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Posts Tagged ‘Fangirling’

Dear Music Fans,

I’ve been on a roll lately — getting out of the house and saying yes to live music. I have thoughts about performances and venues, because of course I do.

And you’re here, because I guess you want to read them.

Acts: The Breeders with Team Dresch
Venue: Pioneer Courthouse Square
Highlight: “Cannonball” by The Breeders

I’m an OG fan of The Pixies. Kim Deal was the key ingredient for their early success. Black Francis needs her, even though his ego thinks he doesn’t. When she started The Breeders, I knew there was room in my heart for both bands.

But like The Pixies, The Breeders can be hit or miss. For every “Cannonball,” there’s a “Hag.” (For every “Wave of Mutilation,” there’s a “Hey.”)

As for the venue, I was concerned about an outdoor space in downtown Portland at the end of summer. I was worried for nothing. It was the perfect temp and size. There were places to stand and places to sit (on steps, until some jackass spilled his entire beer). The acoustics were top-notch. Ravens flew overhead. The stars were out.

The people watching was spectacular. Young and old turned out. I did not realize this, but The Breeders fan base skews lesbian — a fact Team Dresch, also out and proud, noted repeatedly.

They were great, by the way. Never heard of them, but they are from Washington and have been around a while apparently.

The Breeders put on a fun show and had plenty of energy. Kim sounded fantastic, and we all got out of there at 9:30 p.m. on a school night.

Team Dresch: B+
The Breeders: A-

Acts: Squeeze with Adam Ant and Haircut 100
Venue: Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall
Highlight: “Goodbye Girl” by Squeeze

I know what you are going to say: “You said you’d never see Adam Ant again.”

I know.

But he was sandwiched between a band I had seen before and loved (Squeeze) and one I hadn’t and wanted to (Haircut 100).

I figured I could go get a drink if it was that bad.

It wasn’t so bad that I had to escape to the lobby, but it wasn’t great. Adam was more ambulatory than the last time, but his voice was … um … not where one might want it to be for paying customers. And he’s still wearing the same stupid outfit he’s been wearing for seven years — down to Aunt Maude’s best Sunday church hat.

Please stop.

On the other end of the spectrum, Haircut 100 had plenty of energy and put on a great show. Squeeze did too. Difford and Tilbrook have still got it. They sounded the same, and played all the hits.

They also played “Trixies,” a concept album they wrote in 1974 when concept albums were de rigueur.

They played this album right in the middle of their set.

You know how a mattress sags in the middle in a cheap motel?

Yeah.

Everyone just sat down — which is frankly what I thought the middle-aged audience would be doing the whole time anyway. I mean, Arlene is a bougie old gal. We all had plush assigned seats.

After the shock wore off, boredom set in. I might have taken a nap. My concert-mate Jason got antsy and warm (Arlene had a hot flash) and roamed off.

Finally, they pulled up the Trixies sign and kicked back off with “Hourglass.” Everyone got back up and started dancing again as if the last 40 minutes had never happened.

Jason and I never want to hear about loose women at Trixies again.

Haircut 100: B+
Adam Ant: D
Squeeze: A- (without Trixies); C (with Trixies factored in)

Acts: Rob Zombie with Orgy, The Hu and Marilyn Manson
Venue: Cascades Amphitheater
Highlight: “This is Mongol” by The Hu

Sometimes you have to say “Yes” to adventures. Jason and I were last-minute tagalongs on Gerard and Jesse’s date to see this lineup. Marilyn Manson is a trash person, but I was interested in the rest.

As it turns out, the singer for Orgy might be trash too — so much so that sources say they got kicked off the tour before the prior show.

Lawn seats at the amphitheater were reasonable, but we nearly needed to take out personal loans for the rest. Want a beer? That’s $25. A Rob Zombie tank top? $50. A burger, fries and soft drink? Also $50.

I would have paid more to see The Hu, though. They are REMARKABLE. I don’t even have the words to describe their sound or energy. They use a horse head electric fiddle played upright, for God’s sake!

Next was Manson. The music is good, not gonna lie. I hate that I like it. But I wasn’t there for him … and his dead swan.

In addition to pissing off birds everywhere, he angered the crowd by screaming “Portland” after every song. The amphitheater is in Ridgefield, Washington.

I also wasn’t there for his nightmare-inducing bassist.

Liza Minnelli Manson and whatever that is

I killed time by discussing the Clancy case via text with Dominic and also convincing him to start listening to The Hu immediately.

Rob was next, but there was a significant set change. There also was a significant temperature drop. Though I had been mocked by someone I will not name for bringing a jacket, I was glad to have it.

Rob started off strong with “F.T.W. 84” and “Tarantula.” The set was indeed elaborate. He was very funny, but said something alarming: Rob said there were 17,000 people in attendance.

Um.

That meant 17,000 people leaving at the same time if we all stayed to the end.

Spoiler: We did not hear “Dragula” live.

We skedaddled during “Feel So Numb.” To be honest, he sounded out of breath. He is 61 after all.

At least we weren’t from running to the car to beat the rush. And we made it back to actual Portland in no time.

Orgy: 0
The Hu: A+
Marilyn Manson: B (for sound); F (for the person delivering it)
Rob Zombie: B (partial credit)

What’s next? What’s left of the Sex Pistols in Denver. I’m sure I’ll have opinions (because of course I do.)

Love and kisses,
Beth

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Dear Bearded Men:

I love you. Every single one of you, apparently. And that, in fact, was news to me.

I was at a club with my friend Clair not too long ago, fangirling over one of the hairy members of the band that had just played — mostly because I was having a great time out and loved their music.

He thought I was hitting on him. I think Clair did too. (I told you: I’m a Golden Retriever when I like someone’s work.) She said, “Ah she just loves tall men with beards.”

I paused. I was about to disagree, then I thought, “Oh. That’s actually true.” I had never really identified that as a thing for me before.

And then I remembered that time when I nearly cried when my BFF Royce shaved off his glorious mustache and goatee.

Even married straight men could not get enough of The Royce’s furry face.

So, yeah. Clair had me pegged.

At my son’s baseball game Saturday, I complimented a fellow mom’s date:

Me: “Your beard is lovely — quite lush.”

Him: “Thank you!”

Me to the beard’s lady: “I love beards. I’ve been begging Eddie to grow his back, but he complains that he doesn’t have the connection or anything beyond the chin area. I told him that’s the same for Johnny Depp but he doesn’t care, nor do the thousands of women who love him.”

Beard’s lady: “I know that’s right.”

Going back to Clair’s comment, I want to point out that the owner of the beard doesn’t have to be tall. Johnny Depp is 5’10”.

Beards hide all kinds of things: weak chins, thin lips, acne scars, a mole shaped like China, etc. (Note that women do not have this option. We have only makeup and plastic surgery. And the distraction of boobs, where applicable.)

So, in honor of Man Crush Monday, and my own particular fetish, feast your eyes on this collection of hot men — some famous, some friends, some with full facial hair, some with just scruff (in first-name alphabetical because I am Monica):

 

Also, I realized while compiling this that I totally have a type. (Yeah, I know. Some things are not immediately obvious to ourselves. Like a beard fixation in general.)

Anyway, I raise my glass to you hirsute hotties. Keep on growing!

Your not-so-secret admirer,
Beth

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Dear Famous, Sort-of-famous, Barely-famous and some Just-contextually-famous People:

If I like you and your work, I have no game when I’m around you. None. Just ask Patrick Warburton.*

Forgive me when I report that I’ve had three super fangirl moments that have left me feeling like I need a confessional. And perhaps professional help.

To The Bloggess (aka Jenny Lawson):
I squealed like a toddler getting an Elsa doll when you followed me on Twitter. I’m sorry to all whose glasses I shattered and dogs I made howl.

To Steven Ray Morris, audio slave engineer for the “My Favorite Murder” podcast featuring Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark:
I may have hyperventilated when you liked my reply to you.**

To Dr. Brightman, the person who helped me become the writer I am:
I apologize for vomiting words all over you at your recent birthday celebration. My respect for you is directly proportional to the amount of geeking out I was doing after seeing you again 1020 many years after college graduation.

Me=Overjoyed; Dr. Brightman=Frightened? Bothered? Bored?

So, fair warning: If you meet me, I tend to act like a Golden Retriever. I’m sorry.

I promise I’m harmless.

Your No. 1 fan,
Beth

* Warburton was a guest of the Savannah Film Festival just before the live-action version of “The Tick” came out. Always a Puddy fan, I was an even bigger fan of Ben Edlund and “The Tick” animated series. I was at an after party, saw him standing by himself, got two beers and headed over to introduce myself. He shot me down hard by explaining he was on the wagon. (Mortifying Moment No. 1)

As I was working in PR related to the festival at the time, I gave him my card with my cell number on it in case he needed anything. Then I realized it seemed like I was hitting on him. (Mortifying Moment No. 2)

I couldn’t just let the moment go. No. I had to make it worse by SAYING, “I’m not hitting on you.” (Mortifying Moment No. 3)

I will never forget the way he looked at me:

Pity. Disgust. Amusement. All of that.

And this is me, just before slinking away:

** For you non-Murderinos out there, the tag line of the podcast is “Stay sexy, and don’t get murdered.”

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