April 14, 2007


I should of taken a picture, but my words will have to suffice. I showed up to interview Annie and she was dressed like a couture vato. Some japanese bizarrity grey plaid high button shirt, white billowy tank underneath, black jeans, white witch shoes. We talked quiety in the theater managers office because Julia Sweeney was the show in between the two Vanderslice shows. The manager's asst came back while we were talking, to use his computer, and we said, we'd be done shortly, it was just a quicky. He told us there have been a lot of quickies in this office. It struck us speechless, and then he just started backpedaling. Not speaking from experience. Not recently. He's only heard. Not like, heard, but heard about it. He's never seen it. I looked at Annie--we had been displaced off of the office chairs that the men needed back--we were in the corner doing the prison yard squat-- "You know, actually, I think we got enough. We're done. Thanks." Turns out that Allen is tour managing her, he was sitting downstairs with her purse and his, reading the New Yorker. I left to go eat with Matt (babys home!), New Tokyo was a wait, so we gambled on a place we kept calling Bangmee Noodles. We gambled wrong. Eat to avoid. S'was gross. We got back to the theatre and sat down with enough time to speculate what kind of people like John Vanderslice. The people in front and in back of us, older daters, others: proactively tweemo. But next to us, boy-girl braces face giddy date. We were both really pumped on this. I was ready to befriend them. Then five drunk douches filled out the rest of our row. When Annie came on stage in her wrinkley school uniform via Balenciaga hot-ensemb, the show-talkers, who were obviously "in their cups" as they used to say, were yakking loud like they were trying to be heard as the Green Line train pulled into the station. One of the guys yelled in Borat-voice "I Like!" and someone else wolf-whistled. Annie did not blink, she just pile-drove some din and some fancy-free hammer-on into our faces.

Matt and I discussed later about her penchant for foiling her own songs. She's an obvious talent, and she's beautiful and clever enough that she could just sail to stardom on those two attributes, but she's stampy and dramatic and rather than verse-chorus-versing you, and, I'm butchering how Matt put it, but-she does a Bacharachian tonal shifting and piling. Then topples, coolly. "Do you think she's sabotaging her songs?" I say. Maybe. She's cool and too smart to be uncalculated, but what does being a pop sabateour (sp) mean for a woman doing what she is doing, for a woman who is a quintuple threat. If she keep quirky, thats what keeps her from being Tori Amos, essentially. Is she a new post-Joanna archetype? I think we will know soon enough.

Posted by Jessica at April 14, 2007 12:25 PM | TrackBack