October 09, 2005


Saturday was The Hold Steady video. It is a good thing not all 100 people showed up because we had room for about 33 total. People later said they did not show because videos is waiting around for 12 hours to act fake excited in one minute spurts. Which might be true when you are on the set of Sum 41's "Spooge Patrol" shoot, but Hold Steady is punk band on punk budge. I got paid in a latte and a vegan muffin kind of budget. It was like a Hold Steady show, except it lasted 3 hours, and they played the same song 8 times all the way through and in between the extras and the band just knocked back beers and ate nuts from a can. They played and the first couple times, we faced one way on the set, then they played again and we faced the other way. It was not complicated and our enthusiasm was not fake because it was The Hold Steady and they were just playing along with the CD, and the realness was upon us. Miles and I got assigned to stand right in front of Craig the whole time, and so, natch we were flecked with spit.

Other hilites: Miles punched the air on the drum fill and lost his glasses to the floor. I held Craigs BlackBerry while he rocked/we rocked and sent horribly sappy emails to the rest of the band from his email account, detailing in florid language, just how special I thought our relationship was and how much I thought being in a band with them was a fun experience, dancing while doing so. It'd not a video until someone in it is on a handheld--I do not have cable, but I have seen a Jay-z video before and have learned about the signifiers from that.

Then there were other things: Chavas Tacos and it's well endowed bull sculpture, The MCA and Sarah Silverman's movie with the jokes that were so funny. Who knew rape jokes could be so hysterical? Not me.

I saw Miles play an accoustic show, and it was great. His lyrics gets stuck in my brain, and I was singing them all day on the bike. Just refrains. Miles has songs that have lines about Rainbo last call that drop bon mots like "And we all lie / for / a little / heeeaaaad"--The people who played after him were in stark contrast. The next performer had keyboard-piano and if I had to guess I would say his musical influences are The Capitol Steps and Smoosh. Lyrically, it was more like...Rufus Wainwright as a 14 yr old chess champion of ambigous sexual orientation. Oh, and he was dressed like he was about to play in the Masters golf tournament--pleatfronts, dirty white nurse Reeboks, too small womens sweater vest with argyles on it. The times he would sing "Baby" it was like... a formatting error... it was like that scene in 40 Year Old Virgin where Steve Carell is talking about how boobs feel like bags of sand because he doesn't know. If that dude w/ the piano has ever called anyone "Baby" in real life, other than an actual newborn, I would be plum shocked. And somehow, the next dude, he managed to be more wrongly-fangled than the Virgin Caddy. He started out with this delicate but very dramatic Skip Spence/Belle and Sebastian/Paddington Bear manchild in dapper hat... I thought I might be able to hang, but then came the chorus of his first song. He was trailing in and out with his voice, which was going from whispery to bedroom quiet to leaves twinkling in breeze loud. And then he sang: "We get lost /... on Lonely Street / We lose our ...irection" and then he repeats, what evens out to "We lose our erection" four times. I had to kick Miles to keep from falling out of my plastic lawn chair and giggling in juvenille hysterics as this man sang a heretofore unarticulated-sans-metaphor universal truth: Yes, we do get lost on lonely street. Yes, we do suffer soft-ons.

Posted by Jessica at October 9, 2005 11:36 PM | TrackBack