Ok, here it is for sure: http://jeffmillerla.blogspot.com. I like the layout, I can send pictures to it, and I’m pretty sure that you guys can subscribe if you want.
So far we have one vote for and one vote against keeping the blog on friendster. I’ll be posting on that blogspot one for the time being. Let me know what I should do.
Jeff
I’ll get into last night’s report in a moment, but here’s my blog update: I’ve found a new place for it at: http://jeffmillerla.blogspot.com
If you’ve been reading here, let me know whether you like getting those notifications or if they’ve been driving you crazy. Either way, bookmark the new one, I’ll be updating it at least a few times to see which I like more. On to the report…
Heading up to the Hollywood Bowl last night with Scott Dudelson, I was reminded of one of my favorite concert quotes maybe ever. My mother had been working with this teacher candidate a few years ago, and she was in town for some interviews. I’d met her at a teacher conference and thought she was cute, and she and I were supposed to get together. I had an extra ticket to Sigur Ros, so I took her to the show. She’d never heard them before.
Halfway through, she looked at me and said, "This is one of the most intense experiences I’ve ever had with my clothes on. It’s like being fucked, musically."
I didn’t know what to say. In my head, I was like: "I’m totally going to get some ass tonight" (sidebar: I didn’t.) But i think I just responded, "Yeah."
So last night, I was fucked, musically. This mystery woman, who never got a teaching job in LA and faded into the ether, was totally right. I hadn’t seen Sigur Ros since then and really haven’t listened to them much; their icy, melodromatic, droning Hopelandic songs aren’t exactly party music. But it’s amazing how much they come alive in concert, thanks to an artful lighting show, a stark-yet-poigninant on-stage demeanor, and most importatly instrumental crescendos that had me reaching to the heavens as they blasted through. They had quadrophonic sound set up at the bowl, which I’d never seen anywhere before; sound effects came from behind while looped guitar and switched-on samples emerged from the on-stage noise ether. Extremely intense. I left in a great mood, headed to Lava Lounge, found out I’ve got a new regular karaoke-hosting job, and celebrated by getting drunk, walking to Todd’s, watching Lost, falling asleep during Invasion, and heading home around 2:30. All in all a great night.
The fact that I paid $10 outside the bowl for my box seat really didn’t hurt Sigur’s cause either.
An open letter, to the parents of tonight’s Bat Mitzvah:
Yes, you: in 11 years of DJing, I have never witnessed any of the following:
- A guest at a bar/bat mitzvah urinating on napkins he has brought into the bathroom, then spilling all the toilet paper on his fresh urine so that no one else can use it.
- A cadre of guests destroying all of the setup upon arrival, as if they’d never seen flowers and/or balloons before.
- A bat mitzvah mother yelling at me for playing games with her children (and, effectively, doing my job)
- A room host giving a damage report after the party, so as not to have to bill the family later
- Parents freely distributing alcohol to their middle-school-aged children over the course of a party.
- A guest informing a DJ that he would, "Gat his ass" if he didn’t play the new David Banner song, while flashing gang signs and wearing a red bandana.
- A parent being as completely oblivious to the reasons that parties for 13 year-olds are structured affairs for a reason.
I’ve never experienced those before tonight. And for that, I thank you. If and when I ever have children, I will remember you, and will parent in the exact opposite fashion of you.
And, thanks for actually paying me. I know it was hard for you to do — given that I, you know, talked on the mic and led a game of Name-That-Tune that sent your daughter into hysterical tears because it just wasn’t cool enough for her, and led you to scream at me as if I’d never done this before.
Next time I visit you at work, I’ll remember to scream at you as well. For doing your job the right way.
If you throw another bat mitzvah (or a wedding, or a funeral, or a fucking tupperware party), save yourself the time and energy and just buy an iPod. I promise, I won’t cry over the missed $150 I made tonight.
Sincerely,
El Jefe. The guy who played the songs on your daughter’s request sheet in order because she burst into tears when we played "Crazy In Love." Even though her friends wanted to hear it.
PS: I want my 4 hours back. Send ‘em fedex.
So I may change my blog location, because it seems that everyone is getting notices every time I put something up here and that’s kind of a pain in the ass. So I will find somewhere else to go, and post here where it is.
But, I do need to vent.
I feel like I like power drills as much as the next guy. I really do. They do great things.
But when they’re outside your window at 7am, they suck.
Oh, and I saw Kate Earl last night at the Mint. She’s a singer-songwriter from Alaska. She writes very norah jones/alicia keys-type jazzy piano songs, and was helped along last night by the guys from Incubus, who were her backing band (and actually my reason for going.) Here’s my conversation with Mike Enzinger, their guitarist:
me: "Hey man, just wanted to say hi. I used to see you guys at the Troubador."
Mike: "Awesome."
me: "Yeah, my band Bert. were supposed to open for you, then we broke up."
Mike: "That sucks."
me: "Good to meet you."
Oh, the genius of rock stars.
By the way, Kate Earl needs an editor. But she’s a good singer.
Jeff
Hot was never as hot as hot was today. 105 (I know I said it was that hot earlier this weekend, but that was an exaguration. This is not.) No wind.
Here are some things that happened as a result:
We got to the festival late. So late that I missed Rilo Kiley, which is OK. I have now missed Rilo Kiley at least 5 times when they’ve been playing the same location I’m at. I like this band, but not enough for this to bother me. At all.
The lead singer of the Kaiser Cheifs passed out. I know this because I was seeing them rock out and then ended up backstage, where he was being helped by paramedics after recovering. He was shoken up. According to eyewitness Steve Weigel, the end of Kaiser Cheifs’ set had him climbing the rafters. So it’s a good thing he didn’t pass out on the rafters.
One of the Arcade Fire’s drummers fell on stage. When he didn’t get up, we all started wondering if it was part of the act. Then he got up. It was.
Every band mentioned the heat. Win Butler from Arcade Fire looked like he was going to die onstage. The Decembrists (who, on a sidenote, ruled) were drenched in sweat. Chris Martin changed lyrics to a ton of Coldplay songs to reflect the fact that, yes, we all got through the heat to see his band. I counted 8 water bottles drunk before I gave up counting. The SBC tent ran out of free electric fans, the best giveaways ever.
No, there was no heat-related nudity. At least not until the pool jump that will soon occur. You see, we have no showers back at the house we’re staying at once our hosts go to bed. So when we get back this late: skinny dippin’ time. Steve’s out there now.
Some highlights of the day:
The T-shirt: "I fucked the girl in Hanson" — classic.
The onstage moment: The Decembrists asking everyone in the audience to sit down while the song they were playing went into the breakdown, and pleading with the one asshole who wouldn’t sit to get down. This resulted in bottles, trash, and assorted sundery items being thrown at said asshole. Funny, since he still didn’t sit. Yeah, I was glad I wasn’t near him, but watching it from a distance was great — as was the audience response when the band kicked the song back in and everybody stood, cheering. Who needs pyrotechnics?
The in-audience moment: Singing along to Coldplay’s "Everything’s Not Lost" at the top of my lungs with Heather, the girl I had met seconds before. Heather, you see, is Coldplay’s number one fan. She told me so. Her boyfriend in New York could not come to the show with her, which was a bummer for her. She called him during the song they wrote for Johnny Cash, "Til Kingdom Come" and played him the whole thing on her cell phone, then kept holding it up for the band’s cover of "Ring Of Fire" (by far one of the days’ highlights). It was exceptionally sweet. She and I bonded over our love of singing at the top of our lungs to Coldplay songs. "Fix You" and, especially, "Everything’s Not Lost" both benefited from our vocals, I think.
Sidenote: I would have preferred to have sung along with Heather and 100,000 of our closest friends to "Warning Sign," which was my most-repeated anthem of this summer and was absolutely killed in the bad way when I saw the band at Irvine earlier this year. But there was no "Warning Sign" in the setlist. "The truth is…that I miss you…so…." Eh, it would have sounded great.
Wilco: Not as good as last night, very similar set. Tweedy did a lot of pandering to the crowd to clap along, which is great when it works and seems a little forced when it doesn’t. Today, it didn’t. On my sliding Wilco scale, I give this a 5. Am I glad I saw them instead of Franz? Um, hells yes. Catching up with old Austin buddy Elizabeth (not San Fran Elizabeth, who I only ran into breifly today) was great too, especially since I only see her twice a year.
So this year’s ACL, overall: Hot. That’s really the best word for it. Especially since they were expecting a hurricane to hit here a week ago. Not the ridiculous mind-fuck of hanging out with Gomez last year, nor the emotional rollercoaster of two years ago. More a hanging-with-friends, getting sweaty, watching good bands, skinny dipping late-night out of neccessity weekend.
And you know what? I need those sometimes.
More notes on ACL, but first a quick note re: me. When I go on trips like this I find myself pushing my limits. Lance Armstrong does it in cycling, some football dude does it in footballing (my sports knowledge is minimal) and I do it in show-going. I felt like I was letting myself down leaving U.S.E. half an hour ago, especially because they were excellent, and I wasn’t tired at all. But — bathrooms in clubs are no place to be. And I’ve been outside baking in the sun all day. And I stink. So there you go.
And: Free water from the press area is good. I think I drank something like 20 bottles today. No shit. It was like 105 and dusty. The press ladies were getting pissy with me when I stopped by. But I wasn’t getting pissy with anything. ‘Cause I was dry.
Also: next time I go anywhere I will remember a bathing suit. Skinny dipping is fun when you’re drunk, but when it’s you and a couple other dudes who also forgot their bathing suits, well — it may be time to purchase a new bathing suit.
(new note, as of 2:15am: Tonight, we thankfully ended up staggering our skinny dipping. This is a good thing.)
Today’s music highlights:
shockingly, Buddy Guy was my standout ACL of the day. He’s a legendary bluesman who has a new record coming out. I’d bet he’s in his late 60’s, but he plays with total command and verve. He even came out into the security pit while playing and had a secuity guard hold the microphone for him. So cool. I’ve seen a lot of dissapointing "legendary" blues acts, but not this one. "Fever" was especially great. Also awesome were the woman and man who were doing sign language for the whole set. If you’ve never seen someone sign a call-and-response blues sax-and-guitar jam, ask me to demonstrate sometime. It’s exceptionally silly.
Also great: Jet, who I watched with our new San Francisco friend Elizabeth (side-note: both San Franciscans slept in John’s bed last night. When asked if he was double teamed, he shook his head "no." When asked if he was single-teamed, he shook his head "no." When asked if he was allowed in bed with them, he shook his head "no." And he was trying so hard…) I don’t know if they’ve got a long, industrious career ahead of them, but they rock the AC/DC thing to the ground. And the "Yeeeeeeeah!" in "Cold Hard Bitch" is an awesome way to start a song. Their singer also went into the security pit, but he just had ripped off Buddy Guy. Tomorrow when Chris Martin does it, it will officially be a trend. You read it here first.
Dissapointing: Death Cab For Cutie, who just aren’t made to play large venues, their songs get lost in the ether. "Plans" is excellent and Ben’s becoming a rock star for sure, but anything bigger than the Wiltern (ok, maybe the Greek) and he’s going to be screwed.
Oasis: This band should just stop. They don’t do anything interesting. And Liam just seems like the douchiest asshole on the planet. Court, if you ever read this, you and Liam Gallagher. You read it here first.
Worth checking out again: The Frames, who’s regret song "Fake" has been a recent favorite and is well worth downloading if you like sad indie rock about girls (yes, I know, you are all surprised.) They sound more powerful live than the album, which I like. I think they’re playing the El Rey, and I think I’d like to go.
Mike Doughty’s Band: I knew I’d dig them going in, since I love Soul Coughing and I love Doughty’s new stuff, but he’s developed a great sense of humor. I especially dug the "Paradise City" and "Hungry Like A Wolf" covers. Nice.
Then: Wilco at Stubbs. Stubbs is a great 3000 or so person outdoor venue, and if you’re industrious enough you can sneak down to the front by going along the side wall. I’m nothing if not industrious, which means I was face-to-face with Jeff Tweedy for about 2 hours tonight. They brought back a lot of "Being There" and "Summerteeth" material, including "Via Chicago," which became a wall of noise before everyone but jeff dropped out to guitar and vocals. Whoa. "Monday" was also a great surprise, and the audience screaming "Nothing….nothing…nothing…" at the end of "Misunderstood" was hot. I rocked the hell out to "Spiders (Kidsmoke)." Also a new tin-pan-alley-influenced song was played, my first time hearing it. I dig, but it’s not in my head right now. Dylan’s "I Shall Be Released" to close, with Jeff hitting the high-registers. Stellar show, an 8 on my fairly harsh Wilco scale.
And then: United State of Electronica, who are friends with my friends Something For Rockets and sound like Daft Punk with real musicians. Total let-your-hair-loose fun, but for the aforementioned reasons we decided to book early.
Tomorrow: More Wilco, More Arcade Fire, some Rilo Kiley, some Doves, maybe some Decembrists, maybe some Bob Mould, maybe some more Black Keys…and definitely a lot of Coldplay.
A quick note on day 1 of ACL this year.
Hot. Very hot. Dusty. Very dusty. Lots of sticky things in my sandals. Lots of beautiful women in bikinis. Lots of good music.
The standout was by far DeSol, a latin-rock band whose publicist has been trying to get me to listen to them forever. I gave the record a chance and it was like super-watered down Los Lonely Boys with a little of Ozomatli energy, but not much; I filed it and started ignoring the phone calls. But DeSol weren’t really on against anyone worthwhile, so Steve (www.imwithsteve.com) and I went over there. And, damn! They do have that Ozo energy and also exude total joy. They played "Oye Como Va" and got every mid-afternoon burnout on their feet.
Leo Kottke/Mike Gordon = bla. Leo just doesn’t get that people want to see them jam, and the two of them don’t use monitors, which is a big mistake when you’re playing for thousands of people. They sounded like two decent musicians jamming for the first time in a dorm bedroom instead of a guitar hero and one of rock’s best bassists working through their catalog. Dissapointing, at the least.
Not dissapointing: Mofro, who are a much better jamband than their name would suggest, and Gov’t Mule, who I usually don’t like. Adding John Medeski on keys (for this show only, unfortunately) gave them that extra edge — and someone on par with Warren Haynes — and, though the songs still aren’t there for me, they sounded excellent. Sound Team, again, were THE small stage band. They’ve gone from sonic-youthish to Franz-ish without losing their experimental edge.
Afte the show, we tried to hit Stubbs for dinner. Hour-and-a-half wait. Bummer. So we went to a burger joint and then back to Stubbs for Arcade Fire/Black Keys.
Damn, damn. Black Keys sure make a lot of bluesy noise for two guys from Ohio. They’re great for 45 minutes, though I don’t know if I could take them more. "Have Love Will Travel" fucking ruled, though.
Three more 3.50 tallboy lonestars later, I was fourth row for The Arcade Fire, jammed in like I was 15, yelling, screaming, crying. It’s not like they do anything different — this show still had the helmet-playing, rafter-climing, intense screaming of the last two times Ive seen them. But they’re so great at making it seem spontanious. How long can they keep it up? Who knows — who cares. I think, personally, that they should play through this tour cycle, then retire for a while and come back in like 5 years. THey’re too good for their own good at this point.
Post-fire we met up with two girls from San Francisco and John, who Alex, Steve, and I are staying with. 4 beers, two jack-and-cokes, and one Irish carbomb later, one of the girls made a bet that she’d buy me breakfast if I got naked in the pool late-night.
She doesn’t know me well.
She hasn’t come through on her end of the deal yet.
J
So Alex Rose has been trying to convince me to start a blog. Then I saw Ben Wener’s blog and I was convinced. I’m thinking this is going to be mostly music-related rants, etc, when I’m either reviewing a show and want to say more or not reviwing and have something to say. It could also turn into introverted psychobabble. I hope for a little of both…
