Free Concerts! Summer Sickness! Lost Voice!

"Heaven forbid you end up alone, and don't know why..."
~The Fray

Note to all aspiring acoustic-y indie bands: if you don't want a career in music, and just want a diversion for a couple years and then millions of dollars to play with for the rest of your life, hire The Fray's manager. They've been touring for two years on the same album, have re-released three different versions of the same album, and scored at least three radio hits. They're about to take a year off to record a new album, but my (amateur) prediction is that they will hit major sophomore slump-- who wouldn't after success that quick?
That said, I still have always had a soft spot for them.

Wednesday I went to work feeling vaguely sick. I had to work late (till 7), but at 645, I got a text from a friend with an extra ticket to see The Fray-- in an hour. I'm 21, I said yes. Mainly because The Fray is one of those bands that I've liked since before anyone had heard of them, but now they are so famous I would never spend $40 to see a band that has gone mainstream anyway. The spare ticket had been provided by a record label, which meant that it was a really good seat. Rock on. Despite the lead singer's lack of stage presence when he WASN'T behind the piano, they were a fun band to watch, playing a hilarious cover of Shakira and Wyclef Jean's "Hips Don't Lie," and lapsing seemlessly into Oasis' "Wonderwall" during the ending jam on "Vienna."
["Wonderwall," by the way, is, I firmly believe, this millennium's version of "Amazing Grace." Watts' song can be put to any tune and it works (try, for example, singing it to the "Gilligan's Island" theme). Oasis' masterpiece can be inserted into tons of songs and it fits, AND as soon as someone puts it into their song, I fall in love.]
Anyway, the show was cool. I've never been to a piano-centric concert, except for Michael Flynn and his band, the name of which I can't remember, but this one was good... And The Fray, if nothing else, proves that that dorky kid you went to high school with (you know the one-- he graduated high school and undergrad having never shaved a day in his life; played piano and wore a calculator watch?) WILL come out on top. Looks may not improve and he may keep on wearing that calculator watch, but your mom was right, ladies. Be nice to him now; someday you'll be begging for tickets to see his show.

Free concerts of the summer for Blair +1.

The next day I walked into work and had 429 envelopes to put stamps on. "Why?" you ask, because when you have 429 envelopes to send out in the US Mail, the post office won't put stamps on them. (I, for the record, labeled the envelopes, labeled and packaged the CDs to go in the envelopes, stuffed the envelopes, unstuffed the envelopes when my boss decided to add something else to it, sealed the envelopes, unsealed the envelopes, switched out the CDs when we realized a different version had to go out, resealed the envelopes, and then was told we had to put FOUR DIFFERENT STAMPS on each envelope. Welcome to a week in the life of an intern.)

So the post office won't stamp them (they cost $1.98 each to mail, which meant they took FOUR STAMPS) and I am blessed with the opportunity of stamping them all. In the middle of stamping them, one of the guys at work walked through and asked how it was going. "Fine," I replied, "but the stamps made my fingers all sticky."
"Whoa! And your voice all manly!" he replied. "What kind of a disease is that?"
"I think I just went to too many shows..." I replied, not wanting to explain that three of the six rock stars that stayed with me last week were sick. (It's not so professional to have OTHER labels' bands sleeping in your living room.)

And for the last two days I've tried to answer phones and set up in-store record signings for my favorite band signed to our label while sounding like a man. I'm getting sicker, I think, but I suppose based on the way I've been rocking out every night, that's to be expected.

I need my favorite pet rock stars here-- the band that stayed with us last week was sponsored by Vitamin Water. When travelling in big cities, they said they are constantly asked for money by homeless guys who don't realize the band is often a van-roof away from being homeless themselves. The band has no money, so instead they give them a CASE of Vitamin Water. Not a bottle, not a 6pack, but a CASE. (Vitamin Water, by the way, costs about $1.50 a bottle. Too much for me to splurge on, considering I don't actually like it anyway, but it is probably also very good for sick groupies.)
Heaven Forbid,
B

P.S. I found this written on the website of the band that has been my favorite for six years now:
"I'm just looking for a nice girl that can spell, who can be bothered to come to my shows every once in awhile."
Umm, hello?