tacky and obnoxious... a night at The Majestic

It all started off well enough... going to see The Ragbirds and Bump last night at The Majestic.

Ragbirds started off and were OK, but honestly? I've seen better shows of theirs. A fairly short set and a small early crowd. Nice enough, but not exactly ass-kicking, either.

Bump was new to me and didn't really grab me much. Sure, there were some interesting blends of electronica, groovish funkness, and (oddly) shred-like guitar, but it was far to much in the middle. Might have been mixed badly? Or my expectations were different? A steady wall of sound with no distinctive anything I could latch on to. No consistent groove, no noise sculpting, no driving bits... nothing I could grab hold of. Guitar/keyboard guy had lots of keyboards but didn't do much with them (which says to me that he's spending more time with gear than with sound). Bass guy was in the background and MIA, sonically as well as physically. Guitar dude with his astronautica-schtick was off somewhere else. Drummer was punchy, tight, but knows how to take a step back too ... definitely knows what he's doing.

I don't know if I'd pay much money to see them again, but technically we didn't pay to get in this time (yes, tickets were bought, but unused - anyone want some tickets? "I got two! Two tickets! Who needs em?!"). G and I walked into the wrong part of the bar-megaplex at first, so we had been "carded" and already had wristbands when we walked into the theater lobby. I just flashed it and kept walking, expecting the ticket-taking to be further up the way. I guess they assumed by either my decisive striding or the wristband that someone else had gotten our tickets. (Note to self - next show at the Majestic, get wristbands down the street and try this trick again. Gate-crashing helps offset overpriced skunky beer expense.)

Knowing that there was a middle-band (second opening act? or is the first band the opening band for the opening band?) Midtown Underground didn't seem like it would affect the other band experiences at the time, but I can't lie to you, dear readers... they stunk it up like a fart in an elevator. An elevator that's stuck between floors, with the fire department on strike and no hope of a rescue anytime soon. For the record: I don't need to hear any more shouts-out from the 8 white boys on stage about how they're gonna get the pahhty stahhted and kick it old skool, nowhahumsayin'? When the drummer doesn't realize he's got a bridge or a solo and he doesn't notice that we noticed that he didn't notice, and the sax player spends more time flailing and posing one-handed playing a single note, and the frontman's obnoxious ego is so large though he has no actual skill... yeah, they were that aggravating.

BUT, not nearly as aggravating as all the chippies about in their bar skank uniforms. What IS it about the oh-so-original black heels, jeans, black knit top, floozy hair and optional mini-purse over the shoulder and under the armpit? They were everywhere. And each and every one with a plastic cup in one hand, the other in the air, whooping it up in a half-constipated shuffle-dance to keep ridiculous shoes, unflatteringly tight jeans, a drink, a purse, and "whooo!" all in play, somehow still just "needin' to cut loose and get my groove on cuz it's Fri-dayyy! whoooo!".

Hey you - yes you... white girl with a stench of desperation about you - let's not kid each other. You're not actually having fun. You're pretending to have fun because that's what you think you're supposed to do and all your other blackshirtbluejean friends are here. But it's so much work, and I can see the strain it's putting on you. Put down your burden. It's OK, really it is. Take a rest.

I promise I'll still pretend to think you're cool if you just give up and... be yourself.

goodness gracious, St. Patrick

I swear, I was not planning to get goofy yesterday. Really, I swear.

It all started so sedately... a little jaunt up to Brighton to hang out with Jake and Colleen and Tim and Mary up at Pete's brewery/bottling plant (what the hell is the place, anyway? it's not Local Color anymore, but the brands remain...). Knowing they were gonna be starting at 8:00 am, I took my time getting there and caught the down-slide late in the afternoon after all the gonzo fuck-yeahs would be blotto and passed out in corners (why doesn't urban dictionary have an entry for "fuck-yeahs"? not like I care enough to make one myself...). Hung around for a while, drank some beers, made some chitty-chat, took a survey and corrected my long-standing statistic that ~1/3 of people know their blood type (apparently just about everyone that goes to Pete's parties seems to know their blood type) had a difference of opinion with Col about the notion of a "couple", got beat down in some beery ping pong, yadda yadda... but ultimately wasn't exactly feelin' it, knowwhahumsayn?

So back to AA/Ypsi and to TC's to see a bunch o' bands and drink some chewier beer. (Sorry Pete, but ya needs ta work on making fuller beers... rounder on the tongue) Caught up with a buncha buncha folks there - the other Pete and Laura, Matt, Dave and Laura, (there's lots of Petes, lots of Lauras, lots of Jeffs on the roster these days), Andre, Stacey, Gerry, Georgina, Shannon... and had quite the fun time. The Ragbirds played, and damn if they ain't fun. For the record, and contrary to G's protestations, I am NOT a closeted hippie. Nor do I plan to embrace the "hippie within" or any such thing. I am all about the punkrockmusic, dude. Can't a boy just like a funky beat or a wheely boppy jig every now and then? (FWIW, since The Drovers ain't around no more, The Ragbirds are welcome to move into that empty musical spot I've had vacant in my ears for a while. Part of it might be the joy of the live show, but that's more than OK with me)

So yeah, in the bar, and some blond overly-happy smiley woman who needed group hugs all the time while we were over on the band side of the bar was kinda distracting (in a bad way) - I'm thinking she's another personal example to me why I keep my personal drugs limited to caffeine and alcohol. I can only imagine the horror I would sow if I was into x and started getting really friendly and aggressively huggy with random people - I get misinterpreted enough and a big dude like me grabbing people I don't know... just might get me a trip to the pokey. And the beer in lockup is really really bad (or so I hear). So yeah, and there was this other really REALLY yummy woman with the curly light-brown hair and the half-tattoo poking out under her shirt sleeve, boppin' and movin' around right there in front of the sound board, and I just couldn't take my eyes off her... ugh, I am SO kicking myself for not making a point of at least telling her how cute she is. And the tragedy of it is that she was there with/left with this dude who was so incredibly boring all night (yes, when one is locked-on and staring at pretty people, it's hard not to notice people they're with too). Fucking hell, I'm such a wuss.

So the bar's "please go home now" lights come on, and everybody goes over to Andre's house, where much hilarity and fun ensues. I never would have thought 5 people would have fit on that smallish couch... but if ya stack 'em right, anything's possible. ;) And Gerry got out the guitar and played some tunes, and Dave joined in, trading the guitar back and forth every couple songs with another guy (Sean? Steve?) until about 4:00. Quite the good time, what with the wine, the women, the song... a fine, fine time.

... until this morning when I woke up at 9:00 dehydrated like crazy. And so in a bizarro-groundhog-day type way, I showed to the MI DNR stewardship workday late, hungover, and a little grumpy from lack of sleep. But the fresh air and sunshine be good for me, and I'm all fresh and bubbly now. I just don't really understand why it is I manage to drink that little bit too much, and it's always on the nights before going out to work in the parks. Weird.

a seeming week of foolishness...

Starting off with my stellar move on Monday crashing on the ice rink and bashing my shoulder into the ice (which, it appears was not just going to hurt for a day - I'm grumpy in multiple little sessions every day this week when I do something that makes it hurt)... all the way to today when I showed up for the friday MatSE colloquium when it wasn't even scheduled for this week. (in my defense, it only took a couple of minutes, after being uncharacteristically early, of sitting in an empty hall to realize that no one else was coming). Oh yeah, and earlier today? What was I thinking... I went to a seminar in the physics department because it was titled "LHC Physics". You know, the LHC - that nifty thing at CERN. Uhm, I love Big Science, but post-graduate level high-energy particle physics? I was pretty much out of my depth by the second slide. Amazing how difficult some of those problems are by the sheer numbers - trying to detect one event in 10,000,000,000,000.

In between those events I'll include admitting to picking some stinkers at the Blow Out in Hamtramck on Thursday. The results of wanderings:
Harwell - uh, we were 2 people in an audience of 4 in this tiny bar. The other two were the sound guy and a girlfriend of band member. Seemed like a good idea when I was shopping for bands. The singer had issues though, and the music just wasn't as interesting as I originally thought.
Johnny No Stars - timing is everything... they're only doing 45 minute sets, so by the time we left Harwell and got to the other bar, they were done. Whoops.
The Red Shift - thought it would be some straight-ahead punk, but they were far more concerned with their punk cred and having the right punk/ska accessories (ties, spikey belts, Vans, etc.)
Broken Sunday - I wouldn't buy an album of theirs, but would probably see them live again. Their frontman had presence and charisma on stage, even though he was just this tiny little dude. Band had it together and the sound didn't suck, so the show was good, but the music could stand to be more interesting.
Heroic Villian - ah... this would be the straight-ahead punk I was looking for. Not something I can listen to for hours, but fun show. Lack of pretense on the band's part, and they seemed to be having a whole lot of fun. Bassist dude was pretty much over-the-top on his stage antic jumping around, so fun to watch too. Poorly-quoted Quote of the Evening would be from G: "so, how do you dance to this?" ... this, of course, is what you get when you take a jam-band-loving hippie to a punk rock show. :)
Wildcatting - Sort of a heavy rock version of an instrumental jam band...think of it as early-Rush/Yes meets Phish/Dead. Might have listened longer, but put getting tired with the smokiest bar, and it's a recipe for "hey, you want to get going?"

Found... and constructed

"The Napkins" - now they live In The World. Just think of it as a little bit of urban anthropology... a one-time single episode of Found Magazine. Notes scrawled on napkins found in a bar, long after the band has packed up and the stale beer has been sloshed into the alley. Are they all the same conversation? Are they all the same people? We can see 5 different people by the handwriting. But who is it? And what are they talking about? It seems to have been important enough at the time, or are they just treasured because the voyeur in each of us wants to see, to snoop in the medicine cabinet, rifle through the dresser drawer without getting caught.

Why? Who? What?

Read what you want into it. Make your own story. Exercise your fanatasy muscles. Make them fit your need for art and ephemera.