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The White Stripes vs The Melty-Knee Smile
04/04/2002 - 12:51 p.m.
The White Stripes show was kind of a bust. First, we never managed to hook up with the girlf's pals, so it was just the two of us, which was fine, but still a drag cuz I was hoping to meet the famous Bronwyn, of whom I have heard much.
Then, when we got to the show, this abysmal New Zealand pack of jamokes called (I swear) The Datsuns were on stage, and man were they dreadful. Urf and urf again. They were clearly going for that retro moderne vibe, looking like The New York Dolls when they still lived at home and sounding like a cross between the White Stripes and the Black Crowes. Gadzooks, it was awful. And the "club" where they were playing has a no-pass-out policy, so once you're in, you're in.
<Shatner>
Must... endure... awful... music. Can't... escape... from terrible-bad-songs-that-I-don't-like!
</Shatner>
They were long on volume and short on interesting songs, but the singer sure was able to screech very piercingly. Next.
The girlf was more forgiving - she told me I couldn't deny that their drummer rocked, which I couldn't. He was good.
The Datsuns were followed by Brendan Benson and the Well-Fed Boys, who reminded me of nothing so much as the Gin Blossoms, that earnest mid-90's American midwest thing. Ok songs, fine playing, especially from the lead guitarist, good singing, but overall, it was just another band. Oddest feature - the "other singer" - a guy who stood off to the side and played maracas and tamborine and sang high harmonies. He also took the lead for a few lines in one song. This was a little odd, because at that point, he was "portraying" a girl. And Elvis, tamborines and maracas can sure pep up a song, but when they are played in song after song after every song, the sound starts to get a little grating. Kinda like that weird flippity scrippity sound in 13th Floor Elevators songs, or Sister Rose's laugh. At first it's really exciting and cool, but after the 4th or 5th song, I just want to take 'em by the ears and scream "Stop doing that for just one song! Please!" I never do, cuz I don't want to get bashed over the head with a maraca. That would be so not excellent it doesn't bear thinking about.
"And what happened to you, Mr Blur?" "Well, Emergency Room Doctor, I was involved in a maracas fracas."or maybe
"I was mauled by a maraca-wielding maniac."or perhaps
"Maraca Mole made me his manbitch."Maraca, maraca, tomata, tabacca,
I'm really glad I've never had a stalka
TV Zero taught me how to be a cock blocka
Tabacca, tabacca, tomato, maraca.
Ahem.
And now, back to our story.
By the time The Well-Fed Boys were done, I had gotten close to my fill of: crowds; cigarette smoke; noise; standing. See, my knees hyper-extend, and my feet are a bit flat, and with this extra weight I'm carrying around, standing still (or relatively still) is just not a lot of fun. Tough on my knees, tough on my back. Ouch. The girlf was getting equally peevish, for reasons of her own, so we weren't in the best frame of mind to enjoy anything.
So. The White Stripes Came onstage. They're good. I like 'em. They have some super-great songs, and a fairly original way of presenting 'em. But.
They really could use a bass player. And would it kill Meg to play a shuffle beat once in a while, or a military tattoo? I mean, she does know that it's possible to play faster than every quarter note, right? And Jack was in huge trouble vocally. His cords were really burnt, and it was not a lot of fun to listen to. They played a buncha songs from White Blood Cells, which pleased me, as it is my favorite of theirs, but after about 10 songs, the girlf had really had enough, and I was getting weary, so off we went into the night. I kinda wanted to stick around and see what happened, but since I was driving, and it was raining, I figured that wasn't such a good idea. We've never had a fight yet, the girlf and I, and I'm happy to keep it that way for now. Though I wonder what kind of a fighter she is, I didn't need to find out last night. So when she said she wanted to leave for the second time, we left.
Then, this morning, we got up and went to work. As we were leaving her house, her car-pool work pal, who I have never yet met, drove up, and we had a brief moment of "Hi-how-ah-ya?" Later the girlf sent me an email saying that the work-pal said I have a "melty-knee smile." Yikes.
Music to contemplate the melty-kneeness of my smile:
The Jam - "Mr Clean" (All Mod Cons)
"Daylights dawns, you wake up and yawn - Mr. Clean
A piece of toast from the one you love most - and you leave"
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