Did I really just type that? OhmygawdIreallydid. This all actually happened. Let's take it from the bottom up:
Last weekend I went on a little road trip. Air trip. See, Glen Hansard was playing what turned out to be an almost split-show with Sam Beam, for a benefit. In Austin. I talked myself into covering it a while back, not thinking prior to about how I'd be in Texas in July, or where I would stay, or how the logistics would work out. It was a hundred dollar difference in my plane ticket from the already quasi-ridiculous plan I had to go to Chicago for back-to-back Wrens shows. I mean, really. Glen. Hansard. And I'd never been to Austin. And what's a girl to do, anyway, after hearing about a show like that? Put a hundred (or two) bucks in the bank and be happy about how good it felt to be financially responsible? No way. So off I went.
I wrote all about it rather reservedly here, and posted the pictures as per usual. But if you want the whole truth -- you guys, really: it was fucking staggering. I almost threw up, a couple of times, watching the entire set wedged behind the stage-left speaker stacks out of view from the rest of the crowd. Glen was disheveled, and undeniably true, and about ten feet away from my face, and had the same guitar with the same holes I'd seen so many times, and he just screamed and yelled and laughed and sang his sad-bastard Irish heart out. Literally screaming, song-screaming, through the anguish of "Leave" all half-bent over with a red face and those achy, heartbreaker eyebrows... guh. Unreal.
And that was more than enough, but to boot he juxtaposed all that achy-breaky with some Pixes and some lighter notes, notably the blissy fun-ness of lines like I don' like drinkin'... I fouckin' LOVE IT... laughing and yowling and bouncing his voice throughout the venue during the chorus of a children's song for the encore. To be so close for all of that, like we were back at the Paradise, and all the disdained, broken sounds his voice made at the ends of his sentences, just piling up in little batches at my feet, and the chills that it sent up my spine in the three-figure temperatures -- it's still only an arm's length away, along with the buzz of the air conditioner and the sway of the soft motel bed, all freshly embedded in my mind. Over a week later, still stunned with the sweetest show hangover, not to mention crying through several songs in Sam Beam's set, and some elbow-bumping afterwards at the local bars.
And before I forget - the rest of Austin was great, too. Per Patrick's recommendations, I stayed at the Austin Motel, grabbed coffee at Jo's, swam in Barton Springs, and drove all over the place digging on the downtown. It was beyond hot, but then I don't know if it would have felt right without all the hot, if that makes sense.
So right before all that, there was this:
I know. Right? Jesus. I'm still crushing.
Ditto for these kids: there was much restraint of pen and a batch of shots that came out onto the imaginary internets earlier this week -- but with the equal force and blown-away-edness as I stated for Glen Hansard's performance, let me just tell you: the two nights I spent with the Wrens were positively life-altering. Both nights ruled the school, on Friday Stephanie and I got pulled up two songs into the set to play piano; Saturday, three encores and a bunch of shit off Secaucus. Friday, hang-time with Kevin and Greg; Saturday, chit-chat and an assload of complimentary merch from Jerry.
Every minute of the sets were sweaty and loud and tremendous, the energy was positively electric, and all four of these guys were just completely adorable in a rocked-out, grown-up band-guy kind of way. It's always so funny with them, to chit-chat before the set, everyone's so nice and so happy to be playing, and then cut to full-throttle freakout for the performance. Shift back to chit-chat post show, like nothing ever happened -- they're the same guys, and we're left totally reeling, wide-eyed and giddy and all wasted with show. Like it's effortless, the full-throttle plugged-in purposeful deconstructedness, like it's tuning in and out of a radio station or something. All simple and perfect and fantastic.
Speaking of radio stations, or whatever, the rest of Chicago was rad, too:
I find it quite amusing that as I type about the Wrens, I get Pfizer spam in my gmail. Awesome.
But yeah - Chicago kicked ass. The subway system was fantastic, I felt at home, I got to spend a nice chunk of time checking out Wicker Park with Mary Jones... and I stayed in the nicest hotel I think I've ever been to in my life, ever. It was gorgeous and pristine and modern and I felt like I needed to be dressed up to go to bed or something. See also: greatest shower in America, with glass walls and lit-up mirrors and fluffy bathrobes like they have in the movies. No joke. The room even had an iPod docking station with the most excellent surround sound system known to man.
It must sound like I'm exaggerating. But really - the whole thing was tremendous, start to finish.
And then right before all that, there was this:
Last weekend I went on a little road trip. Air trip. See, Glen Hansard was playing what turned out to be an almost split-show with Sam Beam, for a benefit. In Austin. I talked myself into covering it a while back, not thinking prior to about how I'd be in Texas in July, or where I would stay, or how the logistics would work out. It was a hundred dollar difference in my plane ticket from the already quasi-ridiculous plan I had to go to Chicago for back-to-back Wrens shows. I mean, really. Glen. Hansard. And I'd never been to Austin. And what's a girl to do, anyway, after hearing about a show like that? Put a hundred (or two) bucks in the bank and be happy about how good it felt to be financially responsible? No way. So off I went.I wrote all about it rather reservedly here, and posted the pictures as per usual. But if you want the whole truth -- you guys, really: it was fucking staggering. I almost threw up, a couple of times, watching the entire set wedged behind the stage-left speaker stacks out of view from the rest of the crowd. Glen was disheveled, and undeniably true, and about ten feet away from my face, and had the same guitar with the same holes I'd seen so many times, and he just screamed and yelled and laughed and sang his sad-bastard Irish heart out. Literally screaming, song-screaming, through the anguish of "Leave" all half-bent over with a red face and those achy, heartbreaker eyebrows... guh. Unreal.
And that was more than enough, but to boot he juxtaposed all that achy-breaky with some Pixes and some lighter notes, notably the blissy fun-ness of lines like I don' like drinkin'... I fouckin' LOVE IT... laughing and yowling and bouncing his voice throughout the venue during the chorus of a children's song for the encore. To be so close for all of that, like we were back at the Paradise, and all the disdained, broken sounds his voice made at the ends of his sentences, just piling up in little batches at my feet, and the chills that it sent up my spine in the three-figure temperatures -- it's still only an arm's length away, along with the buzz of the air conditioner and the sway of the soft motel bed, all freshly embedded in my mind. Over a week later, still stunned with the sweetest show hangover, not to mention crying through several songs in Sam Beam's set, and some elbow-bumping afterwards at the local bars.
And before I forget - the rest of Austin was great, too. Per Patrick's recommendations, I stayed at the Austin Motel, grabbed coffee at Jo's, swam in Barton Springs, and drove all over the place digging on the downtown. It was beyond hot, but then I don't know if it would have felt right without all the hot, if that makes sense.
So right before all that, there was this:
I know. Right? Jesus. I'm still crushing.Ditto for these kids: there was much restraint of pen and a batch of shots that came out onto the imaginary internets earlier this week -- but with the equal force and blown-away-edness as I stated for Glen Hansard's performance, let me just tell you: the two nights I spent with the Wrens were positively life-altering. Both nights ruled the school, on Friday Stephanie and I got pulled up two songs into the set to play piano; Saturday, three encores and a bunch of shit off Secaucus. Friday, hang-time with Kevin and Greg; Saturday, chit-chat and an assload of complimentary merch from Jerry.
Every minute of the sets were sweaty and loud and tremendous, the energy was positively electric, and all four of these guys were just completely adorable in a rocked-out, grown-up band-guy kind of way. It's always so funny with them, to chit-chat before the set, everyone's so nice and so happy to be playing, and then cut to full-throttle freakout for the performance. Shift back to chit-chat post show, like nothing ever happened -- they're the same guys, and we're left totally reeling, wide-eyed and giddy and all wasted with show. Like it's effortless, the full-throttle plugged-in purposeful deconstructedness, like it's tuning in and out of a radio station or something. All simple and perfect and fantastic.
Speaking of radio stations, or whatever, the rest of Chicago was rad, too:
I find it quite amusing that as I type about the Wrens, I get Pfizer spam in my gmail. Awesome. But yeah - Chicago kicked ass. The subway system was fantastic, I felt at home, I got to spend a nice chunk of time checking out Wicker Park with Mary Jones... and I stayed in the nicest hotel I think I've ever been to in my life, ever. It was gorgeous and pristine and modern and I felt like I needed to be dressed up to go to bed or something. See also: greatest shower in America, with glass walls and lit-up mirrors and fluffy bathrobes like they have in the movies. No joke. The room even had an iPod docking station with the most excellent surround sound system known to man.
It must sound like I'm exaggerating. But really - the whole thing was tremendous, start to finish.
And then right before all that, there was this:
Hey, look! It's 2004 and I'm at a show with my point & shoot. Ha.
The ever-lovely Laura took me along for the second night of Death Cab's double-whammy out at Marymoor the weekend before my little road trip (where I'm off to in two weeks to dig on the Flaming Lips with a couple of fellow imaginaries, yay!). It's really a terrific as far as outside venues go -- the sound is great, the views are great, the layout is thoughtful, it's spread out and intimate all at once -- and everything is sort of in the bottom of a little bowl, so you can be on the "floor" or perched up on a little incline behind it and still have a decent view of the stage. The set just completely killed, the New Pornographers (even without Neko) really brought it home. Courtesy of one Ms. Musselman and one Mr. Roderick, I even got to BFF backstage for a bit post-show. Tres magnifique.
And speaking of magnifique, look what Laura did:
Unreal. As Kristin put it - her pictures really looked like they were alive. There's just no other way to put it. Go geek on the whole batch of 'em here (including some scans of a few awesome film shots that she managed to snag of the night).
That's the news for now -- I'll be back post-tattoo expo and post-Doe Bay with all the stuff that's fit to print. Post. Whatever. You know what I mean.
*Victoria
The ever-lovely Laura took me along for the second night of Death Cab's double-whammy out at Marymoor the weekend before my little road trip (where I'm off to in two weeks to dig on the Flaming Lips with a couple of fellow imaginaries, yay!). It's really a terrific as far as outside venues go -- the sound is great, the views are great, the layout is thoughtful, it's spread out and intimate all at once -- and everything is sort of in the bottom of a little bowl, so you can be on the "floor" or perched up on a little incline behind it and still have a decent view of the stage. The set just completely killed, the New Pornographers (even without Neko) really brought it home. Courtesy of one Ms. Musselman and one Mr. Roderick, I even got to BFF backstage for a bit post-show. Tres magnifique.
And speaking of magnifique, look what Laura did:
Unreal. As Kristin put it - her pictures really looked like they were alive. There's just no other way to put it. Go geek on the whole batch of 'em here (including some scans of a few awesome film shots that she managed to snag of the night).That's the news for now -- I'll be back post-tattoo expo and post-Doe Bay with all the stuff that's fit to print. Post. Whatever. You know what I mean.
*Victoria
