Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Wow, I'm Slow
Sunday, August 2, 2009
I Ask You: Was It Worth It?
Good Time To Roll On
The first time I've seen them live was at the 1st All Points West Festival at Liberty State Park and I was blown away by their performance. I've heard of these hombres a few years back, but the only songs I knew by them were King of the Rodeo and On Call. I didn't even know they were gonna be playing a gig there. However, once I heard the songs from their latest album, Only By The Night live, I was completely mesmerized. It was completely different from their previous work. It was music which, I felt, both brought the crowd together and allowed the listener to somehow fall into its warm embrace as though they were cradled by what was the most understanding human being ever to exist. It may strange, but only a few musicians have this talent to captivate the audience in such a way and I felt this band succeeded in doing so. Plus, they got the Thom Yorke seal of approval and that usually means a good thing. The dude has a brilliant knack of finding good talent in low-key musicians and then they eventually find their way to the top. If it worked for M.I.A. and Bat For Lashes, hey, why not for The Kings of Leon?
Hmmm...
Since I had such an awesome time seeing them last year, I wanted to see them this year at the Toyota Summer Concert Series on the Today Show. The shows were held on Friday mornings for free and people were allowed in on a first-come, first-serve basis. I went with i miei amici mainly because I wanted to share a day without sleep with them, wait like a wretched hobo on the pavements of New York City at 4:00 AM and listen to the band...again...but this time, a bit closer. And when I mean close, I mean close-enough-to-wipe-my-sweat-from-my-brow-onto-Caleb's-shirt close.
I Shouldv'e Bought The Electric Company
In order to accomplish my first task, I stayed with my awesome chums, Jymmi Aaja and Reese, over at Jymmi's place. I looked at the time. It was about 10:30. To start off the night, we decided to play a "friendly" game of Monopoly with the kid (Jymmi always mentions him as the kid, so I'll just continue this story with his identity as so). Apparently, this game of Monopoly is far from friendly. I was assured by Jymmi that the kid has never won a game of Monopoly in his life when he played with her and felt it was impossible to lose to this child. I was also made aware that Jymmi was the champion of champions when it came to Monopoly for five years straight. Unfortunately, this was the night I made her retire her title with humility and allow the kid to take all the glory for once. I didn't do this on purpose. The kid was begging for some property I had because he had the other matching two. I just wanted him to shut up the fuck up to be honest. After I traded the property, the game as we knew it, fell into an irrepressible vortex and gave birth to a brutal army of unreasonably expensive hotels and house rentals. For every other turn, Jymmi gave me Medusa's glare in hopes of me turning into stone and preventing me from making any other stupid moves. The damage was done. The kid won the game and there was nothing we could do about it. To me it was just a game, but to Jymmi it was a matter of life or death. Kinda like Jumanji, but worse. I looked at the time. It was only 12:30 AM. This was gonna be a long day...
The Ultimate Procrastinator
One hour goes by. Then two. Then three. Time really does fly when your watching YouTube videos of music videos and band interviews in anticipation for a concert. Sadly, this was my first and only prep time for watching Kings of Leon. You know how you have to be in the mood to listen to the band live, so you listen to all their music beforehand? Well, I was in any mood for listening to southern rock for the past two days. I just couldn't get into it. I was too enraptured in fucking Bjork. Of all people, Bjork. I just had to buy her Post album that week, and I just couldn't stop listening to it. Then I was like, "I need to see her live....NOW!!!". But then again, it's no longer 1995, and she wouldn't sound as cool. Besides, the tickets for her last show in NYC was a minimum of 100 bucks. Screw that! So there we were, in Jymmi's room, watching videos. There was one with the entire band and their family around a campfire talking and questioning the significance of men's testicles. Wow, that was priceless. Finally, it was about 3:30ish and we had to go. Jymmi's brother drove us to the train station in record speed and we barely had to wait for the F train. So far so good. We meet up another friend of ours, Zara, and her friend, Marissa, on the line. Apparently, Marissa was waiting on the line since 2:00 AM and we were like 60th on line. Fucking brilliant. Like Oh Em Gee, we're like gonna be like in front!! Fan girl moment!
Hey, Ho. Let's Go!
The line begins to move at about 6 AM and I haven't felt the urge to yawn yet. I'm running solely on adrenaline right now, which is a miracle. Usually if I was planning to pull an all-nighter, I would take a half-hour nap and then the rest of my consciousness would be sustained with the help of my good chums Senor Tropicana and Madame Lipton. However, this time I was only depending on my solid 12 hours of sleep I got the day before. I was so confused as to what day it was. It was as though Thursday hit the replay and reverse button at the same time. Our anticipation begins to grow as we hear the sounds out-of-tune guitars and the loud echos of the amps. The line turns on the corner of Rockefeller Centre and the people flood into the plaza, filling all the empty spaces. From afar, we can just make out the white tent which was going to house the Followills. We can also make out the small crowd that already formed in front of the tent. We're gonna be so fucking close, I was telling myself. Then we came to an abrupt holt. What's this? A bar?? Why are we separated from the crowd near the tent? @#$%!?!
Very. Important.Pieces of Shit.
It turns out, the people in the front were "VIP" fans. Now you ask, how do you get the passes? You just assume that these people had some connections with the Today Show. Or they gave a shitload of money to get the passes off of bloody Ticketmaster. Or they just a load of people joined together and decided to fashion out a pass made out of laminated coloured paper at Kinko's. Well, apparently, these "fans" were just ordinary people like you and me, cept they went to NBC's website and filled out a form before the show to get these special passes. What makes you qualify? NOTHING. Even the radio hosts weren't allowed to get that close to the band. Another thing is that I didn't consider them as the real fans. There were little children and old fogies there! What 4 year olds fancy Sex On Fire? And what 60-somethings have any idea that Kings of Leon is a real band? There was also a HUGE space between the bar and the VIPs. It was so inefficient (and unfair) to keep that bar where it was because about 50 other people could have filled up the space. There was no way of crossing, smashing down, crawling under or dismantling that metal bar. We. Were. Screwed.
Oh Yeah...
Oh, and did I mentioned the rain? Oh sorry about that. Well, it rained. And it rained. Then it didn't rain. And then it rained again, but harder. Just to make it worse, as soon as the Kings of Leon stepped out for rehearsal, the VIPs put up their umbrellas because perish forbid, they would dampen their lovely attire. If your going to a concert, you don't dress like a fucking whorebag or beach bum. Especially when it was going to rain that day. The fans who were stuck in a rut like us were of course, feeling the same way as we were. They were shouting and screaming, "PUT THE UMBRELLAS DOWN!!". What made it worse was that the guards let people way in the back in the front into the VIP section. They didn't even deserve it! We barely saw the top of the stage, and at most, saw the bottom edge of the white tent. The way the speakers were placed in front of the stage was brilliant because it was blocking half of the stage. If we were lucky, we got glimpses of Caleb's scalp and Nathan's drum set. Even though none of us real dedicated fans had no way of seeing the band on stage, we were able to to hear them loud and clear. Clear like CD quality clear. We all sang along with the band like drunk bastards. This random Aussie in the crowd held up a sign saying, My Sex Is So Soggy to the camera, in hopes that the Today Show knew what we were going through. We continue to scream at VIPs to put their umbrellas down. We cursed at the people who got an easy ride into the VIP section. In a stupid kind of way, this whole experience was bringing us all together, because we were the ones waiting painstakingly for hours on the edge of a dirty sidewalk for one purpose: to see the Kings of Leon. It was beautiful.
Waiting For You
While they rehearsed, the band played "Use Somebody", "Sex on Fire" and "Notion" and within half an hour, they left the stage. When were planning to come back? Two hours later. Two long fucking hours just to play the exact same songs. And then the rain began to pour out of the clouds like cow piss. Brilliant. What more can a fan ask for? The security guards continued to let in more VIPs who came in a little later, or what I think were VIPs. Their passes were no where to be seen. The guards didn't bother to even ask for them. Every ten minutes or so, we continually asked the guards to let us edge a bit closer to the stage. The asking grew into pleading and finally evolved into plain old begging. Nothing worked, obviously. Some people began to leave. Our beloved Aussie that we grew to know and love thirty minutes ago abandoned the crowd. The rain began to pour harder. All six of us huddled under two small umbrellas. Soon, we began to whine. The rain falling down our cheeks and the raindrops could have been easily mistaken for tears at this point. We looked so pathetic drenched in the pouring rain, covered with the twilight city dust, and eyes heavy of sleep. We became so delirious of everything around us. Then Zara made an amazing discovery.
Candy Everybody Wants
Zara points to the windows of the studio. Hours before, we were hoping to get a small glimpse of the band awaiting for their performance. But suddenly, a man appeared behind the dirt-crusted window of the fourth floor. It was Caleb!! It had to be him! His hair, his face, his everything just screamed Caleb. Magic suddenly went into play. The rain stopped and all our faces lit up like hungry dogs. But of course, when a group of people react to something like that, the crowd begins to follow too. Some people looked up and began to point at the window. I started to record Caleb's every move in super-zoom on my camera as though I found something impossible to ever witness, like the Yeti, or Salman Rushdie. He smirked and waved and we all waved back. Then suddenly, someone screamed "They're back!". The entire band was apparently on stage, including Caleb. Then who's that little doggie in the window? Well, not Caleb. We just spent ten minutes staring at a bootleg version of lead singer. Way to go Zara. But we had to admit, it was kinda funny.
Hang On To Yourself
Now, the live show began. The camera was on and scanning across the crowd. At this point, we were too tired to scream or shout when it came by. The band was being interviewed on the corner by Al Roker. All we saw was Al Roker from the distance and not the band. We just assumed for those ten minutes that the band was being interviewed. The rain began to pour again. Joy of joyness. The band went up on stage, and we could finally get a glimpse of all the members, but in bits and pieces. The only person I was able to see throughout the entire perfomance was Nathan but that was only because he was the drummer and the drummer never moves from his spot. But, after the eighth or ninth time seeing him, you get kinda sick of it. The rest of the guys kept on swaying back and forth and it was difficult to keep eye on all of them at once. Luckily, Caleb was wearing a pink t-shirt, so he was a bit easier of to keep track. We compared our cameras and we came to the conclusion that my camera had the best zoom on video recording and Jymmi had the best angle. If we tiptoed high enough, we could clearly see all of their heads. With this combo, we were invincible. Most of us watched the performance from someone else's recording, which was at the perfect angle and distance. As the last time, the fans in the back sang to their songs. It was odd; the VIPs weren't even singing to the song. They didn't even have an idea what was going on. More VIPs and latecomers were allowed in. Why even bother coming now? The performance was almost over. The real, dedicated fans were in the back and there was nothing we could do to change that. I just closed my eyes and let the music take over my body. I almost forgot that this was the main reason I came to this concert: to hear live versions of their songs. It stopped raining. We successfully recorded "Sex On Fire" on my camera and we were satisfied. The jigsaw pieces were falling into place.
Farewell and Goodnight...or Good Morning for that matter...
Just like before, the band crawled back into the building and there no where to be seen. It was then the crowds began to leave. Marissa and Zara's brother left too because they saw it was no use in staying any longer. It was time to make our moves. According to Jymmi, the band should come out an hour later to sign autographs and such. This was our moment, our moment to make up for the the rest of the horrible morning, our moment for the band to see what we had to go to. Just one look at us and you would understand our entire story. Unfortunately, the guards were trying to throw us out and we weren't big enough stubborn assholes to stay. We were tired of it all. Then, there was this tiny line forming on the corner of the building away from the guards. It was right across the band's two vans. Hopefully now we can get a chance to see them. Sadly, a guard saw the line and made us leave. We were way too tired to think straight. We just took the train and parted our ways from that point on. We left without autographed magazines, without awkward pictures with the band, without our satisfaction of seeing the band up front which provided us this lovely entertainment.
For a Pessimistic, I'm Pretty Optimistic
To be honest, I thought this entire adventure wasn't the worst thing I have ever experienced in my life. First of all, I was with my friends. If I wasn't with them, the concert would have been even more sucky. We were all miserable together. Plus, all of us fans were in this together; it wasn't just me and my friends. Their problems were our problems. As I explained before, the Kings Of Leon preformance at All Points West brought everyone together and made me feel so comforted. And you know what, I felt like they did it again. I didn't even have to see their faces throughout the whole show. That's how great an impact their music had on me. Also, I've never stayed up all night and hung out on the corner of the street so early in the morning in the city. I take every part of my life as an adventure, whether it be good or bad. That's what makes life colourful, no? In the words of Bjork (cuz that's all I was listening to this week), "Look at the speed out there, it magnetizes me to it and I have no fear. I'm only into this to
ENJOY".
x Pfredderickk
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Lady Gaga vs. Bjork
Obviously the latter wins for its dead-on obscurity and nonsensical imagery. Since when is "warmthless" an english term? And this ain't the first time she has secretly contributed a "word" to the English language. Let's just say Bjork pulled a Dr. Seuss and let it go. It's her Frindle. But this doesn't ignore the rest of the sentence now. How about this tooth conducting heat? And what about the other teeth? Are they lukewarm? Toasty? Or maybe it's not about the heat, maybe its cold as in aloof or emotionless. But what tooth has an amygdala, or a brain for that matter? Highly impossible to interpret what the hell is going on in that sentence. I say some guy lost circulation to one particular tooth. Now it's beginning to lose heat due to the lack of blood flowing through it. Then the tooth falls out. The end. As for the disco stick, we can just easily dismiss it as a shiny phallic symbol, no? Either that, or some warlock has a gem-studded broom stick and Lady Gaga is extremely tempted to ride this Harry Potter-esque hot rod. But I'm just saying this out of context, of course.
When lyrics don't make sense, just connect to some sexual related topics. It usually works and it's certaintly working for the disco stick. As for the cold bicuspid, haha no. But before we conclude this short battle, let's compare the titles of the songs shall we? LoveGame vs. Mouth's Cradle. Sure, it is easy to see that Gaga failed whilst using Microsoft Word and forgot to use spell check before she released her album. Mouth's Cradle? After reading the title for the 53rd time, I say it's very poetic. In a way, she's trying to connect the comfort of a mouth (from its "warmthness") with comfort as in a child's cradle as the gums cradle all of the teeth in its embrace. But the first 52 times totally got me screwed over. So we all know that Bjork won this.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I know the pieces fit cos I watched them all fall away
You know what I'm talking about; the tall, highly unattractive and diaphoretic individuals who swagger from class to class with TOOL blazing from across their chests like they're the epitome of God's creations. It's not a bad thing, you know, to fancy Tool and all because everyone has their preferences in music. As a matter of fact, I respect them as one of the few bands who "paint with their music" and I occasionally enjoy lending my ear to alternative rock staples such as Schism and Sober.
As to my knowing, these fans (or at least the ones I've met) are not the most pleasant folks. I usually find out that they enjoy hacking into government networking facilities in their free time OR have the language as rancid as a leech-infested sock seeping in a cesspool OR have their dorm walls strewn with pictures that can pass for bestiality (not Tool, surprisingly). However, this does not ignore the fact that these fans are undeniably apparent in several universities across the country aside from mine. I'll name a few places right now: University of Rochester, University of California at Berkeley, Princeton, and University of Virginia, all of which contain a steady number of Tool aficionados (as I witnessed). This also brings up another question. Why does this population of fans neither expand nor disintegrate? Why do they exist as solely 27.5 % of the student body? What connects them all? This is my reason: these are all physics or engineering majors.
The building I dormed in houses all the dweebs and milquetoasts you can find on campus. The men's floor was practically packed with Tool Fans. Heck, the guy that lived right below me used to blast 10,000 Days non-stop, especially during the Grammys (because apparently that album was nominated for one thing or another. Fortunately, they lost, so that prevented an unannounced 5-hour non-stop Tool marathon that the arsehole was planning to conduct as soon as he recieved the long-anticipated news). I was sure he was a computer engineering major. By the way, he's the hacker who "shared" the news of his special talent to the RAs in the first month of the term--smart move dude.
This other guy who lived five doors from him, was too a Tool Fan. This guy ALWAYS wore his Tool shirt, I mean always. Either that, or he had six Tool shirts with the same print, same tear at the corner of the neckline, and same sweat marks trailing down the middle of his back. He never spoke and at one point, I was certainly convinced he was mute. But that was then, NOW I finally convinced myself that he could not speak. From the looks of this character, he was obviously a socially-inept, computer-mechanized walking brain who functioned in terms of numbers and nothing else.
There was also a girl in our building who occasionally walked around with a Tool shirt. We talked once in a while if we passed each other in the hallway. We just exchanged polite greetings or made remarks regarding the unpleasant weather. She seemed harmless, until I saw her sitting with her friends. If she had the chance, this woman can say a complete, coherent sentence with curses alone. It's quite the talent. And to top it all off, she is also a engineering major, particularly specialising in mechanical engineering. Sheer bloody coincidence? Hellz nah.
So you see, the fans are usually the creeps of campus, the uber-dweebs, the psychopaths of psychopaths. To harness their intellectual energy (and whatever kind of energy these humanoids possess), they take a keen interest in applied sciences. But as a way to spice up their personality, they also take an time and admire the works of this prog rock band. And why? My take on these deadbeats is that the sound of the music electrifies their soul and fosters a form of confidence which never existed before. To shine their inner audacity to the public and show their gratitude to their beloved band, they wear anything covered with the magical four-lettered word. It empowers them with a feeling that just screams "Hey, take a look at me bitches. I'm so badass because I can handle Tool". It's like their double A battery, their daily dose of steroids, their long-deserved share of Scooby Snacks. After all these years of intense underground research on this under-developed marvel, I conclude that, yes, there is a reason to explain the young adulthood phenomenon that effects every 2 out of 20 college students.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Just My Luck, No Really
The way she comes up to you to is quite nerve-racking, I must admit. She will timidly come from behind and begin to beckon for your attention in a such a low frequency that it cannot even pass for a whisper; it's more like the sound of air leaking from a high-pressured gas valve. Then you look behind because you suspect it's a dragonfly or moth happily passing your path, but NO! IT'S HER!! Strike one. Then, she'll start asking you random, luck-of-the-draw questions regarding your demography. You begin to think "Hey, she's harmless. Why not? She just wants to start a conversation, right?" NO, YOUR WRONG! Strike two. You answer her questions and embellish it a bit because hey, you just met her 8 seconds ago, so what matters if you lie a bit. So that's what I usually do. Everytime I meet her, I make up my religion. One moment I'm Muslim, the next I'm Buddhist, and heck, I even told her I was Zoroastrian. That last one completely confused her since she didn't know what that was. Ha! Ball one! Next, she will ask you if you have ever read the Bible and studied it. To make this moment more exciting, you start telling her all the stuff you read when you had to read the Bible in English class. You start to psychoanalyse the characters and explain the true factors behind their motives in a more unrealistic, outrageous, English teacher, kind of perspective. She gets even more shocked. How does this Zorro-astro-whatever know about the Bible? Ball two. Then the woman will use her magical ways and attempt to convert you to Christianity there and then. Now she's testing your waters. She just pitched the ball right into your shin. It's okay if you're here to enroll people in a Bible Study, but to change their view on life and question their ideals? Nah man, dis ein't cool. 'ave som' respec'. You tell her exactly that, minus the Yardie-ness. Once she finally gets your point, you start walking away because, in my experience, she won't leave your site unless you start moving yourself. HOMERUN!! Unfortunately, she never gets your point, and will continue to use the same pitch the fifth or sixth time you meet her. She's like Willy Loman: a hopeless and seemingly unsuccessful salesperson.
I've told my friends about my adventures with this woman and I asked them whether or not if you have ever met her at least once in your life. All of them answer the same thing: NO. They all look at me like I have a boil on my face which is big enough to sustain life on its own. Maybe this lady is imaginary, maybe she doesn't exist, a phantom of some sort. She might be like one of those ghosts many students get to witness on college campuses as old as the cotton gin or Simon Bolivar. But our campus isn't that old. I mean, McDonald's is older than it. She could be a brain-scavenging zombie, I don't know! Whatever it may be, she is still the Chinese Bible Study woman and she will always remain as so, in my eyes. You must also understand the power of assumptions. Humans will always have assumptions and will make every lasting attempt to prove them correct and at the same time curb their curiousity. It's at moments like these you use flattery and a bit of creativity to remove yourself from complicated situations such as these. But, if you suck at that, well then, my best suggestion I could give to you is to.... RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!!!!
X Pfredd
