Re-read my wishlist post from a few weeks back and realized that I've since picked up 4 out of the 6 items on it. Yay (I guess).
Now, barring any more spontaneous concert trips, I'll be able to start working towards taking care of that whole bed situation...
Monday, October 27, 2003
Stroke'd!
Rock'n'roll, like good sex, should do a few things. It should leave you dizzy, breathless, exhausted, blissed-out, exhilarated and with the feeling of one who has felt, for a moment, lifted out of themselves and into something bigger. Kinda like seeing God.
If that’s the criteria that we shall measure our rock by, then The Strokes' appearance at Seattle's Seahawks Exhibition Centre was everything a good rock show-cum-religious experience should be.
Despite being stuck in a cavernous hall that was well below sold-out status, the New York rock-revival standard-bearers lined the smallish crowd up against the wall and machined gunned 'em down with a perfectly balanced set of sexy, raw New Wave-inspired tunes from Is This It and new one Room On Fire. While media profiles and haters alike tend to focus on the band’s fashion sense, background and throwback sound, more than anything else these guys are pros. Tight, focused, almost machine-like in their efficiency. And, while some would criticize the lack of onstage action (with the exception of Julian Casablancas' wandering about and Albert Hammond's bobbing 'fro action), I'll take the Strokes' lean songs and razor-sharp delivery over a thousand furiously pogoing poseurs any day.
Openers and Southern preacher-spawn Kings Of Leon set the tone with a raw loose set of CCR-ish boogie-rock. The band, all moustasches, leather jackets and tight trousers, fell on the Philistinistic crowd like a Led balloon, but still proved to be a hearty appetizer for the main course
The Strokes swaggered out to the Clash's "Clampdown" and kicked straight into Room On Fire "ballad" Under Control, which dripped with Casablancas' trademark East Village ennui and Hammond and Nick Valensi's serpentine guitar licks. Despite nursing a throat ailment (which manifested itself a couple of times during the show), Casablancas was the focal point, bantering easily (albeit nonsensically) between songs, swearing like a sailor, and diving into the crowd (twice) during new single "12:51". And then there was The Moment. Every great show has a Moment, when everything comes together to make your mouth drop open slackly, your fists to clench involuntarily and the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. On this night, it was during "Reptilia" a song that pretty much embodies the Strokes' "sound": the tight groove of Nikolai Fraiture's bass and Fab Moretti's airtight drumming meeting the frenzied duel guitar attack, all propelled into Mach speeds by Casablancas’ vocal explosion. As the angular front man leaned into the mic to beg the crowd to "Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast!” and the strobes bathed the crowd and stage in a flash of blinding white, The Moment hit me and I rocked back on my heels like a Pentecostal at a old time revival. Saved by rock'n' roll. Saved by the Strokes.
If that’s the criteria that we shall measure our rock by, then The Strokes' appearance at Seattle's Seahawks Exhibition Centre was everything a good rock show-cum-religious experience should be.
Despite being stuck in a cavernous hall that was well below sold-out status, the New York rock-revival standard-bearers lined the smallish crowd up against the wall and machined gunned 'em down with a perfectly balanced set of sexy, raw New Wave-inspired tunes from Is This It and new one Room On Fire. While media profiles and haters alike tend to focus on the band’s fashion sense, background and throwback sound, more than anything else these guys are pros. Tight, focused, almost machine-like in their efficiency. And, while some would criticize the lack of onstage action (with the exception of Julian Casablancas' wandering about and Albert Hammond's bobbing 'fro action), I'll take the Strokes' lean songs and razor-sharp delivery over a thousand furiously pogoing poseurs any day.
Openers and Southern preacher-spawn Kings Of Leon set the tone with a raw loose set of CCR-ish boogie-rock. The band, all moustasches, leather jackets and tight trousers, fell on the Philistinistic crowd like a Led balloon, but still proved to be a hearty appetizer for the main course
The Strokes swaggered out to the Clash's "Clampdown" and kicked straight into Room On Fire "ballad" Under Control, which dripped with Casablancas' trademark East Village ennui and Hammond and Nick Valensi's serpentine guitar licks. Despite nursing a throat ailment (which manifested itself a couple of times during the show), Casablancas was the focal point, bantering easily (albeit nonsensically) between songs, swearing like a sailor, and diving into the crowd (twice) during new single "12:51". And then there was The Moment. Every great show has a Moment, when everything comes together to make your mouth drop open slackly, your fists to clench involuntarily and the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. On this night, it was during "Reptilia" a song that pretty much embodies the Strokes' "sound": the tight groove of Nikolai Fraiture's bass and Fab Moretti's airtight drumming meeting the frenzied duel guitar attack, all propelled into Mach speeds by Casablancas’ vocal explosion. As the angular front man leaned into the mic to beg the crowd to "Please don't slow me down if I'm going too fast!” and the strobes bathed the crowd and stage in a flash of blinding white, The Moment hit me and I rocked back on my heels like a Pentecostal at a old time revival. Saved by rock'n' roll. Saved by the Strokes.
Friday, October 24, 2003
We can go and get 40s, fuck going to that party
Holy shit. I'm 36 hours or so removed from seeing the Strokes in Seattle. Just thinking about it makes my pants small, ifyouknowwhatImean.
I wrote a big-ass review of the new Ryan Adams album for this piece, but my fucking computer ate it. Here's the abridged version:
"The new Ryan Adams record, "Rock N Roll", is really boring."
November looks like it's going to blow up BIG! My homie Liam is in from Manchestah next week (just in time for Halloween; me and the crew are going as the cast of The Royal Tennenbaums). There's also some great shows on the way, including the Vertical Struts on Nov. 1, Broken Social Scene on the 9th and Hot Hot Heat on Nov. 22. Big sports month too, with the Eskimos hosting the CFL's Western Final on Nov. 9 (which i hope to attend), the Heritage Hockey Classic , and tons of NFL and Premiership action to catch. Shit, I may have to quit my job just to keep up with life...
Anyway, stay tuned for Seattle shenanigans and (hopefully) the long-delayed Austin entry. Peace The Fuck Out.
I wrote a big-ass review of the new Ryan Adams album for this piece, but my fucking computer ate it. Here's the abridged version:
"The new Ryan Adams record, "Rock N Roll", is really boring."
November looks like it's going to blow up BIG! My homie Liam is in from Manchestah next week (just in time for Halloween; me and the crew are going as the cast of The Royal Tennenbaums). There's also some great shows on the way, including the Vertical Struts on Nov. 1, Broken Social Scene on the 9th and Hot Hot Heat on Nov. 22. Big sports month too, with the Eskimos hosting the CFL's Western Final on Nov. 9 (which i hope to attend), the Heritage Hockey Classic , and tons of NFL and Premiership action to catch. Shit, I may have to quit my job just to keep up with life...
Anyway, stay tuned for Seattle shenanigans and (hopefully) the long-delayed Austin entry. Peace The Fuck Out.
Friday, October 17, 2003
Tuesday, October 14, 2003
Update, long overdue
A la Nickleback, it's been a while. (Sorry.)
That's mostly 'cause there's sweet FA to report. Been keeping things on the downlow for a while, no shows, no new CDs (though I listened to the roomie's copy of the new Belle and Sebastian a couple of times and, I gotta tell you, it could be my new fave B&S joint.)
This is the dead time for Deadmonton: the days are crawling into their hidey-holes and winter waits at the bus stop, destination: here.
(I did watch Spun t'other day: pretty weak. Get Requiem For A Dream instead.)
That's mostly 'cause there's sweet FA to report. Been keeping things on the downlow for a while, no shows, no new CDs (though I listened to the roomie's copy of the new Belle and Sebastian a couple of times and, I gotta tell you, it could be my new fave B&S joint.)
This is the dead time for Deadmonton: the days are crawling into their hidey-holes and winter waits at the bus stop, destination: here.
(I did watch Spun t'other day: pretty weak. Get Requiem For A Dream instead.)
Wednesday, October 01, 2003
Bad math.
Gin+bummed cigaretttes+"Lost in Translation"= good times (or X)
X+lack of sleep+work=1 (one) shit day.
X+lack of sleep+work=1 (one) shit day.
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