Should the opportunity arise to run away with a band of gypsy carnies*, I've already got my particular brand o' GC's filofaxed away in my brain. Usually swarthy little dudes with mullets sporting bathroom-cleaning-bleach blond streaks do not impress, but when they play 25+ (I stopped counting) instruments in a variety of vaudevillian ways, then maybe hey! Being kidnapped and living in a madrigal-type covered wagon with them all wouldn't be too bad. Probably smelly, just because they are boys (not necess. because they are mod carnies) but I might learn to be okay with it. As long as I could bring along the husband and dog. I could sew costumes! Be the carnie merch girl!
I told K. that I imagine them stuffed, hanging out of windows of a beat up station wagon, playing all their many instruments as they roll down America's highways. Some of their music reminded me of TV's "Smelly Cat", played backwards, in New Orleans style swing. Living cartoons.
Transcript of a brief conversation with their drummer. I say "their drummer", but they had three people playing various percussion at one point, including what I think might be one of their dead uncle's urns or something, so your guess is good as mine:
Him: "Here. Have a promo CD."
Me: "Thanks. Wait, this isn't yours."
Him: "It's some band from New York, I think! It's at the front desk for free. So you can take it!"
Me, reading the back of the CD: "Uh, thanks?"
Him: "The back says they sound like Counting Crows. Like, Mr. Jones Counting Crows."
Some Other Dude in the Band: "Who listens to Counting Crows. PEOPLE WHO WANT TO KILL THEMSELVES?????"
In conclusion: If you ever have the chance to see Man Man live, I highly recommend.
* * *
Charles Bissell was okay, too.
* * *
Okkervil, as usual, was stupendous, even at the last legs of caring about their tour. They played my four favorite songs, fangirl likes. And all was well and I indoctrinated K. into the world of liking OR. All this despite almost putting a cigarette out in the eye of some ridiculous drunk underage, splitting smokes AND A BEER (note singularity) with four other friends and then whoo-hooin' and pseudo-moshing (at IOTA. for OKKERVIL.) Anyways, kid, yr hat was stupid and so was yr hemp necklace and yr girl's glitter tee.
Fact: I can't got to concerts any longer. I'm just too bitchy.
Other notes: The N. got loads of nice pics to send to family members. Travis is dating an adorable librarian with curly hair and a sweet smile who was flying home today. Next up for band comes Australia. Feelings seem to be that the Australian record label may/may not be run by a 15 year old out of his ma's basement. Sleeping on floors/no drivers/small clubs is so three years ago. Fame, it's knocking.
* Listen, I know. How many derogatory descriptions can I use in one post? I KNOW. I know.