What a weekend... things have been crazy for the last week out here in the plastic world of rock. Last week I was in the office till 7pm every night, then Friday kicked off the Lucky 13th Warped Tour, which meant absolute MADNESS.
Friday morning I drove to Pomona with the other intern in her car packed full of Immortal Records and Scary Kids Scaring Kids merch. I was on the phone with my boss every ten minutes on the way there, either because we were lost or he was checking in on us, then when we arrived guest services slapped wristbands on us and the mayhem commenced.
The Immortal merch guy called me and we met him in the bus lot, where we loaded the extra t-shirts and CDs into someone else's trailer (on rehearsal night our band's trailer broke, so now they are sharing with some random band, leading my boss to joke that he is going to quit our label and form his own, called Eleventh Hour Records) and then schlepped to the Immortal tent. Once we arrived, the merch guy left to get lunch, and I was left manning the tent. Flashback to two summers ago, when I spent every evening selling another band's merch to middle-schoolers who rocked my world. But this is what I love to do, so rock on. I could hear Boys Like Girls playing from the Hurley stage behind me, and pretty soon Yellowcard took the stage in front of the tent, announcing that it was 107degrees out. Two years ago when I was selling merch and all around being a groupie, when we had weather like that my boss would make us all drink two glasses of water at breakfast before we were allowed to get up from the table. Warped Tour 2007 didn't even have free water, even for employees. BUT Monster energy drinks were there for free, leading to every college student's worst nightmare: do I drink a Monster, which will keep me headbanging for the rest of the day, cool me down, AND is free? Or do I pay five dollars for a small bottle of water? I started out with Monsters, but pretty soon both me and the merch guy were shaking from all the sugar and caffeine and the significant dearth of water in us. There are no words for how hot 107degrees in the California desert is... Oh, yes, I've been hotter, but picture it: we're on a DIRT fairground in the middle of the desert; there are 11,000 kids there dressed in head-to-toe black; hardly any water kiosks to be found, and the ones that ARE still around are almost out of $5 bottles, and now the desert wind is picking up, throwing dust all over our sweaty bodies. I sweated through my tank top while carrying the shirts to the tent and spent the rest of the day slippery. My hair was soaked from the roots downward, my knees stained from kneeling on the ground to fold shirts, and I was loving every minute. Later on when I quit sweating (probably from dehydration, not because it had cooled off) I could feel the crust of dirt on me from the wind. My sunglasses were coated in dust, I was vaguely pink from the sun, and I had a blast. We were all sore from jumping around in mosh pits (I got a few breaks during the day and managed to see most of New Found Glory's set, a few Tiger Army songs until the dust picked up and literally obscured the band, the tail of Anberlin's set AND the entire Scary Kids Scaring Kids show), standing in the hot sun all day, and not eating... well... anything, but it was awesome.
Watching Scary Kids was amazing-- they are signed to the label I work for, and they put on a really fun show. The keyboardist is the most fun to watch; since there are only keyboard parts during the intro to the songs, the rest of the time he spends dancing onstage with mane-like hair, and at the end of the show he grabbed the neckline of his t-shirt and ripped it the shirt off, literally, straight down the front. Pretty much it was amazing.
My boss found out I wanted to come back and offered me the last pass he had for Saturday's show in Ventura, about an hour and a half outside Los Angeles, so Saturday morning I woke up early, dressed in a fresh wifebeater and different shorts, and headed off to Ventura. When I arrived, my boss met me at the gate with an all-access sticker pass and a fresh wristband, which got me in even more places than the band from Friday. I wasn't stopped anywhere I tried to go all day long, which was awesome. Eventually I ended up in the bus area looking for a bathroom that WASN'T a port-a-potty... The bus pen at Warped Tour is almost as big as the grounds for Warped Tour-- 50 bands to transport; each of those bands has a tent with a staff that doesn't ride the band's bus; every record label represented has a tent, and then there are the miscellaneous tents, for skateboard companies, magazines, clothing lines, etc., and don't forget about the trucks for equipment-- there are FIVE stages going at all times on the tour. All the big bands hang out in the bus area until it's time for their set, which I knew, but really all I cared about was finding a [semi]clean bathroom. I ran into the lead singer of Coheed & Cambria, a pretty big band that I can't stand, but the lead singer is recognizable a mile away by his huge curly hair. In trying to get back OUT of the bus pen, I walked through a gate I thought would take me to the main grounds, looked to the left, and realized I was at in the backstage area of the stage where Bad Religion was playing... Oh, yes, that's right, THE Bad Religion, like, from 1984. They came out with a new album about a month ago, and they definitely take the cake as the oldest act on the tour. There are bands on this tour who weren't even BORN when Bad Religion was already recording! I mean, they're legendary. (And they're actually not nearly as hardcore as that name makes them sound.)
I made my way back to the Immortal tent, where one of the guys from the label had just arrived with his 2 year old in a stroller with soundproof headphones. We all hung out for a few minutes, and then... sniff sniff... "What's that smell?" the merch guy asked.
"Oh no..." I murmured, recognizing it from my days of living in a frat house with interconnected vents. The guy from the label left with his son, and pretty soon the smell drifted away. About an hour later, the band at the tent next to ours arrived at their tent to do a signing... and the smell returned. They left... and so did the smell. They came back a few hours later to prep for their set on the Hurley stage, and... oh, yes, so did the smell. So rock on, As Cities Burn. And know that you smell strong enough that you nearly hotboxed the tent NEXT to your own.
Oh, and just so you know I haven't fallen completely victim to the scene, here's proof I am still the same awkward thirteen-year-old in a twenty-one-year-old's body:
I'm standing at the merch table, chilling by myself, when this guy walks by. He doesn't even pay attention to our tent, he's just walking by. But I look up and see him (I must have made eye contact-- I HOPE I made eye contact first), and I recognized him. That NEVER happens to me in Southern California. In fact, that hasn't happened to me since last summer when I was living in Southeastern Kentucky. So I opened my mouth and out came
"Hey! I saw--"
[at that point I realized I had no idea what to say]
"your band..."
[at that point I realized I forgot the band's name]
"last week at..."
[at that point I realized I had forgotten the name of the venue]
"the... the..."
[at that point I realized there was no non-awkward way out of the encounter]
"KNITTING FACTORY! Yeah, the knitting factory... last week."
I got a confused look from the guy, and I realized I had left out the key part of the anecdote.
"And you guys were really amazing!" I finished enthusiastically.
"Thanks....?" he said bewilderedly. "I'm... so glad you came?" he said, clearly having no idea how to handle being RECOGNIZED by a Warped Tour employee. "We, uh... we hope to see you again."
Here is why this was awkward, besides the obvious:
1. His band is unsigned. The gig I saw them at was their first in nine months.
2. They are a local LA band, and most of the Warped Tour staff (which is what he thought I was) is not from California, which is why he was so confused about being recognized.
3. He's not even the lead singer; he was only the bassist. Granted, I usually pay more attention to the bassists than anyone else onstage, but still. I am highly doubting he's ever been recognized for his BAND.
And then suddenly there's this sweaty emo girl telling him his band was amazing when opening for someone else's CD release party in the middle of the week at a tiny venue in the middle of Hollywood. Awkward.
You can take the girl out of middle school, but you can't take the middle-schooler out of the girl...
Nevertheless, I've fallen in love with those four magical words: "I'm on the list."
For blue eyes, and dark skies...
~B
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Time for another...
"10, 9, 8, and I'm breaking away..."
~Shiny Toy Guns
People keep asking me who my favorite bands are. The more I do music, the more I have no idea. So here is, instead, a list of my top 10 music videos, complete with links to go view them at your leisure. Don't watch them, you won't enjoy them if you are over 40. Except for #2. Watch that one. And then go out and buy the album.
[Compiler's note: I don't actually watch a lot of music videos, and when I do, my standards are pretty high. So this isn't an all-time list... it's just recently.]
10. "We've Got A Big Mess On Our Hands"-- The Academy Is... TWO William Becketts? I think I could handle that, and the Pete Wentz cameo is pretty amazing.
9. "Are You In?"-- Incubus. This one really only makes the list because I want to be one of the girls in the video. And because the singer has a four-and-a-half octave vocal range.
8. "Move Along"-- The All-American Rejects. That black shirt the lead singer wears when singing in the pool? Yeah, I have the same one.
7. "Silver and Cold"-- AFI. Filmed in Prague. I've been there, it really does look like this.
6. "All That I've Got"-- The Used. I won't lie, after 30 Seconds to Mars perfected the old-scary-house video, this one kind of faded in awesomeness, but it's still a classic.
5. "My Darkest Hour"-- Scary Kids Scaring Kids. They're on my label, but the video is hilarious only because it may as well be me and my friends in that car.
3. "I Write Sins Not Tragedies"-- Panic! At the Disco. Eyes painted on eyelids? I'm always a sucker for a circus in a church.
2. "Stateside"-- Hot Rod Circuit. I have been watching this video for weeks at work now, since way before it was released, and I STILL can't watch it without getting the giggles. Current favorite part: the looks on the band's faces at the doctor's office.
1. "From Yesterday"-- 30 Seconds To Mars. This "epic" is nearly fifteen minutes of fist-in-the-air, hair-in-the-face, black-clothed, fireworks-and-subtitles emo goodness.
As I said, you should probably not watch them, mainly because if you do, you too are likely to start piercing random parts of your face, growing your hair into a swoop, and wearing nothing but Chuck Taylor's and concert tees. But do watch number two. You won't regret it.
Cinematic!
~B
~Shiny Toy Guns
People keep asking me who my favorite bands are. The more I do music, the more I have no idea. So here is, instead, a list of my top 10 music videos, complete with links to go view them at your leisure. Don't watch them, you won't enjoy them if you are over 40. Except for #2. Watch that one. And then go out and buy the album.
[Compiler's note: I don't actually watch a lot of music videos, and when I do, my standards are pretty high. So this isn't an all-time list... it's just recently.]
10. "We've Got A Big Mess On Our Hands"-- The Academy Is... TWO William Becketts? I think I could handle that, and the Pete Wentz cameo is pretty amazing.
9. "Are You In?"-- Incubus. This one really only makes the list because I want to be one of the girls in the video. And because the singer has a four-and-a-half octave vocal range.
8. "Move Along"-- The All-American Rejects. That black shirt the lead singer wears when singing in the pool? Yeah, I have the same one.
7. "Silver and Cold"-- AFI. Filmed in Prague. I've been there, it really does look like this.
6. "All That I've Got"-- The Used. I won't lie, after 30 Seconds to Mars perfected the old-scary-house video, this one kind of faded in awesomeness, but it's still a classic.
5. "My Darkest Hour"-- Scary Kids Scaring Kids. They're on my label, but the video is hilarious only because it may as well be me and my friends in that car.
3. "I Write Sins Not Tragedies"-- Panic! At the Disco. Eyes painted on eyelids? I'm always a sucker for a circus in a church.
2. "Stateside"-- Hot Rod Circuit. I have been watching this video for weeks at work now, since way before it was released, and I STILL can't watch it without getting the giggles. Current favorite part: the looks on the band's faces at the doctor's office.
1. "From Yesterday"-- 30 Seconds To Mars. This "epic" is nearly fifteen minutes of fist-in-the-air, hair-in-the-face, black-clothed, fireworks-and-subtitles emo goodness.
As I said, you should probably not watch them, mainly because if you do, you too are likely to start piercing random parts of your face, growing your hair into a swoop, and wearing nothing but Chuck Taylor's and concert tees. But do watch number two. You won't regret it.
Cinematic!
~B
Saturday, June 30, 2007
This is what I live for.
Kind of a dramatic title, I know. But I spent the last 48 hours with 11,000 emo kids, and dramatic is exactly what that is.
To put it in the words of my boss at the Immortal tent yesterday, in 107degree heat with the sweat pouring down my back:
"What's a girl like you, on her way to a degree from Emory University, doing working at a record label? And more importantly, why do you want to be a merch girl?"
Details later when I have rehydrated, slept, and washed. Probably not in that order.
Live from the pit,
Your favorite merch girl.
To put it in the words of my boss at the Immortal tent yesterday, in 107degree heat with the sweat pouring down my back:
"What's a girl like you, on her way to a degree from Emory University, doing working at a record label? And more importantly, why do you want to be a merch girl?"
Details later when I have rehydrated, slept, and washed. Probably not in that order.
Live from the pit,
Your favorite merch girl.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Perfect Fan...
"It sucks to grow up..."
~Ben Folds
This is why I love my parents:
Blair, in France in April, approximately midnight Greenwich Mean Time: "Oh my gosh, you'll never believe what happened tonight! I met the bassist from Jimmy Eat World! The concert was soooo amazing!"
Mom: "Oh, good, you've found yourself a new man... you're coming back to the US to have my grandchildren, but their last name is going to be Eatworld..."
or this:
My dad: "Hey, do you think you could send me some Incubus CDs to give away with our anti-drug campaign?"
Blair, from a bus somewhere in Santa Monica: "Umm... I could, but in all their interviews they credit marijuana with giving them the creativity they need to write songs, so they may not be the best bet. Also they have a song called Psychopsilocybin."
or this:
From an email I got last week:
"MIKE EINZIGER's birthday is today! He's turning 31! In case you didn't know, he's in Incubus... Love from your mother."
or this:
My mom, after seeing a picture of one of the bands I work for: "Oh, he would be ok for a son-in-law if you erased those pictures on his arms, cut off that hair, wiped off that makeup and got those things out of his ears."
or this:
My dad, on the phone, after my insistence (insistance?) that he wouldn't like the bands I promote: "I like emo."
To put it in the words of the immortal DJ Jazzy Jeff,
Parents just don't understand,
The Fresh Princ(ess) Buh-lair
~Ben Folds
This is why I love my parents:
Blair, in France in April, approximately midnight Greenwich Mean Time: "Oh my gosh, you'll never believe what happened tonight! I met the bassist from Jimmy Eat World! The concert was soooo amazing!"
Mom: "Oh, good, you've found yourself a new man... you're coming back to the US to have my grandchildren, but their last name is going to be Eatworld..."
or this:
My dad: "Hey, do you think you could send me some Incubus CDs to give away with our anti-drug campaign?"
Blair, from a bus somewhere in Santa Monica: "Umm... I could, but in all their interviews they credit marijuana with giving them the creativity they need to write songs, so they may not be the best bet. Also they have a song called Psychopsilocybin."
or this:
From an email I got last week:
"MIKE EINZIGER's birthday is today! He's turning 31! In case you didn't know, he's in Incubus... Love from your mother."
or this:
My mom, after seeing a picture of one of the bands I work for: "Oh, he would be ok for a son-in-law if you erased those pictures on his arms, cut off that hair, wiped off that makeup and got those things out of his ears."
or this:
My dad, on the phone, after my insistence (insistance?) that he wouldn't like the bands I promote: "I like emo."
To put it in the words of the immortal DJ Jazzy Jeff,
Parents just don't understand,
The Fresh Princ(ess) Buh-lair
Monday, June 25, 2007
Every summer has one of those days...
"Hollywood hills and suburban thrills...
~The Academy Is...
The most important thing I left out of last night's concert review was that The Academy Is... has been singing the soundtrack of my life since I discovered them almost two years ago. I love their music, but more importantly, it seems every phase of my life for the past two years can be summed up to the tune of one of their songs... Attention, The Phrase That Pays, Slow Down, Checkmarks, We've Got A Real Big Mess On Our Hands...
Anyway, every summer has one of those days... my first college summer it was the day of the maelstrom and pool party in Wildwood, New Jersey; probably the most underappreciated I had ever felt in my life. Last summer it was the day I broke the Slush Puppie machine and then tried to mop up the mess with a mop coated in floor wax. This summer it was... today.
I walked into work this morning feeling extra-glam. I was channeling retro Bon Jovi videos, with my hair in my eyes,oversize sunglasses, vintage-looking band tee, homemade cut off jean skirt with leggings underneath, and Chuck Taylors. I feel, in outfits like that, like I belong at a record label...
But I walked in this morning, and immediately all hell broke loose.
BLAIR! My real boss said, "make a street team for Adema!"
BLAIR! My unofficial boss (who I generally take direction from) said, "Find out where I can buy 400 sheets of gloss text 80lb. paper!"
BLAIR! The head of the label (who never bothers messing with the intern) said, "Price out 300 standard shot glasses with a band logo, then find out how much 300 cans of Red Bull would be to go with it.
BLAIR! The OWNER of the label (of whom I am terrified) said, "I need ten vintage metal lunchboxes by tomorrow morning. And I needed to find out where to buy them an hour ago."
Immediately the lunchboxes went to the top of the pile, even though he was the last to ask. As I am on the phone with every toy, school supply, and general merchandise store in Southern California, those same people walked past my desk again...
"Have you finished the street team?"
"Can you fill these merchandise orders?"
"The receptionist is going to lunch, cover phones for a minute."
"Did you get back to that journalist about the Hot Rod Circuit promotion?"
So I kept calling for the lunchboxes, knowing that project would never be satisfactory, forgot to fill in account numbers on the orders I sent out, never finished making a street team, found all the information I could for 300 custom made shot glasses to be delivered by Friday, and got in touch with the wholesale distributor of Red Bull.
I was thanked by the label head, who insists on calling me Sexy Lips after hearing last week's story of being hit on by Adema's lead singer.
I was consoled by my unofficial boss, who understood the getting distracted by the label owner's whims.
I was shot down by the label owner, the pictures I had printed shoved back into my hand and told they were useless, despite the fact that I stayed an hour after I was scheduled to in order to finish the lunchbox project.
And then I was scolded by the woman who was supposed to be doing the lunchbox project, told that I hadn't done a good enough job.
I, for the record, called every "toy" listed in the greater Los Angeles phone book, most of whom are NAMED Toy and thus don't speak good English-- I was hung up on more times this afternoon than ever before in my life. I spent an hour and a half making calls, another hour checking things online.
I can live with the thanklessness... I just wish they would at least realize I am not JUST an intern. My boss gets it, the guys I usually work with don't treat me like just another intern... but to the label owner and the management woman-- I'm just "take-a-tern," the latest in free help technology.
Fine, I realize that's really all an intern ever is. But it makes me an awful lot more grateful for my favorite pretend boss, the one that teaches me to read sales sheets, use distribution networks, publicize bands, and all around be cool.
Hold your head high,
B
~The Academy Is...
The most important thing I left out of last night's concert review was that The Academy Is... has been singing the soundtrack of my life since I discovered them almost two years ago. I love their music, but more importantly, it seems every phase of my life for the past two years can be summed up to the tune of one of their songs... Attention, The Phrase That Pays, Slow Down, Checkmarks, We've Got A Real Big Mess On Our Hands...
Anyway, every summer has one of those days... my first college summer it was the day of the maelstrom and pool party in Wildwood, New Jersey; probably the most underappreciated I had ever felt in my life. Last summer it was the day I broke the Slush Puppie machine and then tried to mop up the mess with a mop coated in floor wax. This summer it was... today.
I walked into work this morning feeling extra-glam. I was channeling retro Bon Jovi videos, with my hair in my eyes,oversize sunglasses, vintage-looking band tee, homemade cut off jean skirt with leggings underneath, and Chuck Taylors. I feel, in outfits like that, like I belong at a record label...
But I walked in this morning, and immediately all hell broke loose.
BLAIR! My real boss said, "make a street team for Adema!"
BLAIR! My unofficial boss (who I generally take direction from) said, "Find out where I can buy 400 sheets of gloss text 80lb. paper!"
BLAIR! The head of the label (who never bothers messing with the intern) said, "Price out 300 standard shot glasses with a band logo, then find out how much 300 cans of Red Bull would be to go with it.
BLAIR! The OWNER of the label (of whom I am terrified) said, "I need ten vintage metal lunchboxes by tomorrow morning. And I needed to find out where to buy them an hour ago."
Immediately the lunchboxes went to the top of the pile, even though he was the last to ask. As I am on the phone with every toy, school supply, and general merchandise store in Southern California, those same people walked past my desk again...
"Have you finished the street team?"
"Can you fill these merchandise orders?"
"The receptionist is going to lunch, cover phones for a minute."
"Did you get back to that journalist about the Hot Rod Circuit promotion?"
So I kept calling for the lunchboxes, knowing that project would never be satisfactory, forgot to fill in account numbers on the orders I sent out, never finished making a street team, found all the information I could for 300 custom made shot glasses to be delivered by Friday, and got in touch with the wholesale distributor of Red Bull.
I was thanked by the label head, who insists on calling me Sexy Lips after hearing last week's story of being hit on by Adema's lead singer.
I was consoled by my unofficial boss, who understood the getting distracted by the label owner's whims.
I was shot down by the label owner, the pictures I had printed shoved back into my hand and told they were useless, despite the fact that I stayed an hour after I was scheduled to in order to finish the lunchbox project.
And then I was scolded by the woman who was supposed to be doing the lunchbox project, told that I hadn't done a good enough job.
I, for the record, called every "toy" listed in the greater Los Angeles phone book, most of whom are NAMED Toy and thus don't speak good English-- I was hung up on more times this afternoon than ever before in my life. I spent an hour and a half making calls, another hour checking things online.
I can live with the thanklessness... I just wish they would at least realize I am not JUST an intern. My boss gets it, the guys I usually work with don't treat me like just another intern... but to the label owner and the management woman-- I'm just "take-a-tern," the latest in free help technology.
Fine, I realize that's really all an intern ever is. But it makes me an awful lot more grateful for my favorite pretend boss, the one that teaches me to read sales sheets, use distribution networks, publicize bands, and all around be cool.
Hold your head high,
B
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Hi, My Name Is Blair...
...And I’m a music snob.
"Drop a heart, break a name..."
~Fall Out Boy
Last night was the Honda Civic Tour at the LA Forum, which is not in Los Angeles at all, but in Inglewood, which is only approximately half a step above Compton.
I went by myself, kind of at the last minute, but I still managed to end up with a second row ticket directly next to the stage, which means I didn’t get a full-on view, but I had the best view of anyone there except those kids in the pit getting smashed. Cobra Starship opened, and though I tend to disapprove of any emo/rock bands with girls in them, they rocked. Not only do they have their own hand gesture ("Get your fangs up!"), but the girl in the band plays the keytar. All the time. And the lead singer, though not gorgeous, was the most fun performer I have seen since Motion City Soundtrack.
Following them was Paul Wall– I purposely waited to go check out the merch table until he hit the stage. I mean, first of all, he’s a rapper. (Note to Paul Wall’s record label: there is nothing an emo kid hates more than a rapper, except perhaps a carnivore.) And more importantly, he’s a no-good rapper. Not to mention the fact that rap went out when tight pants came in. Enough said.
And then The Academy Is... hit the stage, which is really the reason I was there. I saw them live a couple years ago, and they were amazing, but even now that they are more famous, they are still amazing in concert. I think the lead, William Beckett, has gained weight since the last time I saw them (which is good– I think I could have broken him in half with one hand last time I saw them). Their new album came out two months ago, and they’re not headlining for it, which is pretty awesome. Not to mention the fact that the lead singer is probably going to be the next candidate for a Blair haircut AND he sang all the instrumental parts from the album, which pretty much kicked.
The lead singer is the one in the middle. I couldn't find a decent shot that would fully define his skinniness, but look at those legs in the middle... It's kind of unfair.
+44 came out after that... not because they are any good, but because when any band is composed of exactly two thirds of Blink-182, you let them do whatever they want. When Blink broke up, the lead singer/bassist and drummer stayed together, found two more guys, and became +44. They kept the immaturity of Blink-182, and apparently some of the music rights, since they performed my all time favorite Blink song, Girl At the Rock Show. The mature, less prone to playing music in nothing but a tube sock remainder of Blink (Angels and Airwaves’ Tom DeLonge) moved more away from their roots, which is awesome, and the reason why Angels and Airwaves has always been my preferred piece of Blink. But nevertheless, +44 put on a good set– I know I have never seen a drummer as amazing or as entertaining as Travis Barker... he came out with a mohawk and jeans and nothing else, covered in tattoos from the waist up. As soon as he played the opening solo for the opening song, the mohawk was limp from the headbanging. I noticed a woman in the wings of the stage, carrying a sleeping baby girl in a white dress with HUGE headphones on– the kind that block out all noise. The woman stayed there with the baby for the whole set, and I knew it must belong to one of the guys in the band, but I didn’t know who until they left the stage, Travis climbed down from the drum riser, walked past the woman, and took the baby from her arms. (All of which makes sense since the whole band is from LA. Of COURSE their families were there.) But then I started thinking about it– I mean, honestly, how crazy for that little girl... can you imagine growing up with a dad covered with tattoos (and a mohawk) known for having played on top of the Radio City Music Hall marquee naked?
"Drop a heart, break a name..."
~Fall Out Boy
Last night was the Honda Civic Tour at the LA Forum, which is not in Los Angeles at all, but in Inglewood, which is only approximately half a step above Compton.
I went by myself, kind of at the last minute, but I still managed to end up with a second row ticket directly next to the stage, which means I didn’t get a full-on view, but I had the best view of anyone there except those kids in the pit getting smashed. Cobra Starship opened, and though I tend to disapprove of any emo/rock bands with girls in them, they rocked. Not only do they have their own hand gesture ("Get your fangs up!"), but the girl in the band plays the keytar. All the time. And the lead singer, though not gorgeous, was the most fun performer I have seen since Motion City Soundtrack.
Following them was Paul Wall– I purposely waited to go check out the merch table until he hit the stage. I mean, first of all, he’s a rapper. (Note to Paul Wall’s record label: there is nothing an emo kid hates more than a rapper, except perhaps a carnivore.) And more importantly, he’s a no-good rapper. Not to mention the fact that rap went out when tight pants came in. Enough said.
And then The Academy Is... hit the stage, which is really the reason I was there. I saw them live a couple years ago, and they were amazing, but even now that they are more famous, they are still amazing in concert. I think the lead, William Beckett, has gained weight since the last time I saw them (which is good– I think I could have broken him in half with one hand last time I saw them). Their new album came out two months ago, and they’re not headlining for it, which is pretty awesome. Not to mention the fact that the lead singer is probably going to be the next candidate for a Blair haircut AND he sang all the instrumental parts from the album, which pretty much kicked.
The lead singer is the one in the middle. I couldn't find a decent shot that would fully define his skinniness, but look at those legs in the middle... It's kind of unfair.+44 came out after that... not because they are any good, but because when any band is composed of exactly two thirds of Blink-182, you let them do whatever they want. When Blink broke up, the lead singer/bassist and drummer stayed together, found two more guys, and became +44. They kept the immaturity of Blink-182, and apparently some of the music rights, since they performed my all time favorite Blink song, Girl At the Rock Show. The mature, less prone to playing music in nothing but a tube sock remainder of Blink (Angels and Airwaves’ Tom DeLonge) moved more away from their roots, which is awesome, and the reason why Angels and Airwaves has always been my preferred piece of Blink. But nevertheless, +44 put on a good set– I know I have never seen a drummer as amazing or as entertaining as Travis Barker... he came out with a mohawk and jeans and nothing else, covered in tattoos from the waist up. As soon as he played the opening solo for the opening song, the mohawk was limp from the headbanging. I noticed a woman in the wings of the stage, carrying a sleeping baby girl in a white dress with HUGE headphones on– the kind that block out all noise. The woman stayed there with the baby for the whole set, and I knew it must belong to one of the guys in the band, but I didn’t know who until they left the stage, Travis climbed down from the drum riser, walked past the woman, and took the baby from her arms. (All of which makes sense since the whole band is from LA. Of COURSE their families were there.) But then I started thinking about it– I mean, honestly, how crazy for that little girl... can you imagine growing up with a dad covered with tattoos (and a mohawk) known for having played on top of the Radio City Music Hall marquee naked?
But it was clear he loved the baby, so I've gotta hand it to him. Plus his clothing line is amazing.
Fall Out Boy was the headlining act, and even though I had seen them before (in Atlanta a year and a half ago), they were still amazing. The dynamic between Pete Wentz (the bassist but not the singer) and the rest of the band is odd– he writes the songs, but just because he happens to be the most attractive one in the band, he is always the one that Mcs between songs, and the one everyone loves to love (or loves to hate, depending on your level of emo-ness). Anyway, this was the first set I had seen involving a change of clothes since the last time I saw the Backstreet Boys, which may or may not have been on their last major tour...
A little too much pyrotechnic activity, but they played all the good songs (and some of the bad ones– WHY does ANYONE like "Where Is Your Boy Tonight?" I’ll tell you where your boy is: he’s hiding in the green room until you finish this song). Plus, I would give anything for a shiny black bass with a red bat on it.
All in all, the show was amazing... despite the fact that the cab ride I took home from it cost me as much as another ticket (thanks, Dodgers game that got out the same time as Fall Out Boy concert. Thanks).
This is Pete Wentz, the mouthpiece of Fall Out Boy and one of those few people that I think looks better making this face than he does normally. His clothing line is also amazing.
Man, it turns out I really am a groupie of the highest order.
~B
P.S. Guys with legitimately good music taste who understand the reason WHY music is good and know how to explain themselves are a rare find, even in Los Angeles. Guys who get drunk and then want to drive you somewhere are much more common.
And so, in closing, always remember shoes are for dancing, not just for gazing.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
You know it's been a good night when...
...you roll off of someone else's couch 15 minutes before you need to leave, then spend all day at work covered in someone ELSE's sweat from the night before.
Last night one of the bands signed to my label played a show at The Viper Room in West Hollywood. The Viper Room is this club/bar owned by Johnny Depp and is touted as the most exclusive club on the Sunset Strip. It only holds a couple hundred, and all the coolest bands and DJs play there. I knew the place was small, so I assumed it would be, you know, cozy, with black velvet stools and purple neon lights, or a red floor and a shiny black bar...
No.
What I got was a hole-in-the-wall sandwiched between an office building and a condo with a black plywood front, the smallest stage I have ever seen shoved in the corner, and waitresses in cutoff Jack Daniels t-shirts. Kind of disappointing, Johnny. And here I was, thinking we were buddies because of the whole Kentucky/Paris/Los Angeles thing. You're killing me, Depp.
Anyway, the headlining band, Adema, is the one signed to my label. They're a metal group, pretty hardcore, and actually quite famous. They've released five albums and are about to go on tour for their sixth, which drops in August. I've done their SoundScan reports, analyzing their top 20 markets and things like that, so despite the fact that the music is not really my style, I was excited to see them live. I've also spent many an afternoon burning copies of their unreleased album to send as promotion to radio stations. Which means I have heard the unreleased album over and over. So when they played their "new" songs, I already knew them. Rock on.
But that's not the good part. First of all, because I work for Immortal, I was on the list. The guestlist. Oh yeah, that's right. The same girl that has probably never been on the list for a frat party at Emory is suddenly on the list for a midweek concert at the hottest venue in Southern California. Being on the list, however, means that you have to [literally, I couldn't make this up] go to the bouncer at the door and tell him THE SECRET PASSWORD before he lets you in. So I get there with one of the other Immortal interns, and, true to hipster form, the bouncer acts like we have to be approved or something before he lets us in. So he takes my ID and gives me a fierce look. "We're on the list," I say, "we work for Immortal." He keeps inspecting my ID, which, due to some stupid loophole in North Carolina government, will continue to say "under 21" until I am 26. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW ANNOYING THAT IS? In HUGE letters right over the photo on my license it says "UNDER 21!" which I have not been since last autumn, and despite the fact that my birthday is right on there, it always creates unnecessary delays.
So anyway, back to the story:
"We're on the list," I say.
"What list?" he asks fiercely, in typical bouncer style (intimidating even though he was in a tux).
I look furtively from side to side, then "Kill the headlights."
A chin up nod from the bouncer, and we're in.
"Right this way, ladies..."
HOW HARDCORE IS THAT? Kill the headlights? Can you THINK of a better password? There might as well have been a spinning bookshelf, I mean honestly.
So we go upstairs, catch the last of the opening act, then grab a seat at a table marked "RESERVED." We sit through the Adema set and toward the end the boyfriend of the other intern and his roommate arrive... both of whom are on the list at Spider Club for later on in the night. We had planned on heading to Spider after the Adema set with them.
The band put on a good performance, including a lead guitarist who came out in a Guy Fawkes mask, which almost made me pee my pants out of fright. Oh, and the other guitarist looks like a tree. So there's that.
Ok. Set over. We stand up to get ready to leave, and lead singer (Bobby) walks by us on his way to the Green Room at the back of the place. He had performed the whole set without a shirt on, and all of a sudden there is a sweaty rock star stopping at our table. I don't know if he thought we were cool, or if maybe he was just attracted by the mystery of the reserved table, but he stopped at our table, gave us high fives, and then walked into the green room. I remained unfazed. (I work for this band, I can handle it. Had it been, like, AFI, on the other hand, I'd have been flipping out.) Then he came back out from the green room, walked up to me and said (I wish I could insert audio here so you would know what it sounded like):
"YOU. are beautiful."
"Thanks," I said.
"OH MY GOD, AND YOUR LIPS!? Your LIPS! You have such gorgeous lips!"
"Thanks," I said, pushing my hair back, as though I am hit on by half-naked rock stars everyday.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Blair!" I yell back because it's still so loud, "I WORK FOR IMMORTAL!"
"Yeah!? That's awesome!"
Just then a European-looking man with a huge camera walked over and asked the lead singer in a thick accent "May I take your picture for my magazine?"
He grabbed my waist.
"Only if we can include some hotness in the picture!"
"Sure, sure," said the photographer. Wanting to befriend the European, I asked what magazine he was with.
"Dutch Esquire."
"WHAT?!"
"Yeah, I am photographer for Esquire in Holland. This is for travel section."
Which means that, in a month or so, I am probably going to be in the travel section of a magazine in HOLLAND, photographed on the arm of a rockstar in downtown Hollywood.
Just then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I whirled around to see the bass player (who looks like he could be part of Hell's Angels) standing behind me trying to get to the lead singer. Bobby, the lead singer, saw the bassist at the same moment I did, and immediately said,
"LOOK WHAT I FOUND! These LIPS!"
"Ahh, yeah, nice," said bassist, not as impressed as the lead singer.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, have a fabulous night, I think we are going to leave," I said all in one breath, trying to pull away the people I came with.
"Wait!" said the lead singer, grabbing my arm, "Where are you and your friends going?"
"Spider Club. You want to come?" I asked.
"No, I can't. I mean, I really can't. We have to go to Rainbow Room... it's like our thing. But look," he says, reaching into his pocket, "I have all this cash that they gave us to go out tonight... it's late enough now that the cover is cheap and we won't need it all. Here, take this and go to Rainbow Room-- we'll meet you there," he explains, pushing a bill into my hand. As the most rational person in the group, I looked down to see a fifty dollar bill in my hand.
Rainbow Room was about a block away, and we still had a couple hours before everything closed, and now we had enough money to pay cover... so...
Spider Club forgotten, we headed to the Rainbow Room, sitting down in a round booth in the back corner, between two other tables of metalheads, at which point I realized I had never eaten dinner.
"GRILLED CHEESE," I blurted, suddenly starving.
"CHEESE FRIES!" says the guy next to me.
We order our food, sit munching on each other's plates, and waiting for our rock star friends to arrive. The band showed up soon, fully dressed by now, and greeted us excitedly, as though we were good friends.
I don't know how this happened. I don't. I mean, I am the girl that tried every trick in the book to get backstage at the Panic! show in Paris last fall, then again at 30 Seconds To Mars in the winter (that time kind of worked), and then again at the Give It A Name festival in the spring. Arguably that time was a success, given that I met a couple drummers, a bassist, and a lead guitarist, but I never had a conversation at a show with anyone where THEY were the ones who initiated it, and then gave me $50 to meet them afterward?
All I have to say is that if this is what it is to work for a record label, then ROCK, my friends.
Love,
B
P.S. A quick note to the guy that lives on the corner outside my place: It may not LOOK like I speak Spanish, but I DO, and I understand every word you say every time I walk by, and it's not going to make me stop and talk to you if you keep saying it.
Last night one of the bands signed to my label played a show at The Viper Room in West Hollywood. The Viper Room is this club/bar owned by Johnny Depp and is touted as the most exclusive club on the Sunset Strip. It only holds a couple hundred, and all the coolest bands and DJs play there. I knew the place was small, so I assumed it would be, you know, cozy, with black velvet stools and purple neon lights, or a red floor and a shiny black bar...
No.
What I got was a hole-in-the-wall sandwiched between an office building and a condo with a black plywood front, the smallest stage I have ever seen shoved in the corner, and waitresses in cutoff Jack Daniels t-shirts. Kind of disappointing, Johnny. And here I was, thinking we were buddies because of the whole Kentucky/Paris/Los Angeles thing. You're killing me, Depp.
Anyway, the headlining band, Adema, is the one signed to my label. They're a metal group, pretty hardcore, and actually quite famous. They've released five albums and are about to go on tour for their sixth, which drops in August. I've done their SoundScan reports, analyzing their top 20 markets and things like that, so despite the fact that the music is not really my style, I was excited to see them live. I've also spent many an afternoon burning copies of their unreleased album to send as promotion to radio stations. Which means I have heard the unreleased album over and over. So when they played their "new" songs, I already knew them. Rock on.
I also proofread the liner notes for their newest album... So go buy it, and then know that it was edited (sort of) by me.
But that's not the good part. First of all, because I work for Immortal, I was on the list. The guestlist. Oh yeah, that's right. The same girl that has probably never been on the list for a frat party at Emory is suddenly on the list for a midweek concert at the hottest venue in Southern California. Being on the list, however, means that you have to [literally, I couldn't make this up] go to the bouncer at the door and tell him THE SECRET PASSWORD before he lets you in. So I get there with one of the other Immortal interns, and, true to hipster form, the bouncer acts like we have to be approved or something before he lets us in. So he takes my ID and gives me a fierce look. "We're on the list," I say, "we work for Immortal." He keeps inspecting my ID, which, due to some stupid loophole in North Carolina government, will continue to say "under 21" until I am 26. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW ANNOYING THAT IS? In HUGE letters right over the photo on my license it says "UNDER 21!" which I have not been since last autumn, and despite the fact that my birthday is right on there, it always creates unnecessary delays.
So anyway, back to the story:
"We're on the list," I say.
"What list?" he asks fiercely, in typical bouncer style (intimidating even though he was in a tux).
I look furtively from side to side, then "Kill the headlights."
A chin up nod from the bouncer, and we're in.
"Right this way, ladies..."
HOW HARDCORE IS THAT? Kill the headlights? Can you THINK of a better password? There might as well have been a spinning bookshelf, I mean honestly.
So we go upstairs, catch the last of the opening act, then grab a seat at a table marked "RESERVED." We sit through the Adema set and toward the end the boyfriend of the other intern and his roommate arrive... both of whom are on the list at Spider Club for later on in the night. We had planned on heading to Spider after the Adema set with them.
The band put on a good performance, including a lead guitarist who came out in a Guy Fawkes mask, which almost made me pee my pants out of fright. Oh, and the other guitarist looks like a tree. So there's that.
Ok. Set over. We stand up to get ready to leave, and lead singer (Bobby) walks by us on his way to the Green Room at the back of the place. He had performed the whole set without a shirt on, and all of a sudden there is a sweaty rock star stopping at our table. I don't know if he thought we were cool, or if maybe he was just attracted by the mystery of the reserved table, but he stopped at our table, gave us high fives, and then walked into the green room. I remained unfazed. (I work for this band, I can handle it. Had it been, like, AFI, on the other hand, I'd have been flipping out.) Then he came back out from the green room, walked up to me and said (I wish I could insert audio here so you would know what it sounded like):
"YOU. are beautiful."
"Thanks," I said.
"OH MY GOD, AND YOUR LIPS!? Your LIPS! You have such gorgeous lips!"
"Thanks," I said, pushing my hair back, as though I am hit on by half-naked rock stars everyday.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Blair!" I yell back because it's still so loud, "I WORK FOR IMMORTAL!"
"Yeah!? That's awesome!"
Just then a European-looking man with a huge camera walked over and asked the lead singer in a thick accent "May I take your picture for my magazine?"
He grabbed my waist.
"Only if we can include some hotness in the picture!"
"Sure, sure," said the photographer. Wanting to befriend the European, I asked what magazine he was with.
"Dutch Esquire."
"WHAT?!"
"Yeah, I am photographer for Esquire in Holland. This is for travel section."
Which means that, in a month or so, I am probably going to be in the travel section of a magazine in HOLLAND, photographed on the arm of a rockstar in downtown Hollywood.
Just then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I whirled around to see the bass player (who looks like he could be part of Hell's Angels) standing behind me trying to get to the lead singer. Bobby, the lead singer, saw the bassist at the same moment I did, and immediately said,
"LOOK WHAT I FOUND! These LIPS!"
"Ahh, yeah, nice," said bassist, not as impressed as the lead singer.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, have a fabulous night, I think we are going to leave," I said all in one breath, trying to pull away the people I came with.
"Wait!" said the lead singer, grabbing my arm, "Where are you and your friends going?"
"Spider Club. You want to come?" I asked.
"No, I can't. I mean, I really can't. We have to go to Rainbow Room... it's like our thing. But look," he says, reaching into his pocket, "I have all this cash that they gave us to go out tonight... it's late enough now that the cover is cheap and we won't need it all. Here, take this and go to Rainbow Room-- we'll meet you there," he explains, pushing a bill into my hand. As the most rational person in the group, I looked down to see a fifty dollar bill in my hand.
Rainbow Room was about a block away, and we still had a couple hours before everything closed, and now we had enough money to pay cover... so...
Spider Club forgotten, we headed to the Rainbow Room, sitting down in a round booth in the back corner, between two other tables of metalheads, at which point I realized I had never eaten dinner.
"GRILLED CHEESE," I blurted, suddenly starving.
"CHEESE FRIES!" says the guy next to me.
We order our food, sit munching on each other's plates, and waiting for our rock star friends to arrive. The band showed up soon, fully dressed by now, and greeted us excitedly, as though we were good friends.
I don't know how this happened. I don't. I mean, I am the girl that tried every trick in the book to get backstage at the Panic! show in Paris last fall, then again at 30 Seconds To Mars in the winter (that time kind of worked), and then again at the Give It A Name festival in the spring. Arguably that time was a success, given that I met a couple drummers, a bassist, and a lead guitarist, but I never had a conversation at a show with anyone where THEY were the ones who initiated it, and then gave me $50 to meet them afterward?
All I have to say is that if this is what it is to work for a record label, then ROCK, my friends.
Love,
B
P.S. A quick note to the guy that lives on the corner outside my place: It may not LOOK like I speak Spanish, but I DO, and I understand every word you say every time I walk by, and it's not going to make me stop and talk to you if you keep saying it.
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