roll over d.j.
04.15.04 @ 5:04 p.m.
I'm writing offline, in case people call. We're being incredibly paranoid about the phone today. I keep thinking it's going to be Martha, Dad keeps thinking it's going to by Gladys, a woman with a grating voice and a somewhat unplaceable accent. I think she might be from South America, but I don't know where that idea got into my head from. Quite honestly, I thought she was dead. She had major heart attacks recently.
Anyway. I still have light ringing in my ears from last night. The short version is:
-The Neon(s?): Blah. Unimpressive.
-The Living End: Fucking rock. They're damn cool.
- Jet: Also pretty damn cool.
-The Vines: I don't like them, and I'm not surprised that so many people dislike them, too.
(I can hardly think to write, I'm so preoccupied with my massively pregnant dog. She can't breathe without making whining, groaning sounds. She waddles when she walks. Later on, I think I'll draw a picture of what she looks like, because I don't have my laptop and so can't use my dad's camcorder as a digital camera. Also, my dad bought a purple kiddy pool for her to whelp in. Heehee. It has CARTOON DUCKS on it.)
So last night, Amy and Martha were waiting for me at the Amtrak station. I gave Amy the Cher button I had bought over spring break as an early birthday present and she was stoked because it was one she didn't already have. I didn't give Martha the Clash postcard I bought for her. I don't know when I'm going to give that. For now, I have a Craig Nicholls article out of the current Guitar World to give her.
We got to the Roseland early and were there when they open and started letting people in. We went immediately to the very front, where we stayed at least until the break between Jet and the Vines, when Amy (who already knew she didn't like the Vines nearly enough to stay at the front and get squashed) asked the security guards to pull her over the barrier so she wouldn't have to fight her way to the back of the crowd (because even in between, we were getting smooshed and shoved around) and I opted for the fighting-through-the-crowd option, where I then took advantage of my age and went up to the balcony, which was closed to minors. Ha ha, losers!
But I get ahead of myself. The first group was an opener and they sucked. How horrible it must be to look out at your audience and see a crowd of distinctly unimpressed people. Because I turned a couple of times and looked, and no one was enthused at all. I was starting to regret attending, I was so bored. Plus my legs were already protesting having to stand. The worst part (or the part that makes me pity the openers the most) was the break right afterwards, when Martha enlisted me to help look for the pick they threw off the stage. I hadn't noticed it being thrown. It hit the guy next to Martha. I found it, and offered it to him, and he took it, but then Martha and Amy asked to look at it as it was a Dunlop, or as they said "one of those ones with the cute turtle on them!" They looked, and when they returned it to the guy, he said, "Keep it." It was then offered to me ("the guitarist") and I thought about taking it, though Martha said "You'd play with someone else's pick?" "Why not?" In the end it was given to Amy, because she liked the cute turtle. How sad is it when no one even wants the flotsom you throw off the stage? "You take it." "Oh, no, you keep it, that's okay."
I'd seen the Living End on Conan O'Brien once and liked them. They rocked in person and one of the high points was when the bass player (who played a big stand-up bass) played while actually standing on his bass, balancing carefully. It was when they came on when the pushing started. We were in the front and were constantly fighting waves of crushing. Also, I passed about four or five crowd surfers, a first for me. The major problem with the crushing is that for a lot of the time, I was more concerned with the people pressed against me than with the music. It annoyed me.
Jet was also awesome, and I probably was just as distracted, though I gave up a lot of my resisting the forces of the crowd. The difference is that I know a lot of Jet's songs and sang along with everyone else during "Are You Gonna Be My Girl," though I was extremely pissed off at the spastic girl behind me that started jumping up and down at such a speed, and leaning against me so hard, during that song, that I was kind of forced to bounce along with her and ultimately felt like she was humping me or something, which was annoying. It was worse when she decided to raise her arms up and every time she came down from her jumps, she elbowed me in the spine. Fucking bitch. (I hurt in a lot of places today, you see.) ALSO: Jet's drummer was wearing a Who shirt. I was very happy.
I basically went over the Vines stuff already, except that I left completely about halfway through the set and went downstairs to the lobby. I went back up later to find Amy and hang out with her. I guess the set stopped for about ten minutes when, according to Martha, Craig Nicholls freaked out and had to go backstage and self-medicate with a joint. That amuses me.
Afterwards we were following Martha through Portland in a downpour when we decided to ask her where the hell we were going, since we had turned a lot more than was necessary to get back to the car. "Oh," she said. "I thought we were going out to eat afterwards." Yeah, but it's FUCKING RAINING. Raining hard. So we got to the Roxy, an all night diner, wet and cold. Martha said "Oh, I like walking through the rain. " Meh. (Oh, I was saying something that Liz had said while we were waiting for the concert to start [I don't remember what] and I said, "You know, Liz who likes the Rolling Stones," and Martha said "You can call her 'Liz Richards' and I'll know who you mean.") I had quite a good cold roast beef sandwich called a "Heartless Heifer" that was described as made from cows who had no affection growing up. There was also a sandwich called the "Lou Reed" but I don't remember what it had on it, apart from "methadone" being the last listed ingredient. Hurr hurr. (That sounds sarcastic, but I actually was quite amused.) And we came home. I couldn't sleep last night because my hair was wet from the rain (and I hate having wet hair, especially when it's chilly), but I didn't want to wake my parents up by using the blow-dryer after 1 a.m. By the end of the night, we were all really sweaty but had decided that the majority of it wasn't our sweat. Which is ew, but an easy conclusion to come to after the heat and humidity of the audience area right in front of the stage.
The distressing thing about yesterday was that the directory tells me the Who Boy no longer attends my school. Martha said "He probably found out you were stalking him and had himself removed." Ha ha. I'm not sure that's possible, though it might be. It would explain why I haven't seen him around in ages upon ages. While that upsets me, I've decided to be lighthearted about it and annouce that I now have a position open in the "stalked by Ellen" field for awesome boys living in the Portland/Eugene area. Applications Welcome :) (My horoscope tells me that I've gotten past a barrier that will make it for me to achieve my goals or something, and I halfway wonder if being forced to give up the Who Boy is it.) (Yes, I read my horoscope quite frequently and try to make it fit my life. Shurrup.)
Now I need to go get some food and get ready to go, because it's the Strokes tonight. I was going to wear my Strokes shirt, but the general sweatiness of last night made me reconsider, because it's a shirt that shows dampness easily. So I'm wearing my dark blue Empire Strikes Back shirt.
[Title: Jet]
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
