simply got bored or gave up and just left for awhile to go take a nap or buy a new couch or something.
The worst track by far, though, not just on this album but arguably in Weezer's history, is Cuomo's atrocious "Heart Songs." Listen, in concept, I'm okay with Rivers writing a salute to his own musical history, and all the guilty pleasure stuff he loves. Unfortunately, he does so fairly shittily and blandly, pretty much just listing names ("A cat named Stevens"-oy) or tossing out well-known lyrics ("it takes two to make a thing go right/ if the Fresh Prince starts a fight") until the big finish where talks about being inspired by Nirvana. What's worse than the lyrics is the horrible, horrible music Cuomos wrote to accompany his sincerity: instead of the droning guitar buzz and harmonica that accompanied this song's forerunner "In the Garage," we now get a mid-tempo ballad of acoustic guitars, canned strings, and simplistic keyboard melodies clearly set to "INSPIRATIONAL," and Cuomos sings the somewhat boyband-esque melody in a nasal whine that seems to have been borrowed from some shitty emo act Cuomos heard on the radio while driving to the studio. The whole thing sounds like an achingly sincere comedown after a big dance number on, I don't know, a Nick Carter solo-album or something. It's horrible, and genuinely embarrassing to listen to.
Actually, that pretty much sums up this record. Its tough to tell of this a result of the band not caring anymore and just doing what they want, or just not caring anymore and well, not caring. Either way, I'm done listening.
Like with Radiohead, I have some specific history with Weezer (missing them in their initial popular run due to my middle school ignorance of popular music; discovering them years later when the Blue Album essentially soundtracked a terrific (magical!) summer stint at writing camp; one of my favorite concert experiences ever seeing them live before their big Green Album comeback; my first officially published music review being for the Green Album in Raleigh's now defunct Spectactor Magazine). I'll admit I gave up on following them pretty much beyond the radio singles after disliking the Green Album, and those singles didn't suggest I was missing much. The ones from Maladroit, whose names I can't remember right now, were ok but not essential, and the singles from Make Believe--the atrocious "Beverly Hills" and even more atrocious "We Are All On Drugs"--were more than enough to convince me that record's bad buzz was entirely warranted.
But I suppose I was curious for this one. First single "Pork and Beans" seemed to be getting good reviews, the cover art was goofy, there was talk of a proggy epic built around the "Shaker Song"--it all sounded like Weezer was going to be fun again. Even if they wouldn't return to heights of the Blue Album and Pinkerton, they would at least not be as soul-less as they were on the Green Album or singing about how we are all ON DRUGS.
But alas, the Red Album is bad enough to actually make me nostalgic for the bland pop-punk of the Green Album.
To be fair, there are a few decent moments. Opening track "Trouble Maker" is a good rock song, and there's even some nice lead guitar punch in the second verse. The aforementioned proggy epic "Shaker song" takeoff, "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived" exists, and though I didn't get much mileage from it (I'm really not at all nostalgic for lower school music class), it at least is fun and goofily endearing, and few parts of it have some nice classic Weezer guitar chug. Classic Weezer guitars also drive "Dreamin'", and it's pretty good.
The rest though is pretty disastrous. "Pork and Beans" is fine I suppose, but it strikes me as smug: Rivers Cuomo complains about having to write a hit and smarmily talks about getting Timbaland's help to "top the charts," but Weezer has been successfully topping charts for years. It all just sounds so disingenious coming from the guy who wrote "Beverly Hills" (though in its own way that song was equally as smug). Things only get worse with "Everybody Get Dangerous," which sounds like Weezer doing a shitty Red Hot Chili Peppers song.
For the first time in Weezer's history, the other guys come in to contribute songs-one each. Initially, I thought this would be an ok idea, as Rivers Cuomo clearly wasn't the font of inspiration that he used to be, and it seemed like one of the other guys might be able to more accurately nail the Weezer sound. But, nope. Hope vanishes pretty fast when guitarist Brian Bell's "Thought I Knew" starts: its got programmed beats and acoustic guitar. Individually, I like both of those things, but when put together as the prominent pieces of a song, it almost always leads to some of the worst music ever. Things get worse when Bell starts to sing in a nasty, nasally autotuned voice: the whole thing gives off an Uncle Kracker vibe. Bassist Scott Shriner (who is most certainly no Matt Sharp) sounds pretty much exactly like he looks on the album cover, which is to say, like an asshole. And the fact that, as a friend pointed out, his song "Cold Dark World" sounds like Kid Rock isn't helping Brian Bell out any. Drummer Patrick Wilson comes off best on his song, "Automatic"-it's completely unremarkable. The record is sequenced poorly too: all of River's songs (except the closing track) are at the front of the record, then we get the other guys' all in a row at the end. Obviously the songs were not recorded in this order (and Cuomos blandly sings the chorus of "Cold Dark World"), but the impression made on the listener is that Cuomos simply got bored or gave up and just left for awhile to go take a nap or buy a new couch or something.
The worst track by far, though, not just on this album but arguably in Weezer's history, is Cuomo's atrocious "Heart Songs." Listen, in concept, I'm okay with Rivers writing a salute to his own musical history, and all the guilty pleasure stuff he loves. Unfortunately, he does so fairly shittily and blandly, pretty much just listing names ("A cat named Stevens"-oy) or tossing out well-known lyrics ("it takes two to make a thing go right/ if the Fresh Prince starts a fight") until the big finish where talks about being inspired by Nirvana. What's worse than the lyrics is the horrible, horrible music Cuomos wrote to accompany his sincerity: instead of the droning guitar buzz and harmonica that accompanied this song's forerunner "In the Garage," we now get a mid-tempo ballad of acoustic guitars, canned strings, and simplistic keyboard melodies clearly set to "INSPIRATIONAL," and Cuomos sings the somewhat boyband-esque melody in a nasal whine that seems to have been borrowed from some shitty emo act Cuomos heard on the radio while driving to the studio. The whole thing sounds like an achingly sincere comedown after a big dance number on, I don't know, a Nick Carter solo-album or something. It's horrible, and genuinely embarrassing to listen to.
Actually, that pretty much sums up this record. Its tough to tell of this a result of the band not caring anymore and just doing what they want, or just not caring anymore and well, not caring. Either way, I'm done listening.
Friday, May 23, 2008
New music : American Princes
A couple years ago, in my post collegial search for employment, I interviewed for a PR job with Yep Roc Records. I didn't get it (no hard feelings, I was completely unqualified), but I was given a quick tour of the label's office and warehouse, during which I was given an album by a band called American Princes, whose new album Less and Less Yep Roc was about to release. I ended up really liking it: I went in expecting countryish indie rock, which was certainly there, but the band had some major post-punk influences too, and stylistically the album was all over the place: "The Replacements meets the Dismemberment Plan in My Morning Jacket's grain silo"I think I wrote in an email to Yep Roc further imploring them to hire me (they still didn't). In short, Less and Less was a pretty great record, and definitely one that has stood up fairly well, and that I return to pretty often.
Anyway, American Princes just put out a new album, Other People. I was psyched to see the band heartily endorsed in Noel Murray's great Popless column on the AV Club, but beyond that, they've been pretty ignored critically (at least where I'm looking). I was even more distressed to find that I couldn't find this record at a couple of different local independent record stores. Perhaps somebody at Yep Roc isn't doing their job so well . . . (call me guys!).
Its too bad, because Other People is pretty great. Its not quite as diverse as Less and Less, and their slight alt-country vibe has been scaled back some, instead with the focus now being on a more New Wave meets southern rock sound. Still, the band has three songwriters and singers, so things never get samey, and their execution remains excellent.
I highly recommend it.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
On A Friday, pt. 2
Last Friday, the 9th, I went to see Radiohead in Charlotte.
I was a bit hesitant at first. I saw on Pitchfork or Stereogum or something that the band was playing there, but initially I didn't intend on going. Not sure why not. As I said, I wasn't as enthusiastic about Radiohead as I used to be, and I don't know, just wasn't inclined to do it.
Only after my friend Tradd offered me a ticket did I reconsider and go for it. I probably got screwed a bit for my hesitance-I paid 96 dollars for my ticket (thirdhand), instead however much it might have been had I bought it right from the band. But whatevs. When the offer came up, I was in the midst of a resolution to get out more and do more stuff and say YES, so I went for it.
The day of the show, I was much more excited than I expected to be. Last Friday morning, I woke up and it dawned on me that, yes, I was going to see Radiohead! I was about to do what I'd have given a toe for not too long ago, and indeed, something I thought I wouldn't ever do. For years, the band had been so prickly and toured so irregularly that I had already consigned them to my "oh well" file of acts I'd never get to see.
But by four-thirty that afternoon, I found myself on the way to Charlotte in the back of a big van with Tradd and three other dudes I'd never met before.
I'm not complaining here (really!) but it wasn't how I imagined I'd go see Radiohead way back when. Not sure how I pictured it-maybe as a date with a girl with glasses (my girl with glasses stayed home, alas), but it certainly wasn't in such a Dazed and Confused kind of way. Its just indicative, I guess, of the way things rarely play out the way you expect them to, not to mention how the public perception of Radiohead had seemingly changed in the last several years.
But anyway, on to the show! After a stop-off at Arby's (not nearly as gross as I remembered it being, though I was possibly aided this time by my wise decision to order a chicken sandwich instead of the horror that is the Big Montana), we got to Charlotte. The excitement was palpable.
Soon we'd be seeing Radiohead!
But first, there was traffic. A lot of traffic. About two miles of stopped cars traffic. All filled with other people on the way to the concert, because as best as I could tell, there was only one road to the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre. Nice civil engineering there, Charlotte.
As there were no options, we waited it out. Scalpers walked up and down the shoulder. People hopped out of their cars to go pee in the woods, or would run into a gas station to get drinks, only to come out a moment later and find that the traffic had moved, and they'd have to run to catch up (though of course, by the time they got to their cars, the traffic was stopped again). Time passed on and on, and before long it was a bit before nine o'clock, about when we guestimated Radiohead would be taking the stage.
Eventually, we got up to the parking lot, and with the van windows down, we could tell the concert had indeed started. "There There" was playing in the distance. We took the first space we could find, and hurried in, while the band played "Airbag."
We had lawn tickets and . . . I'm a small club kind of dude I think. I mean, we walked down as close as we could get to the actual amphitheatre area, but I still felt incredibly far away, and the sound was never quite loud enough to really envelope me in the way a concert should.
As always, I had some issues with the crowd. I mean, for the most part it was fine (huge though, I can't remember the last time I was a concert where so many people seemed packed in so tightly). I, however, almost always have the bad luck of finding a nice spot to stand right next to someone who MUST DANCE in the most dramatic way possible, and with the least respect for anyone else's personal space. Usually its a hippie girl, but this time, it was a dread-locked white dude who bore a suspicious resemblance to Zach de la Rocha. Rarely do I so wish to be in the possession of a taser than I do at a crowded concert. Anyway, lil' la Rocha may or may not have been with another group of jumping, near moshing morons a few feet away, who were led by some hyperactive kid who, after every song, shouted "I hope they play 'Just!'" and then proceeded to shout that chorus. As terrific as it would have been to see "Just" played live (it's a killer song), I was hoping pretty much the whole time that the band would not play it (they didn't). Slightly less annoying were the couple behind me, who seemed to be on a first or second date; the dude kept telling his girlfriend what the song was within a few seconds of it starting, but was completely wrong every time.
Anyway, the show then! I do have to say Radiohead's stage set up and lighting were pretty incredible. A fairly standard but excellently light display accompanied every song, and cameras were trained on each band member, their images projected behind them so that their video images became an essential part of the lighting effects. The best visual moment was on "You and Whose Army," in which all the lights and cameras cut out, except a camera mounted on Thom Yorke's piano, so opening quiet part of the song was performed with Thom's eye staring at the crowd. Thom hammed it up, drawing back and sneer-smiling, and it was pretty damn great.
The set list was . . . ok. Reasonably diverse selections, though the focus was on newer stuff. I was pissed to miss "There There" and "Airbag," but did get plenty of other good stuff. "Idioteque" was incredible-not much different than the album version, but still near perfect. "Optimistic" was introduced as an older song (sort of, I guess) but it sounded great. The only selection from The Bends was "Planet Telex," but that was a major highlight: loud and anthemic, with a nifty purple and yellow light show to boot. It was a good choice, since that song sounds much more in keeping with their newer stuff than say, "Bones", while bringing in some of the big guitars and solos that defined their 90's era. New song "Bangers and Mash" sounded great, and the too brief moment when the almost suffocating tension and reserve in "Morning Bell" lets loose was executed perfectly. The underrated "Where I End and You Begin" was a monster, fast and intense. And "Paranoid Android" was a hell of an awesome and crowd pleasing choice.
Still, the band seemed a bit subdued overall. Part of it may have been being out on the lawn, but the setlist had a pretty large number of ballads and mid-tempo stuff. "Nude" and "Sail to the Moon" back to back? "Sail to the Moon" at all? "Reckoner" seemed like a bit of an odd choice for a set closer too, but that may just be me, since I'm pretty lukewarm on that song.
Anyway, after the show we found our way out of the auditorium (whose staff was kind of enough to give out free cups of water), and I decided against sinking 40 bucks into a t-shirt (which seemed to be some kind of polyester-esque fabric that may not have been flattering on my doughy frame) or a Radiohead sheet (which just looked like dark tie-dye). We hung out playing frisbee in the parking lot for awhile while the traffic cleared, then went on home.
And that's all I've got right now.
PS-being far away made it tough to for me to figure out what parts Ed was playing. Still worried about that guy!
I was a bit hesitant at first. I saw on Pitchfork or Stereogum or something that the band was playing there, but initially I didn't intend on going. Not sure why not. As I said, I wasn't as enthusiastic about Radiohead as I used to be, and I don't know, just wasn't inclined to do it.
Only after my friend Tradd offered me a ticket did I reconsider and go for it. I probably got screwed a bit for my hesitance-I paid 96 dollars for my ticket (thirdhand), instead however much it might have been had I bought it right from the band. But whatevs. When the offer came up, I was in the midst of a resolution to get out more and do more stuff and say YES, so I went for it.
The day of the show, I was much more excited than I expected to be. Last Friday morning, I woke up and it dawned on me that, yes, I was going to see Radiohead! I was about to do what I'd have given a toe for not too long ago, and indeed, something I thought I wouldn't ever do. For years, the band had been so prickly and toured so irregularly that I had already consigned them to my "oh well" file of acts I'd never get to see.
But by four-thirty that afternoon, I found myself on the way to Charlotte in the back of a big van with Tradd and three other dudes I'd never met before.
I'm not complaining here (really!) but it wasn't how I imagined I'd go see Radiohead way back when. Not sure how I pictured it-maybe as a date with a girl with glasses (my girl with glasses stayed home, alas), but it certainly wasn't in such a Dazed and Confused kind of way. Its just indicative, I guess, of the way things rarely play out the way you expect them to, not to mention how the public perception of Radiohead had seemingly changed in the last several years.
But anyway, on to the show! After a stop-off at Arby's (not nearly as gross as I remembered it being, though I was possibly aided this time by my wise decision to order a chicken sandwich instead of the horror that is the Big Montana), we got to Charlotte. The excitement was palpable.
Soon we'd be seeing Radiohead!
But first, there was traffic. A lot of traffic. About two miles of stopped cars traffic. All filled with other people on the way to the concert, because as best as I could tell, there was only one road to the Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre. Nice civil engineering there, Charlotte.
As there were no options, we waited it out. Scalpers walked up and down the shoulder. People hopped out of their cars to go pee in the woods, or would run into a gas station to get drinks, only to come out a moment later and find that the traffic had moved, and they'd have to run to catch up (though of course, by the time they got to their cars, the traffic was stopped again). Time passed on and on, and before long it was a bit before nine o'clock, about when we guestimated Radiohead would be taking the stage.
Eventually, we got up to the parking lot, and with the van windows down, we could tell the concert had indeed started. "There There" was playing in the distance. We took the first space we could find, and hurried in, while the band played "Airbag."
We had lawn tickets and . . . I'm a small club kind of dude I think. I mean, we walked down as close as we could get to the actual amphitheatre area, but I still felt incredibly far away, and the sound was never quite loud enough to really envelope me in the way a concert should.
As always, I had some issues with the crowd. I mean, for the most part it was fine (huge though, I can't remember the last time I was a concert where so many people seemed packed in so tightly). I, however, almost always have the bad luck of finding a nice spot to stand right next to someone who MUST DANCE in the most dramatic way possible, and with the least respect for anyone else's personal space. Usually its a hippie girl, but this time, it was a dread-locked white dude who bore a suspicious resemblance to Zach de la Rocha. Rarely do I so wish to be in the possession of a taser than I do at a crowded concert. Anyway, lil' la Rocha may or may not have been with another group of jumping, near moshing morons a few feet away, who were led by some hyperactive kid who, after every song, shouted "I hope they play 'Just!'" and then proceeded to shout that chorus. As terrific as it would have been to see "Just" played live (it's a killer song), I was hoping pretty much the whole time that the band would not play it (they didn't). Slightly less annoying were the couple behind me, who seemed to be on a first or second date; the dude kept telling his girlfriend what the song was within a few seconds of it starting, but was completely wrong every time.
Anyway, the show then! I do have to say Radiohead's stage set up and lighting were pretty incredible. A fairly standard but excellently light display accompanied every song, and cameras were trained on each band member, their images projected behind them so that their video images became an essential part of the lighting effects. The best visual moment was on "You and Whose Army," in which all the lights and cameras cut out, except a camera mounted on Thom Yorke's piano, so opening quiet part of the song was performed with Thom's eye staring at the crowd. Thom hammed it up, drawing back and sneer-smiling, and it was pretty damn great.
The set list was . . . ok. Reasonably diverse selections, though the focus was on newer stuff. I was pissed to miss "There There" and "Airbag," but did get plenty of other good stuff. "Idioteque" was incredible-not much different than the album version, but still near perfect. "Optimistic" was introduced as an older song (sort of, I guess) but it sounded great. The only selection from The Bends was "Planet Telex," but that was a major highlight: loud and anthemic, with a nifty purple and yellow light show to boot. It was a good choice, since that song sounds much more in keeping with their newer stuff than say, "Bones", while bringing in some of the big guitars and solos that defined their 90's era. New song "Bangers and Mash" sounded great, and the too brief moment when the almost suffocating tension and reserve in "Morning Bell" lets loose was executed perfectly. The underrated "Where I End and You Begin" was a monster, fast and intense. And "Paranoid Android" was a hell of an awesome and crowd pleasing choice.
Still, the band seemed a bit subdued overall. Part of it may have been being out on the lawn, but the setlist had a pretty large number of ballads and mid-tempo stuff. "Nude" and "Sail to the Moon" back to back? "Sail to the Moon" at all? "Reckoner" seemed like a bit of an odd choice for a set closer too, but that may just be me, since I'm pretty lukewarm on that song.
Anyway, after the show we found our way out of the auditorium (whose staff was kind of enough to give out free cups of water), and I decided against sinking 40 bucks into a t-shirt (which seemed to be some kind of polyester-esque fabric that may not have been flattering on my doughy frame) or a Radiohead sheet (which just looked like dark tie-dye). We hung out playing frisbee in the parking lot for awhile while the traffic cleared, then went on home.
And that's all I've got right now.
PS-being far away made it tough to for me to figure out what parts Ed was playing. Still worried about that guy!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
On A Friday, pt. 1
Radiohead were the first band I loved.
Or at least, the first band I loved obsessively. Certainly the first band I loved whose music I sought out myself.
I had kind of a weird musical upbringing, in that for most of my childhood and early teen years, I just wasn’t that interested in music. I mean, I liked it, but I couldn’t imagine sitting in my room alone listening to something, and when I was in the car with my mom (where most of my early music listening happened), we listened generally to what she chose-namely older r & b (lots of Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin), adult contemporary pop (again usually with some r & b lite attributes, like Jon Secada or something), and for some reason, British synth-pop superstars Erasure. We also listened a lot to Electronic, a mostly forgotten synth-pop collaboration between Bernard Sumner and Johnny Marr, which I dug a lot (it remains worth a listen), though at the time I had no idea of its two principles’ significance.
Furthermore, I didn’t have any older siblings to pass things on to me, though I do remember being in the car once with my cousins Desna and Max when they put on the Gin Blossoms’ (still great) “Hey Jealousy” and being kind of blown away by the sheer rebellious audacity of a singer talking happily about being chased by the cops.
Anyway, back then, I also wasn’t the type of kid to listen to much music socially, mostly because I was a weird, introverted only-child who was mostly content to spend most of the time alone (though not unhappy). That combined with the fact that my mom had an odd no-MTV policy made it so that listening to whatever was popular at the time never really entered my world.
I mean, I did sneak MTV sometimes, and I was at least somewhat aware of what was popular and cool (I did have friends, if I didn’t usually do much with them outside of school). I remember really liking Oasis, and thinking Bush’s “Glycerine” was great, and I liked Blues Traveler and Live a lot too. But it wasn’t until I was about fifteen, and facing soon driving myself around and having that independence that the notion of choosing my own soundtrack for my life became a possibility.
By that time, I was watching MTV much more, and could easily have gotten into what was popular then (what was popular in 1997-98? Had nu-metal begun its rise to prominence?). But I was already something of a young elitist, determined to find music that struck me as different than most of the stuff I was seeing on MTV. This led me to . . . Dave Matthews (come on, what other band on MTV back then had a violinist and saxophonist? Also, to be fair to myself, none of my friends at the time were listening to Dave Matthews, at least as far as I knew. Poor naïve Josh thought Dave Matthews was such a rarefied choice that upon seeing a Dave Matthews sticker on the car of a major crush, he believed it was a sure sign of a future connection!)
Of course, actually listening to the Dave Matthews CD I bought (Before These Crowded Streets) was luckily enough to push me away from that scene, and even better, my dedication to finding things that were different led me other weirder and more interesting stuff, like Portishead and Pulp. And Radiohead.
At the time what drew me to Radiohead, I guess, was the videos. Back then, the videos for "Paranoid Android" and "Karma Police" were getting semi-regular rotation, and I liked them immediately. "Karma Police" remains one of the greatest music videos ever shot, I think, and the videos for "Just" and "Street Spirit" are classics as well (I liked it at the time, but I haven't seen "Paranoid Android" in years, though I suspect it might not have aged as well).Anyway, I got Ok Computer, and loved it, and pretty soon after I picked up The Bends. (I actually never got around to buying Pablo Honey--I think I convinced myself that it was something juvenile and unnecessary). And suddenly I, whose previous strongest musical likes were hitched to the Sega CD classic Lunar, had a favorite band. I would take long drives on weekends just to listen to the albums. I was drawn online, and started looking for reviews and media about Radiohead, wanting to find out more and more, wanting to figure out what it all meant. I watched footage of the band on TV, playing at outdoor festivals in England, thrilled as all hell that the live version of "Creep" replaced the mild adjective "very" with the much more rockin' "fuckin'." I developed an odd obsession with Ed (which remains), worrying that he didn't get enough to do. I watched the misery inducing / joy snuffing / sunshine murdering tour documentary Meeting People Is Easy and convinced myself it was good. I wore a t-shirt that said "We hope that you choke" on it to school, and was mildly rebuffed by a history teacher.
I felt cooler listening to Radiohead-not only was this loud, angry, and rebellious music (well sometimes--"My Iron Lung" got a lot of play), but it was smarter and more interesting and dare I say it, more profound than all the nu-metal everybody was listening too. Thom Yorke didn't just yell about his pain like, I don't know, Jonathan Davis or something, he spat out lyrics about chemical reactions and polyeurethane! The band members weren't a bunch of bald, tattooed mooks, but thin, artsy looking dudes, dudes who looked cool in a very particular way, like I wanted look.
And most importantly, for the most part I was the only one listening to Radiohead, at least amongst my own group of friends. I knew some older kids were into it, and there were a few guys in my class who were into Radiohead and Limp Bizkit (they claimed to appreciate Wes Borland's guitar effects), but for the most part, I felt like listening to Radiohead was something that made me stand out, that made me different (of course, later, in college, it became apparent that every Radiohead fan--and there are A LOT at college--felt the exact same way). And what can I say--it added to the appeal.
It wasn't to last forever, of course, my love affair with Radiohead. As much as I loved The Bends and Ok Computer (and the awesome Airbag / How Am I Driving? ep, which I was thrilled to discover at a Borders one fateful day--"A Reminder" remains one of my favorite Radiohead tracks), I needed other stuff to listen to also, and Radiohead actually proved vital in leading me to new things. Sure, I already had Portishead, Pulp, and Eels from MTV and MTV2, but it was on some Radiohead fansite that somebody compared Blur's just released 13 (an underrated, excellent album) to Ok Computer. So I picked it up, and that opened up a world of Britpop greatness (Oasis, The Verve, Manic Street Preachers, Mansun, to a much much lesser extent, Travis). Then, a little later, after I'd moved to North Carolina and started eleventh grade, I kept reading about this band Pavement, whose latest album was produced by Nigel Godrich (and even featured Jonny Greenwood on harmonica!). So I checked that out, and suddenly found myself an indie rock fan. (This went down about a week before Pavement played in Raleigh, on what would be their last tour. If I had just found that album a tiny bit earlier!)
Pretty soon, Pavement supplanted Radiohead in my mind as my favorite band. I was as pysched as everybody when Kid A came out in 2000, but it didn't occupy nearly as much time in my CD player as those earlier albums (though I do think that Kid A is the band's greatest achievement). And then when the weak and generally pretty boring Amnesiac came out a few months later, my former favorite band was suddenly fallible. Old news even.
I continued to love Radiohead as I went to college. I even had a Bends era poster on my freshman year dorm room wall, though this was partially in response to my roomate's Boys' Gospel Choir poster (don't ask). But at a time when lots of my peers were discovering Radiohead for the first time, for me the magic was already gone. Was that in part because by then lots of people, lots of my peers even, were Radiohead fans? Yes, maybe, I don't know.
I still bought and liked the ridiculously titled Hail to the Thief. And I was online with everybody else last year downloading In Rainbows (I paid five dollars!), which I liked, though not as much as lots of other folks. And I'll probably get whatever the band puts out in the future. And when a Radiohead song comes up on my Ipod, I usually enjoy it (unless it's "Knives Out"-as I cleverly thought to myself at the time, its Radiohead aping The Smiths, and coming up with something that misses everything that's good about either), even if the glass-breaking guitar solo in "Climbing up the Walls" doesn't blow my mind like it once did. The fact remains that my Radiohead fandom was pretty instrumental in making me the music obsessive that I am today, which is a pretty big part of who I am today. So that's worth something, I think.
coming soon-the second part of this Radioheaderific postathon, in which I discuss seeing Radiohead live in a context as far removed from my original experience with the band as possible!
So a bunch of months back, Laura and I were at Edward McKay's (a used book / movies / music) store when I discovered in the bargain section a movie entitled Funky Monkey.
I know. Amazing.
So of course I bought it. And though we've not had the strength to watch it yet, the cover alone has brought me more joy than just about anything else I've ever paid four dollars for.
Anyway, I took the existence of this movie as proof that if Homer Simpson himself had not somehow come into reality and instantly gotten a job as a studio executive, then at the very least studio executives were looking for inspiration from the noted fan of Hail to the Chimp and other such high concept entertainments.
Now, though, I think there is definitive proof that someone somewhere is snagging all of their ideas from quick throwaway gags on The Simpsons. Namely: Hot Tub Time Machine. Even the description sounds like something Homer would say: "combine hot tub debauchery and the complications of time travel."
Seriously, if future reports reveal that a talking pie is somehow involved, Homer and Ron Howard should contact their lawyers.
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