(Subtitled: "Friday, I'm in Love." Or, "My Girl Friday.")
Okay, I'm done.
So, Spoon!! last night.
My thoughts, in musical order:
1. Jazz, played pre-show: It was like being on the set of The Love Boat, if Love Boat was shot in a smoky concert venue filled with very short 18 year old girls in glitter fedoras who kept squealing and bumping into me. I am a grumpy 176 year old woman, young ladies, and do not take kindly to your nonsense. I'm glad you want Britt Daniels to go to prom with you, and I'm actually begrudgingly a fan of Josh Schwartz and his evil, diabolical plan to bring good music to tweens through vapid soap operas. Way to get up in American Idol's grill, Josh Schwartz. Fight the Power. So, welcome, young people. I'm glad you are here. But please BACK OFF. When I let you pass to get to the front of the stage, this doesn't mean you can also bring your whole shorty posse. Also, maybe it's the 158-year age difference, but Sweet Betty Sue Dickens, I have never seen so many off the shoulder shirts paired with visible bra straps. I thought this was the Future. Why are we recreating Flashdance? But you're 18, and cute, so you can get away with it. Maybe I'm just jealous. My flesh would just bunch up like so many waves of flabby wrinkles. It's hard being 176.
2. The Clientele:, The Clientele, where were you when I was an 18-year old art student? Your music was quite twee and even mopey, without being threatening, and would have filed perfectly right before my Cowboy Junkies cds. (Oh shit,and Innocence Mission. And the Sundays. Ha! Who remembers the Innocence Mission??????) I would have been quaking in my black Doc Martens and angtsty eye makeup had you been around in the 90s. Unfortunately, it's the Future, and I'm no longer the same intense Anglophile I once was. Future. See above.
Anyways, you were cute and British and quiet and probably lovely chaps, let's get a spot of tea sometime. However, I'm old and I have a bad back, and you made me sleepy when I wanted rock. I don't think this is your venue, or crowd.
3. Prince, played between bands: Prince, is there anything you can't do? You sing, you play basketball, you dance, you are responsible for many people I know's sexual awakening, you make pancakes. I love you, Prince, even though you have a perm similar to my Grandma. You are a genius.
4. Spoon: "Britt Daniels constantly looks like he's about to sneeze." -- The Nabob. Spoon's set was good, I have no complaints. The bassist's dad was there, which was probably nice. I can imagine it's kind of thrilling to see indie chick's sweat yr son. Spoon, you performed everything I wanted you too, you kept the witty banter to a minimum (nice), and you were dressed for someone's wake. You also left my favorite song til the last, which was a good touch. All that being said, why did I leave feeling disappointed? And maybe a little bored? Man, am I hard to please.
In another note, um - hey, Drunk Guy Who Raises His Hands and Dances, Kind Of, and Stumbles About Yelling Along to the Song, and Then Yells Out Requests to the Band? Nice to see you! Are you the same guy at every Gomez concert I've ever attended? You realize that half the time, the requests you're yelling aren't even songs from this group, right?
I am very tempted to write a lengthy diatribe on how to politely attend a concert at 9:30, but it's like preaching to the choir. Bloggers know these things. The rest of you, not so much.
Bah humbug. I need a nap, and a hot toddy. Where's the afghan for my knees? BAH.
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Today, I had two RBI's, got on base several times, made 3 or 4 key outs, and generally played well. Except for a completely missed hard grounder that made me look like a seven year old girl running away from the ball because it's scary.
Softball!!!! DAMN YOU.