Poor little Regina

Remember that train wreck that happened when Regina Spektor tried to play "Poor Little Rich Boy" the other night? Here's a video:



And here's "Hotel Song," with talentless douchebag opening act Only Son providing the human beatbox.



Hey, he is good at something!

Also, René asked me to tell you about the game we were playing before the concert (and while Only Son was drowning on stage): basically, we tried to think of the most wildly inappropriate songs Regina could cover. The best ones I remember are:

• "Killing in the Name," Rage Against the Machine
• "Kim," Eminem
• "How I Could Just Kill a Man," Cypress Hill
• "The Metal," Tenacious D
• "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida," Iron Butterfly
• "Born to Be Wild," Steppenwolf
• "Misirlou," Dick Dale
• "Welcome to the Jungle," Guns N' Roses

For the record, she could pull all of those off. And I'd pay to watch her do it.

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Now playing: Bruce Springsteen - The Rising
via FoxyTunes

Regina Spektor Concert, Part 2: The Conclusioning

Now, I don't think any of those present would let me get away with only highlighting the excellent part of Ms. Spektor's concert last night. Make no mistake: she was phenomenal. Everything else, though...

1. The crowd was idiotic. Whooping and screaming and going "Yeaaaaaah!" in the middle of a song for no reason is horrendously obnoxious whenever it happens, but when it gets to the point where the performer has to stop and ask you to shut up, you know it's bad.
2. Bonus points to the guy standing a few feet behind me, who got good and plastered well before the show started. He sang along, at the top of his lungs, to every single song. Nice to see you're a fan, buddy, but shut the fuck up. When the performer has to stop -- in the middle of a song -- and tell you, personally, to shut the hell up and go away, you've reached a new level.
3. The opening act. Oh, sweet fancy Moses, the opening act. Boring folk songs, with refrigerator-magnet poetry lyrics, and a backing band that consisted of his iPod. "This is my iPod," he said, pointing to where it sat on a stool. "It has something to say." He pressed play, and proceeded to engage in a scripted conversation with his own voice on his iPod. Your Junior High Talent Show called, they want their gimmick back.
4. Am I the only one bothered by all the people who chose to watch most of the concert on the video screens of their digital cameras?
5. The interminable wait for the doors to open, the interminable wait for the opening act to start, the interminable wait for the opening act to stop, and the interminable wait for Regina to come out. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't been locked in a battle royale for floor position with drunk idiots who felt entitled to a closer spot. But I did, so it sucked.

So, yeah: it was far from perfect. But you know what? She got this look on her face as she sang the vocal run on the chorus to "Fidelity." The slight curve of a smile, a shining look in her eyes. Without all the other instruments, the song is even bouncier, even more fun. Under those lights, singing that wonderful song, with that look...

Everything else was worth that. So says I.

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Now playing: Jim Rome - Wed, November 7th, 2007 Hour 3
via FoxyTunes

Givin' me, givin' me the shivers

The Dave Matthews Band setlist tonight, for their concert at the Woodlands:

1. Pantala Naga Pampa/Rapunzel. (Best opening song(s) ever. And "Rapunzel" was actually played at a tempo somewhat near the studio version, as opposed to the lethargic drone of the Listener Supported take.)
2. Everyday.
3. Cornbread. (A new song, previously heard on the Dave and Tim Radio City set. It works much, much better in a full-band context.)
4. You Might Die Trying. (About thirty times better than the tepid studio version.)
5. Eh Hee. (Repeat everything I said about "Cornbread.")
6. You Never Know.
7. Dancing Nancies. (Hey, they played Steve's song. Is it churlish to be disappointed they didn't play mine?)
8. Anyone Seen the Bridge/Too Much. ("Bridge" is usually the, um, bridge between "So Much to Say" and "Too Much." It sounds weird without the first song, but it still works, especially with the hilarious stop-time intro.)
9. Bartender. (They brought out Robert Earle Keane's banjo player to assist them on this song, and he promptly blew the band off the stage with a solo that lasted about nine minutes. That's how it's done.)
10. Grey Street. (I'm pretty sure they cut out a verse. But hey -- it's "Grey Street.")
11. Fool to Think. (Ick. Every silver lining has a dark cloud, huh? Hey, at least it wasn't "Sleep to Dream Her." And it gave me a chance to sit down.)
12. The Dreaming Tree. (Holy shit!)
13. What Would You Say?
14. Louisiana Bayou. (The transformation this song undergoes from the bouncy studio version to the ferocious beast it becomes live is truly astounding.)
15. Ants Marching. (Complete with the awesome extended intro.)
16. Encore: Two Step. (Well, if your encore is only going to be one song, you might as well make it thirteen minutes long.)

The setlist looks short on paper, but don't be fooled -- they played for a legit three full hours. Rather than putting two or three "jammy" songs, as per usual, every song suddenly became an excuse for virtuosity.

Leroi Moore seemed a little out of it, but guest trumpeter (trumpetist?) Rawshawn Ross made up for that with his stylish blare. And the showy solos never became lost and boring -- even when they extended beyond the realm of sanity, they remained captivating and compelling. (They also provided welcome distraction from the couple behind me engaged in a solid bit of Relationship Drama. Apparently, he wasn't cheating on her, he just wasn't -- he'd never do that, he doesn't know what she's being so paranoid about. Hey, people, I realize that conversation is an important one in the life of your fun-but-doomed relationship, but why do you have to have it during "Bartender"?)

And guess what, kids? Dave can still sing. And you probably didn't know this, but Carter? He can play the drums a little bit.

But seriously -- what do I have to do to get you to play "Warehouse"?

Hip, Hip, hooray

I had my hands in the river, my feet back up on the banks
I looked up to the Lord above and said, "Hey, man, thanks."
Sometimes I feel so good I gotta scream
She said, "Gordie, baby, I know exactly what you mean."

The girl is about twenty-five, I'd say, maybe a little older -- it's hard to tell in the dark. I think her hair is curly, but, again, with the only illumination coming from a purple stage light twenty feet away, it's not easy to spot. I can see she's got a beer in her hand because of the way the amber glows in the gloom, but that's all.

She's looking at me, and I don't delude myself into thinking it's because she's at all interested in me. It's probably because we've been standing next to one another for about thirty minutes now, and she's seen (and heard) my reaction to the set so far. She's seen that I know all the words, both to the old stuff ("Boots or Hearts") and the new stuff ("In View"). I even spotted "Ahead by a Century," one of my favorites, solely from Gordie's somewhat oblique intro ("We'd like to do a song now for the girls..."). That was a dead giveaway.

She turns to me and speaks, but it takes three tries for me to understand her over the din.

"You know the band!" she shrieks.

"Yeah!" I answer. "I love them, one of my favorites!"

"Where are you from?" she says, straining to be heard as the band prepares for another song.

"Here!" I say, and wait for...there it is. Her mouth opens into a nice, round oval of shock. Her free hand -- the one not holding the beer -- draws up to her face in awe.

"I'm from Toronto!" she yells, and it's not really all that surprising.

I turn back to Rene. "What was that all about?!" he asks, and I start to answer, but they've started "Gift Shop" now. "I'll tell you later!" is all I have time for.

The Tragically Hip -- touring to support their unspeakably great new album, World Container -- played at Scout Bar Thursday night, for about 100 people. I'd say 98 of them were Canadian. The other two were Rene and me. I was afraid that the band's ecelctic and violently passionate lead singer, Gordon Downie, would be a little restrained in front of the small crowd, and I was very, very happy to see that wasn't the case. He leapt across the tiny stage like a loon, took apart his mic stand and twirled it like a baton, put it back together and used it as a lounge chair, and basically kicked 100 asses. The sound was so thick and massive in that small space that I couldn't hear for a day and a half. The swampy "New Orleans Is Sinking" became a stomp through fire and apocalypse, and "Springtime in Vienna" put invisible pogo sticks underneath everyone in the crowd. I've never -- never -- seen a crowd as enthusiastic for a band as I saw that night. (In fact, I'll bet most of my hearing problems weren't caused by the band at all, but by the screaming girls and whooping guys.)

I've read that the Hip had a live energy that was impossible to capture on record; now I know what they meant. This is a group that pulls absolutely no punches, and would've made a fan out of any newbie in the bar that night.

Here's the setlist, which is going to be incomprehensible to you, but I include because I like writing these things down, and also because it might help Rene dig through the stack of Hip CDs I'm burning for him:

01. The Lonely End of the Rink (World Container, track 2)
02. New Orleans Is Sinking (Up to Here, track 3)
03. Yer Not the Ocean (World Container, track 1)
04. Boots or Hearts (Up to Here, track 6)
05. The Drop-Off (World Container, track 9)
06. Ahead by a Century (Trouble in the Henhouse, track 3)
07. In View (World Container, track 3)
08. Gift Shop (Trouble in the Henhouse, track 1)
09. The Last of the Unplucked Gems (Road Apples, track 12)
10. World Container (World Container, track 11)
11. Putting Down (Music@Work, track 4)
12. At the Hundredth Meridian (Fully Completely, track 3)
13. Bobcaygeon (Phantom Power, track 4)
14. The Kids Don't Get It (World Container, track 6)
15. Springtime in Vienna (Trouble in the Henhouse, track 2)
16. Wheat Kings (Fully Completely, track 10)
17. Luv(sic) (World Container, track 5)
18. Blow at High Dough (Up to Here, track 1)

Encore:
19. Grace, Too (Day for Night, track 1)
20. Substitute (an awesome cover of an old, old song by the Who)
21. Family Band (World Container, track 10)

They didn't play "Fireworks," my favorite song. They didn't play "Courage" or "Nautical Disaster," two classics I was looking forward to hearing. And the only song they played from my favorite album, Road Apples, was the weakest one, "The Last of the Unplucked Gems." But it still might be the best concert I've seen.

And the image I will take it away from it most, the one that stays with me, is that woman next to me, the Toronto native, who was in such profound disbelief that an American had even heard of her favorite band, let alone loved them just as much.

But World Container has now been released in the US, and is apparently selling well. There is hope.

Maybe next time there'll be 5 Americans in the audience.

Our finest hour arrives

(Listening to: Dave Matthews Band, Stand Up)

Tonight's setlist:

The Stone. (!!!!!)
One Sweet World.
Louisiana Bayou. (An unspeakably awesome version, too.)
Everybody Wake Up (Our Finest Hour Arrives). (!!)
Crash Into Me.
Say Goodbye. (!!!!)
Hunger for the Great Light.
Dreamgirl.
Lie in Our Graves. (Which clocked in somewhere around 15 minutes, and was unspeakably awesome.)
What Would You Say.
American Baby Intro. (Which was so awesome it gave me chills.)
You Might Die Trying.
Smooth Rider. (Which was so good that I hate the truncated album version even more now.)
Everyday.
All Along the Watchtower. (See AB Intro.)

Encore:
American Baby.
What You Are. (See Watchtower.)

Holy shit, dude.

Wow. Just...wow.

I thought I didn't want to hear "Crash Into Me." Steve and I were talking about that beforehand.

But they started playing it. And everyone -- everyone -- was singing along. A massive sea of people all locked into the same wavelength. Everyone even knew the "Dixie chicken/Tennessee lamb" part that's not on the album.

It was almost hypnotic.

And Boyd Tinsley -- yo, someone ate their Wheaties this morning. He was crazy tonight. On the DVDs, I've seen him wander his side of the stage during his solos...but tonight, he was racing around everywhere, even over in Leroi's face. Damn!

At one point -- it was after "Louisiana Bayou," I think -- Dave said to the crowd, "Thank you, everybody." I immediately responded with, "No, thank you." The people around me seconded that.

Sorry, Metallica -- this was the greatest concert I've ever seen. More emotion, more virtuoso solos, more "The Stone" (as an opener, holy crap), and far less Fred Durst. (Though DMB's opening act, Victor Wooten, did jump all over the stage like a spaz just like Freddie, he was playing the most incredible bass I've ever heard while he was doing so. When he wasn't swinging the instrument around his body like a hula-hoop, that is.)

I couldn't afford to buy a t-shirt, but I did buy a Firedancer sticker. That's going on my car tomorrow.

And next up: Carlin.

Yeah!

The setlist of the gods:

Battery.
Master of Puppets.
Harvester of Sorrow. (!)
Welcome Home (Sanitarium).
For Whom the Bell Tolls.
Frantic.
Sad But True.
St. Anger.
No Remorse. (!!)
Seek and Destroy.
Blackened. (!!!)

1st Encore:
Fuel.
Nothing Else Matters.
Creeping Death.

2nd Encore:
One.
Enter Sandman.

Oh. My. Holy. GOD.

Never have I felt physically assaulted by a live performance before. When I watched Metallica live DVDs, they always say stuff like, "We're here to KICK YOUR ASS!" but I didn't get that feeling when I saw them a few years ago in Dallas.

Now I have. Goddamn they were incredible. And I don't think my hearing will ever return to its previous level.

Had it just been Metallica, I would have gone home happy and satisfied. But it wasn't just Metallica -- oh, no. Linkin Park played as well, and it should be illegal to be that awesome. Deftones and Mudvayne played, too, and they were all right, I guess. I paid attention to their sets at least, and at no point did I begin openly mocking them, so that's a plus.

But Limp Bizkit -- oh, excuse me, limpbizkit -- played as well.

Now, I have never cared for limpbizkit. "My Way" is a good song. As is "Rearranged." "Break Stuff" is a great song to hear live. And "Nookie" is decent, I guess. But the rest of their catalog is bland, boring, and redundant. So I've never cared for them.

But I fucking hate Fred Durst.

My problem with Durst is his incessant need to be liked. "You want to hear metal? We'll play metal! You want to hear some rap? Oh, we'll do that, too! Sure, I can't really do either with much ability, but if that's what you want, YOU GOT IT!! You like hearing the word 'fuck'? I'll write a song where nearly EVERY SINGLE LINE contains that word at least once! You like Napster? Hey, me too! I love Napster! All music should be free! Yes! I'll even TOUR for Napster, yeah! And it'll be FREE!! LOVE ME, PLEASE, JUST LOVE ME!!!! PLEASE!!!!!"

You can see how this gets annoying. The apex of Durst's stupidity is in "Take a Look Around," the theme song from Mission: Impossible 2, in which he blasts those who criticized him for selling out and endorsing New Era, the makers of the baseball caps he never takes off, and manages to WORK IN A FUCKING COMMERCIAL for New Era while doing it. That's what I'm talking about.

limpbizkit's set last night was the same shit, only I couldn't change the station or eject the CD or anything. I had to sit there and take it while Durst essentially masturbated for an hour.

They started out just fine -- they played a few of their shitty songs, including the "fucked-up" one. Then Fred starts in giving Metallica a verbal blowjob (all the bands at the show did this, but Fred's was particularly blatant). He talks about the greatness of Metallica, how he hired the new guitarist based solely on his ability to play any Metallica song ever written, and then they play their cover of Metallica's "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)," which is terrible. Towards the end of the song, the words "METALLICA IS THE SHIT" appeared on the video screens, and Durst requested that the audience "Jump for Metallica! JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!" I swear I'm not making this up.

Then, during a pretty bad performance of "Nookie," Durst suddenly disappeared from the stage. For about two minutes. Then we hear his voice: "Hey, Houston...I'm backstage..." Huh? What the fuck are you doing backstage, dipshit? The concert's out here!

Then suddenly we spot him amongst the fans with a wireless mic, grabbing beers and calling people cool and doing whatever he can to make people cheer. Then the band leaves the stage, the video screens start playing "patriotic" images of flags and fighter pilots and stuff, and a tape recording (?!) of the music from the Who's "Behind Blue Eyes" plays. Durst absolutely fucking BUTCHERS that song, still walking through the audience, stealing beers and saying shit like, "I think all beers should be free from now on!" (And I'm not making that up.)

Eventually, Durst wanders back on stage. It's the middle of a song, which one I don't remember. Once he's back on the stage, something flies out of the mosh pit and hits him in the arm. He stops singing, looks at (presumably) the person who threw it, and says (and I quote): "If you want to throw something at me, don't be a pussy, hit me in the face, you fucking faggot." And then the song continues.

As if all this wasn't enough, then they start setting off fireworks. "Look! Fire! LOVE ME!" (He didn't actually say that one.) Then some more blatant verbal blowjobs, this time for "the great state of Texas." They play yet another shitty cover, this time George Michael's "Faith." This time, though, there's something to laugh at other than Fred: the video screens play a rather hilarious montage of clips from Michael's video for the song, timed to synch with bizkit's performance. It was pretty funny. (Though I should point out, for a guy who just called someone a "fucking faggot" just moments before, Durst sure did leave George Michael's ass on screen for an awfully long time. Just saying.)

Then, the song ends, the words "NEW ALBUM FALL 2003" flash on the screen, and, mercifully, the set is over.

If anyone is unsure as to why I hate Fred Durst -- and thus limpbizkt -- reread the above paragraphs.

But Metallica kicks ass. Yes, they do.


my lifestyle determines my deathstyle