Here's a much needed update.
It's been a pretty busy and eventful week. I'm not really going to go into all that other than say I think I've finally got a job and a tangible purpose, to boot. (Although the purpose doesn't currently pay, that's another story. Purposes aren't always the most lucrative things. Now, exploitative child labor, on the other hand...) In addition to newfound things to spend my time doing, I also must say I ate the best sushi of my life last night at a place off of Geary called Kubota. (It was even better than that place in Manhattan, Becky. Sorry.) Yeah, Kubota cost the proverbial "arm and a leg" - $40 a person - but Christ, was it good.
Anyway, after sushi I saw Broken Social Scene with Feist last night at the Grand in San Francisco. Great, great show. Feist opened, and her stripped down sound was even more impressive live. On most of the songs it was her, a keyboard/flugelhorn (sp?) player, drummer, and multiinstrumentalist. About a third of the songs, she was by herself, just the electric guitar and her. And I have to say: she's also a pretty damn solid guitar player - which I always think is hot given the rarity of girls who can actually play a guitar (not just chunk away at a bunch of chords and require two other guitars in the band).
BSS was powerful, sincere, amazing...honestly one of the best shows I've ever seen.
Which is to say in spite of the crowd. Yes, they started moving around some halfway through the BSS show. But all in all, I'm sick of this indie-rock-too-cool-to-move-around or show enjoyment at concerts. It's a fucking CONCERT (or SHOW, whichever word you prefer), for crying out loud, OK? It's SUPPOSED to be fun. Yeah, jambands noodle on for hours and because of it, waterdown their music and artistic legitimacy,and sure, most of the people at the show are stoned, tripping, or some variation on the two. But those fans are actually MOVING to the music - albeit somewhat languidly and entirely ridiculously. And yet I think there's something to be said about not caring what other people think. That hippie couple with the white-people-dreadlocks, hula hoops gyrating around, obviously doesn't. So why should you, Mr. and Ms. Super Underground Too Cool For School Indie Rockers with complementing Chuck Taylor All-Stars and hair product and ubiquitous thrift store attire?
(For those of you who don't know me, I love indie rock and yest, I am guilty of two of those stereotypes. But seriously, come on indie kids! Get over yourselves!)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go ration off my funds and eat ketchup and cracker sandwiches for the rest of the week.
The only crappy picture I took of the show; the "No Cameras" disclaimer on the ticket stub was quite intimidating.
An equally crappy (and blurry this time too!) picture of what I see when I walk down the five blocks from the Geary #38 bus stop to my street.