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Posts Tagged ‘Music’

What happens when you say “Yes”: Weeknight edition #WednesdayWisdom

Posted in Random, tagged , , , , , on May 9, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Dear Union EAV:

Thank you for being the bright spot in an otherwise dim evening. Mistakes were made.

Mistake No. 1.
Going out on a school night. My friend Kalen and I thought the Star Bar would be hopping with people grooving to DJ MP3PO and Quasi Mandisco. Yeah, not so much.

Mistake No. 2
Thinking 529 or The Earl might be more lively. They were as dead as some of my favorite GoT characters.

Seen in the Star Bar ladies room

Mistake No. 3
Investigating Mary’s. It was voted Best Karaoke in Creative Loafing but I’m not sure why. We walked in the door then right back out.

But you, Union EAV, lured us in and salvaged the night. I never would have chosen a rap open-mic night, but there we were, packed in a 20-by-20-foot room with about 30 30-something black men. I’ve never felt so white. But also I felt welcomed, as we all were there to see young artists perform.

The first rapper we saw was this guy:

It was like “Showtime at the Apollo.” He introduced himself in a thick Eastern European accent. The crowd was prepared to boo this dude. But then he began rapping and earned respect.

Me: Where did he say he was from? Belarus?
Kalen: Bosnia!

This woman was one of the best of the night: a true master of the form:

Everyone was clearly having a good time. It could have been the performers. Or it could have been the result of something that formed a cloud with a distinctive odor. Or it could have been the effect of what we suspect was in the container guarded by the Punisher.

Didn’t matter. Still chill. Great fun. Like “8 Mile” without the conflict.

Then the Lyft driver for my ride home turns out to be a Peruvian opera singer.

I always have the best time when I say, “Yes, and … ”

So thanks, and maybe I’ll see you again.

Sincerely,
Beth

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The bassist, the blend and the bizarre: A tale from Saturday night

Posted in Random, tagged , , , , on March 12, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Dear Tommy Stinson,

You now have the distinction of being the star of two of the weirdest nights of my life.

One was back in The Replacements days in the ’90s. You and I shared a moment, but that’s a story for another day.

The second was Saturday night at the Atlanta show of your Cowboys in the Campfire tour.

My usual partner in crime was indisposed, so I drug my long-suffering husband out to the luckily very early (7 p.m.) event.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this:

There’s a reason I don’t like Bob Dylan. WTF are you singing, Tommy? You were a bass prodigy. Besides The Replacements, you were the bassist for Guns N’ Roses and Soul Asylum. What are you doing? I do appreciate wanting to try something different (I’m president of that club), but …

Sigh.

When the merch selling began, I knew what I wouldn’t be buying. (I’m so sorry; it’s just not for me.)

You know what I did buy? Your Co-Cowboy Chip’s spice blend.

That’s right.

I went to a concert and bought Uncle Sippy’s Seasoning Blend. And because this wasn’t strange enough, I decided to get it signed too.

Apparently, Chip used to be a chef.

Here is Chef Chip telling me that this is NOT a rub, and I should not use it as a rub.

While you were signing my souvenir, one of your people said I should let you take a selfie of us.

“He takes the best selfies,” the guy said.
“OK. Sure,” I said.

So you took a selfie. This is the result:

It certainly was not what I anticipated. But you were so nice to amuse a long-time fan.

Anyway, thanks for an odd night. We are two for two.

And Eddie and I were home by 9:30.

See you in another 25 years or so.

I’ll expect the unexpected.
Beth

P.S. Tell Chip the seasoning blend is delicious!

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‘We have taken control as to bring you this special show’: A dispatch from the Mothership

Posted in Random, tagged , , , , , on February 27, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Can you hear me now? Oh yes.

Dear George Clinton,

Thank you for a great show Sunday night at the Buckhead Theatre. While I was giving up the funk, some questions came up:

  1. Where does one find the sparkly mother-of-the-bride tunic you were wearing?
  2. Is this tunic available at the same place where this accountant-by-day found these pants?
  3. Does your concert rider specifically request a swivel desk chair for your onstage breaks? (Note that I do not begrudge you your breaks. I know you are 76. I’m just asking about the chair. I think you need something more befitting a legend such as yourself, Dr. Funkenstein. A throne, maybe.)
  4. Why do you need 55 people on stage? Only 16 were singing or playing an instrument. The others were taking selfies and videos.
  5. How many songs did you actually play? I know that you started around 9 and by 9:25 you had only played two. I do love that you give the audience their money’s worth. And I can’t say that I wasn’t warned.
  6. Why was Santa in this South Town audience? Don’t you perform any farther north (or any closer to Christmas)? Shine the spotlight on him to help him find the funk. (Or am I missing something?)
  7. Why can’t music be the conduit to end racism and other social ills? Your audience was made up of black, white, old, young, straight, gay, North Pole residents, Atlanta residents  — all smooshed butt to back. We were having a party, y’all.

Still feeling supergroovalistic, thanks!
Beth

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Channeling Margaret Mead: Sex and Temperament on Three Floors of a Bar*

Posted in Cultural differences, Random, tagged , , , , , , , on February 25, 2018| 2 Comments »

Dear Patrons of the Bar I Visited Friday Night:

You are the reason I don’t go out much (though there are other reasons too). I needed to do reconnaissance for a PR project, so I willed myself to exit my home, collect my friend René, and head to Metalsome Karaoke: karaoke backed by a live band.

René and I get ready to rock.

 

This was our view during the karaoke extravaganza.

The night started out great, but quickly went downhill. Why?

The Drunk Girl
I’m sorry (not sorry) I had to hip check you. René nicely asked you to stop flinging yourself against me. You would not stop. And then you took the stage, and we saw that you were way past the point of reason.

The Bouncer
This guy took himself very seriously. It was like he was guarding U2. “Come on, dude,” I thought. That is, until the above tried to rape the guitarist onstage. And then I understood why the bouncer was on high alert.

The Predator
The girl in front of you clearly wanted to watch the band and “singers.” She did not want you humping her. I promise.

After a badly botched rendition of “Bitch,” by a friend of Drunk Girl, René and I decided to leave the comfort of our Stage Left perch and explore the rest of the bar.

That was a mistake.

We waded through the beer soup on the ground floor up the stairs to find two more floors of sweaty bodies. All the guys were short, aging, puffy frat boys. Exhibit A:

Yet the women were Size Zero model wannabes. Exhibit B:

The men outnumbered the women three to one. And there were so many people! There had to have been fire code violations.

Me trying to get out of the bar

When we finally made it through the press of bodies and landed outside on the sidewalk, I apologized to René. He looked over his glasses at me and said:

And that’s why I don’t go to straight bars.

Got it.

Still drying out my shoes,
Beth

* Reference for title

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Lookin’ for a come-up

Posted in Random, tagged , on January 23, 2013| Leave a Comment »

Value VillageDear Value Village:

You were my first. I was young, lured in by two older men. In mere moments, though, I was hopping like a junkie.

You were my first thrift store. My (slightly older) boyfriend drove his best friend and me over to you one frosty Saturday. I swear birds sang when I opened the door and gazed upon your aisles and aisles of awesomeness.

Inside Value Village

You got me hooked on vintage clothing — the gateway drug to antiques. First I was getting high on a green and yellow plaid men’s blazer. Soon I was freebasing a Victorian dresser at a Chattanooga antique market. I hit rock-bottom when I shipped an Art Deco fan home from a vacation in Maine. I had gone too far.

Though my house still features remnants from my wild past, I keep those collecting demons in check through small, regular doses of Gap ads and the Ikea catalog. If I’m having a rough day, I might need a Modern Home magazine infusion.

Thanks to Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, my past flashes in red neon every time I turn on the radio.

I admit that I still have Cheetah Coat. You know that I always will.

I miss you more than a little bit.

Love,
Beth

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It’s a secret no one knows

Posted in Random, tagged , on June 22, 2011| 2 Comments »

Warning: This post is a rumination on Hanson. Yes, the band.

I don’t watch much daytime television — who has the time? — but I do like a little Judge Mathis. Today, I had 30 minutes between tasks, and I went searching for my judge friend.

I found “Hanson: Best of 5 of 5” on Palladia. (What the heck is Palladia?) I’m not ashamed to say that I like me some Hanson. I have been known to sing “MMMBop” in class, much to the (equal parts) joy and chagrin of students. It’s on my favorite iTunes playlist. However, I am not familiar with their oeuvre.

This is how I pictured them prior to stumbling upon the show:

I remember when Taylor was the “cute one,” Zac was the “young one” and Isaac was, bless his heart, not the “cute one.”

Years have passed. Things have changed. They’re all grown up, and are all kind of cute now (although I do wonder about Taylor’s penchant for suspenders, as evidenced by the Palladia show).

I watched the whole show, and enjoyed every moment. They are talented; their songs are solid. And even the melancholy Taylor was grinning like a fool during “MMMBop.” How could he not?

Don’t judge me.

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