18 posts tagged “music”
Hey, so Loud Boy is back.
Not sure what the context was, but I overheard this today:
Loud Boy (on the phone with a colleague): ... Yeah, it was pretty exciting, Bloomberg was there, so was Lance Armstrong --
Colleague (who I can hear because they're sitting nearby): Yeah, so was David Byrne.
Loud Boy: David Byrne? Who's he?
Colleague: You know, the Talking Heads guy.
Loud Boy (baffled silence): I don't know what that is. (Pause.) But it was really cool that Lance Armstrong was there, don't you think?
I can't decide if this means I'm old and he's ignorant, or he's just ignorant. But c'mon, folks. David freaking Byrne!
Sigh.
Growing up in Maryland, we had crabs. We had Ocean City, we had bragging rights to Washington D.C., and we had crabs. What I was too young to realize was that we also had John Waters.
Until I saw "Hairspray" (the movie) in the theaters, with mom. She hadn't grown up in Baltimore, but she loved musicals and so did I and we just swooned over "Hairspray." Somewhere, Waters was snickering.
In the years since, the rise of the king of disgusting films Waters has probably been doing a lot of that, as our basic culture has lowered to his expectations, while simultaneously he's gone more legit (no more feces-eating in his films, thankyouverymuch). And nothing is more legit than Broadway, or a Broadway musical. I didn't care all that much for "Hairspray" on Broadway (although the rest of the world did) and I've never had the urge to see the second "Hairspray" musical. But once I heard a friend of mine (Adam Schlesinger, the genius in Fountains of Wayne and Ivy, among other things) was part of the musical team for "Cry-Baby" on Broadway -- another Waters film -- I was definitely charged up to go.
And last night was the Broadway debut. Waters was of course in fine form, striding in with a blue blazer lined in white and camouflage pants; he wasn't mobbed but he was certainly the center of a lot of attention. The show itself was about 60% entertaining. It's got some fun lines and one amazing dance routine where Cry-Baby is in jail and breaks out, and in the process everyone ends up tap-dancing on license plates (seriously, it works) but I'm not sure about the rest of it. Poking fun at the '50s feels ... dare I say it, dated.
"I think it celebrates old-fashioned juvenile delinquency, which is a term that no one uses anymore because juvenile delinquents now kill people," Waters told the San Francisco Chronicle, and that is what makes it fun -- but there's something rather ho-hum once you know how he defines crass. You get pregnant juvenile delinquents dancing up a storm, an anti-polio picnic, elaborately choreographed make-out sessions and a lot of wink-wink behavior. I know this isn't his film, and it gets away from the film in a lot of ways but ... there's nothing shocking here. And that may be the most bizarre part about the show.
However.
The party afterwards, held at Mansion downtown -- that was incredible! I ran into some industry friends (a lawyer, his co-worker and an aspiring actress) at the coat check, and as we headed into the main area we were handed large brown shopping bags and told to go pick up stuff. But before we did that, libations were in order. I'd put in an order for a boring vodka-Coke, then saw one of the special drinks of the night was absinthe poured over a sugar cube. Nobody else in our group was willing to sample, so what the hell, and I ordered it. The bartender turned on a tap from a raised vat filled with a watery liquid and ice cubes and let it dribble over a suspended sugar cube balanced on a glass. Classy.
"Kinda nice that you can get this stuff now, since it used to be illegal," I noted. They were actually paying attention, so you know I had to go there: "After all, you know what they say about absinthe ... it makes the heart grow fonder."
And then they kicked my ass to the curb.
Actually, no: the lawyer said that was just exactly his type of humor and I survived another very bad attack of punning. The drink arrived. Kind of, um, dull: Only about 1/3 of the glass was filled with what looked like water , with a small mountain of sugar piled on the bottom. But what the hell, I tried it. Vaguely licoricey, but no kick. I passed it around. We all shrugged. I figured I'd end up on the floor later if this stuff had a delayed reaction, and off we went to do some grown-up trick or treating.
The main level had a dance floor, and hired dancers in 50s-dress were doing the Lindy and all kinds of fantastic moves; trannies and cross-dressers wandered the room in full regalia, and stations of goodies drew us forward to filil our bags. There was a kissing booth around which mounds of Altoids gum canisters were arrayed; we picked some up but no smooching went down. Further along, a makeup stand handed out some high-end "makeup couture," while cigarette girls bumped into us, offering candy smokes.
Upstairs we got our pictures taken at the "prom" by standing behind cardboard cutouts (and I got a paper "corsage"), we visited a "doctor" and his "nurses" who asked where it hurt (I poked at my elbow) and got a bag of candy (Neccos, Clark Bars, Smarties) to ease the pain. We were escorted out of the badly-protected VIP area and briefly met one of the big cheese Nederlander clan of Broadway theater owners/producers. We stopped by a table where we approached one of three primly-dressed 50s ladies who asked us questions in return for goodies.
"What did they make in the prison?"
"License plates."
"Correct! But how do you know so much about what goes on in jail?"
"Don't tell anyone!"
"I have no secrets from the LAWD."
But she reached down and gave me a box of butterscotch Tastykakes for my trouble.
Hello! HEAVEN.
We headed back to the dance floor, which had quickly filled up, and tried to get new drinks. I'd finished my "absinthe" but, well, there was something absent in the absinthe, so we bellied up and ordered more. This time, they did it right: The alcohol went in first, then the vat of ice water over the cube. Duh. Apparently I'd had a virgin absinthe, aka sugar water, last time. And this stuff definitely had a kick. The lawyer also got one; later the co-worker got an absinthe mojito. So we were all well and pleasantly toasted as we headed to the dance floor.
Now, I don't dance well, but I love to do it. And most people I dance with either can't, or don't like to, or are just all bashful, so I don't get much opportunity. Turns out our lawyer friend knows how to dance, at least far better than I do, so I actually got to twirl and do a few funny moves while the 50s classics moved into 60s classics and John Waters took Kathleen Turner (aka Serial Mom) out for a spin. After a James Brown song we collapsed into the sofa seats and played "Name that Band" and added lyrics to "Mony Mony" when it came on. But slowly the songs segued into "Hollaback Girl" and worse (I do like HBG, though) and it became far too loud to talk, and that's the sign to go.
We redeemed our raffle ticket at the Taste truck outside for a selection of cookies and Rice Krispie treats and got a cab. I think I finally crashed out at home around 2. Now, that's a party.
Moral of the story: None. But if you're going dancing with John Waters and drink absinthe and get home past the witching hour, try not to do it on a weeknight. Oy!
But tonight is the "Rock of Love 2" finale. And not that I care who wins (Ambre) but I know the getting there will be hilarious and raunchy.
As it's been all season.
So I have to watch it in realtime. Sorry, folks, the phone is off for the next hour.
Seeya.
Well, I know how I'm spending my federal rebate check:
And based on the ticket prices, I'm going to need every penny. But I missed Wham and any solo tours back in the day, so it's payback time. I want to shake my shimmy at Madison Square Garden and just enjoy the sheer entertainment of it all.
I'm sure George Bush will be thrilled to know that the money he's sending me is going to a liberal gay British pop star. Come to think of it, I think he'd sell a million more tickets if he marketed the tour that way.
Laws, I hope GM does "Love Machine," but I think there's as much chance of that happening as there is of him opting out of unfortunate facial hair.
UPDATE: I now have a ticket for the July 23rd show -- on the floor! Hurrah!
Dear Publicists,
I am closed for any further contact about South By Southwest 2008.
My dance card is so full my feet are broken.
I am entertaining any offers to drive me to the airport tomorrow morning, however.
AT SIX.
For those who have an interest, I'll be blogging the fest here, and possibly here. When time allows. Which is never.
I can hear her from the other room on CNN. Hillary, making some kind of positive, upbeat, "see, look what I can do" speech.
I'm not mad, precisely. Just a little disheartened. And oddly sanguine, because it all makes sense.
When I got up this morning I was rousing myself from a good 36-hour long-building flu/cold thing that grabbed and shook me on Monday and said "lie down!" so I did. Got me some antibiotics in the meantime and things are moving back to normal, despite that cottony/drunk feeling I have in my head, and that I'm thirsty all the bloody time.
Anyway, I got up knowing that of course I had to vote, because I always vote and that's just how it is and yes, I do look down badly on those who don't, whatever your reasons are. Even if you vote for Bugs Bunny, you get out and do something. So, I'm about on 80 percent power but these things have to be done. And honestly, I haven't decided. I've put off deciding. I am not the decider.
Well, I'm decisive enough to know what party, that's for sure. But my record is quite poor: Other than Gov. Eliot Spitzer, I have never backed a winning candidate in a race larger than city council. In instances where I was sure it was a lock (like, oh, say 2000 and 2004) I made the grandiose gesture of knowing that New York would go blue and so I could afford to pick a third party candidate and tra-la, that will show them.
Didn't change New York, certainly, but we all know how that thinking worked out.
So I got up today trying to pick: Do I go with the candidate I think is most likely to grab Washington in the nether regions and give it a good squeezing? Or do I go with the one who knows the most folks in Washington already and knows how to caress those nether regions? And more importantly, how did this become a discussion of genitals?
See, my one success -- Spitzer -- has been a warning shot of reality. Yah, he got in. But Governator isn't the same as Attorney General, and all of the Old Boys in Albany circled their wagons against the Usurper who didn't have the right connections -- but who did want to change things -- and they got him in a headlock, hoist by his own petard, which has left things dangling and mostly useless in Albany for some time. Just like always. So my concern is that Obama, should he get elected (and, lord help us, not get shot afterwards) would be stuck in much the same position. All idealism, not nearly the connections he needs to get stuff done. Meanwhile, then there's Clinton, who is in the opposite position -- she's got all of the connections. Too many connections, if you know what I mean.
So I'm on my way to the polling stations and I put on the iPod and I get Earth, Wind & Fire randomly on the player singing "Fantasy." And then I get Frankie Goes to Hollywood doing, "Relax." And in the middle of that last tune, I'm at the polling place. So while I'm really not going to say that my iPod did the choosing for me, I would like to say that I have consulted the iPod Oracle in the past, and it is worth considering.
And so, my record remains unblemished: I have still not voted for a winner in this race.
Almost makes me want to pick McCain in the general election.
Australia's new government is looking up already. From the BBC:
Australia's prime minister-elect, Kevin Rudd, has announced the make-up of his new government.
He appointed his deputy leader, Julia Gillard, as education minister, and a former rock star, Midnight Oil singer Peter Garrett, as environment minister.
Methinks he'll be having Midnight Oil's 1984 album cover "Red Sails in the Sunset" in mind while in office:
Garrett isn't exactly a stranger to politics; it's not like Air Supply are going to be taking over the Ministry of Cheese or anything. But I'd love to see some of those press conferences, and I can't wait until he makes a trip up north (as he must, surely!) to meet whoever's running things up here in a few more months.
Come, Peter Garrett! Our beds are burning.
There may be a few things worse than having to sit at home and wait for Nick Rhodes to call you, but after a whole day of hanging around for this, I'm kind of over it.
Plus, I have laundry downstairs that needs collecting.
Life is truly a collection of the sacred and the profane.
Wait, there's the phone.
UPDATE: "We've always viewed this band as an art project." Who knew?
Sometimes you find a great link you just wanna share with too many people. And so, it becomes a blog entry.
Surely someone should be the Order of the Phoenix, but maybe that's too obvious. We'll see.
