It's a Spoon show. There is no reason for there to be hippies. I've been to sold out shows at the Crystal before, and I've never seen a crowd like this. Even the balcony's stuffed full. People are sitting in my spot. People are sitting in my plan B spot. Plan C is busy---but not 120% full, like everywhere else, so I'll find myself a corner there. And from where I am, I have a pretty good view of the floor. It's packed full. You're an indie hipster? You just want a footprint-sized spot to bob your head? You might be able to find one, if you're lucky and small (and tall enough to see from the back of the floor)..
And then there's the hippie. Dancing like she's in the parking lot waiting for a Dead show. Honey, put the arms down before someone gets hurt. Peace, love, and this-12-foot-radius-belongs-to-me? You're at the wrong damn show, and I don't understand how you accidentally paid this much money to end up here. You may think you're a collectivist, but like every other modern hippie, you think the whole fucking world belongs to you. And your crazy waving arms.
So before I left home, I double-checked the ticket. 8 doors, 9 show. Perfect. I'm busy--making peanut noodles, experimenting with felting, finishing some Christmas ornaments, playing with Diamond Glaze and scissors and a glue stick and the power drill--you know, the typical pre-christmas DIY manic phase. And doing laundry. 'Cause you can't be creative all the time. I'll get there by 9:30, right? Catch a bit of the first opening band (with some dumb name like Blood Arm or Lavender Diamond or...well, Blood Diamond might be an okay name, but wouldn't Lavender Arm be an even stupider opening band name?) and then there should be an okay band and then, about 11:30, Spooooooooon! (Imagine The Tick shouting it. Now isn't it the best band name ever? Let's say it all together, in the voice of The Tick. Spoooooooooon!)
As always, I show up just in time to have missed the opening band by ten minutes. Every. Single. Time. I show up late because I know my time is flexible, so I plan twice as many things as I can manage in the time I have. I show up at ten minutes to ten...and Spoon takes the stage. Jaysus-frickin'-Christ, I totally forgot the show was sponsored by the radio station. For as much money as I spent to be here, the radio station doesn't need to be involved. But they are--and what does that mean? One opening band and an early headliner. Well, the opener probably sucked as usual...oh, fuck. No, the "opener" was The Shaky Hands. Don't let me forget to tell you about seeing The Shaky Hands a few weeks ago--so it's not a tragedy, just somewhat unfortunate that I've missed them. Though this does explain the presence of the lone hippie.
Spoon puts on an incredible show. But I'm torn. I feel like a hypocrite. Here's this band with 10+ years of indie history, and they play maybe 4 songs that aren't from the 2006 and 2007 discs. If I knew their entire history, I probably would have been pissed. But I love it, because those are the two discs I own and know well. Damn it, I hate those people, and here I am, one of them.
But what they do beautifully is take these familiar songs and make them new with fun effects and changes in tempo and other playful reworkings. No matter how well or poorly I know a band's catalogue, if they faithfully replicate the studio recordings and then go home, I feel gypped. Damn it, if I wanted to hear the CD, I can do that without your help. Spoon made every song sound and feel truly live. They took a deeper track from one of those discs and made it sound like a lost Pet Shop Boys track. A-fucking-mazing. You Got Yr Cherry Bomb, which I put on a CD for my mom (you'd love her...do you know any other 58-year-old women who enthuse, "I love Modest Mouse!"), I joked, "Play this for Dad, and then ask, 'Don't you remember this from the late '60's?'" rocked way harder than any garage band from that era. Sadly, though Underdog sounded different from the CD, it was because they upped the tempo and replaced the horns with synths, so it just sounded perfunctory. "Damn, we've got to play this, I suppose." But other than that one song, they really sounded like they were having fun playing. That's a bonus of living in Portland--so many bands have local connections so they start or end their tours here, and go all out in a way they don't manage in Pittsburgh or Milwaukee. Britt Daniels calls Portland home, and you could hear it in the show. He wasn't looking at the note taped to the back of his guitar, like in the Simpsons episode. "Hellloooooo....(uh...)...Springfield!"
My big complaint is how short the show was. Doors at 8, show at 9, headliner takes the stage by 10, everyone out the door by 11:30. With what I spent on this show, you really ought to plan the rest of my night for me. The pretty boy went home early, so I didn't even see him (though he called to review the show---squeee!), so I was off to play pool at the nearby college bar (it's pretty quiet after finals end). And damn, did I play well until the bartender started buying my drinks...
I've been to a few shows I haven't reviewed. First, there was The Shaky Hands and Menomena at the Crystal. You know I have issues with The Shaky Hands. They rock my socks off...and then knit me new ones, chunky wool-and-hemp with stripes when they get all hippie. Apparently having to fill a venue the size of the Crystal with sound challenged them, and they kicked. Fucking. Ass. There wasn't a second when you thought to yourself, "I bet this guy's barefoot," even if you'd already read my previous TSH post.
And then, between TSH and the headliners, Menomena, the Ex sat down next to me. And to make small talk, he talked about the Band of Horses show I missed at the Crystal because I went to see my family for thanksgiving instead (it was a really, really tough call, and the deciding factor was that my dad offered to pay for my plane ticket, and no one offered to pay for my ticket to BoH). "Gee, OMS, that show made me think of you! Wasn't that a great night, when we saw BoH?" "Uh...you mean the night I thought, "what a nice day we've had! I bet things are going to be okay!" and then you broke up with me that night, and told me to stay away from the house the next day so you could pack up all your stuff? That night?" So I spent the rest of the night angry, and pretty much missed the Menomena show. Which sucks, because their shows are so much better than anything my ex has ever managed. It was my own fault for giving a shit, but still...I blame him.
Seriously, who reminisces about how awesome it was the night he broke up with you?
And that brings me back a couple of weeks to seeing Alan Singley at Pix Patisserie on Hawthorne. And I'm still pained by the fact that there's a Pix on Hawthorne. It used to be...oh, hell, it really did have a name...I remember! I do! It was called Bar Pastiche. It was a joint venture between a tapas place and Pix, the dessert place. The food was astounding, and I could order six plates plus a beer, spend ten bucks, and have an amazing dinner. It's not like that anymore, and I miss the Tapas Boys almost as much as I miss the food (okay...almost as much as I miss the pimento cheese, but not nearly as much as I miss the rabbit salad or the olives...). But now that Pix has taken over, they've just very recently developed a policy that they'll bring a little dish of the "fancy corn nuts" to anyone who sits down and orders just a beer. Mmmmm...the "corn nuts" are marvelous, and involve pistachios. There isn't another place in town that gives me complimentary pistachios, so as angry as I still am that Bar Pastiche is no more, and I can't have a lovely dinner plus beer that involves 5 or 6 different dishes plus beer for ten bucks, oh shit. Complimentary pistachios.
Fuck the pistachios. Alan Singley was playing, and he wasn't even drunk, and he was amazing. "If you'd kept me around, the sound of this heart breaking would be impossible. I guess I just can't deal with things not going my way." "I'm glad I've got a phone so I can call you tomorrow...I know that I won't, and I'll be all alone." Alan has recently been through a breakup, and you can hear it. But still, "I will protect you when you sleep." Drunk punk piano lounge making me tear up. I can envision it--hypervigilant though I am--I want to be protected while I sleep. I want to find it, Iwant it to be out there, and more than anything, I want to have the hope to believe it's out there. I don't, but songs like that make me want to try to believe.
No comments:
Post a Comment